Who was the luckiest guy on the planet? In this moment it was Ricky Adams.

“Pucker up, buttercup,” Betty-Jo Kopecki purred, her voice dripping with mischief and cherry-flavored lip gloss. “Time to earn a merit badge.”

Ricky was a deer caught in the headlights of her beguiling gaze, and could only nod mutely.

She closed her eyes, slightly tilted her head to the right, and leaned in. Ricky’s universe exploded in a kaleidoscope of sensations when their lips met. Fireworks danced behind his eyelids, while a chorus of angels harmonized in his ears.

The entirety of his world was tilted off its axis the moment Betty-Jo’s tongue slid into his mouth. The camp counselor, a mere three years his senior, yet eons ahead in the art of osculation, unleashed the kind of kiss packed with a tidal wave of body English that sent tremors through his adolescent frame. Her kiss was a masterclass in the surreal, a dizzying ballet of tongue and teeth that left him reeling. His legs, once sturdy pillars, now quivered like reeds in a tempest.

To Betty-Jo, it was a fleeting moment, a dare fulfilled and forgotten. She pulled away, leaving Ricky gasping for air, his heart pounding a staccato rhythm against his ribcage.

“Not bad, kid,” she smirked, her eyes glinting with amusement. “Keep practicing, and maybe one day you’ll be half as good as me.”

With a wink and a sashay, Betty-Jo sauntered off, leaving Ricky adrift in a sea of bewilderment and exhilaration. Little did she know, her kiss had etched itself indelibly into his psyche, a benchmark against which all future lip-locks would be measured.

From that moment on, Ricky’s world was tinted with the rosy hue of Betty-Jo’s kiss. The summer camp became a surreal wonderland, where every activity was infused with the memory of their fleeting tryst. The canoes became vessels of romance, the campfire songs anthems of unrequited love.

Ricky floated through the rest of the summer, his head in the clouds and his lips tingling with the ghost of Betty-Jo’s touch. He was a changed boy, a young Casanova in the making, forever chasing the elusive high of that first, earth-shattering kiss.

As the years passed, Ricky engaged in countless other lip-locking endeavors, but none ever quite matched the intensity and surreality of Betty-Jo Kopecki’s camp counselor kiss. It was a memory that lingered forever, a bittersweet reminder of the summer when love first blossomed in the most unexpected of places.

Decades later, Ricky stumbled upon Betty-Jo on a social media site and reached out, not really expecting a reply because she probably didn’t remember him. To his surprise, she contacted him and told him about her condition.

There was no logic to him requesting time off from work and booking a flight to where she was, but he found himself wandering through the sterile hallways of a hospital with a heart heavy with the weight of years gone by.

He stood at the threshold of her room, his hand trembling as he pushed open the door. There, amidst a tangle of tubes and beeping machines, lay Betty-Jo Kopecki, a mere shell of the vivacious camp counselor who had once set his world ablaze.

“Well, well, well,” she rasped, her voice like sandpaper against velvet. “If it isn’t Ricky, the boy wonder. I’d applaud, but I’m a bit tied up at the moment.”

Ricky approached her bedside, his eyes misty with emotion. “Betty-Jo,” he whispered, “I never thought I’d see you again.”

“Life’s funny that way,” she chuckled, her laughter dissolving into a fit of coughing. “I’ve outlived them all, you know. Friends, family, even the damn dog. But here you are, my little slice of summer camp nostalgia.”

They talked for hours, reminiscing about the golden days of campfires and canoe rides, of stolen glances and secret smiles. As the sun began to set, casting an ethereal glow through the hospital window, Betty-Jo fixed Ricky with a wistful gaze.

“Ricky,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, “How are you fixed for granting dying requests?”

Ricky leaned in closer, his heart pounding in his ears. “That would depend on the request.”

“Lay one on me,” she breathed, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “One last kiss, for old times’ sake.”

Ricky hesitated for a moment, his mind reeling with the gravity of the situation. Then, with a tenderness that belied the years between them, he said, “Pucker up, buttercup. Time to earn a merit badge.” He cupped Betty-Jo’s face in his hands and pressed his lips to hers.

It was a kiss that transcended time and space, a kiss that bridged the gap between the innocence of youth and the wisdom of age. Ricky poured every ounce of his love, his gratitude, and his longing into that kiss, willing Betty-Jo to feel the depth of his devotion.

As their lips parted, Betty-Jo’s face was radiant with joy. “Not bad, kid,” she whispered, echoing the words she had spoken so long ago. “Not bad at all.”

With a final, contented sigh, Betty-Jo closed her eyes, a serene smile playing on her lips. Ricky watched as the light slowly faded from her face, his heart swelling with a bittersweet mixture of grief and gratitude.

Betty-Jo Kopecki had come into his life like a whirlwind, leaving an indelible mark on his soul. And now, as she slipped away into the great unknown, Ricky knew that a part of him would always belong to her, forever entwined in the memory of that one perfect kiss.