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I'd guess that many women remember the risks and thrills of their first romantic encounters in much the same way California poet Leslie Monsour does in this poem.

Fifteen

The boys who fled my father's house in fear

Of what his wrath would cost them if he found

Them nibbling slowly at his daughter's ear,

Would vanish out the back without a sound,

And glide just like the shadow of a crow,

To wait beside the elm tree in the snow.

Something quite deadly rumbled in his voice.

He sniffed the air as if he knew the scent

Of teenage boys, and asked, "What was that noise?"

Then I'd pretend to not know what he meant,

Stand mutely by, my heart immense with dread,

As Father set the traps and went to bed.