My thanks as usual go to Techsan for having a look over it before I post it. Only one thing that he came up with that might cause some confusion. He wanted me to use the word pavement, where I have chosen to use the word tarmac. A pavement in the UK is where pedestrians walk (A Sidewalk to all you colonials). Although they can be surfaced with tarmacadam the same as car parks can, as is the case in this story.
Back in those days I had considered myself to be a bit of a Don Juan, sowing my wild oats wherever I could. Well, anyone that lived through the later part of the sixties will remember what it was like back then. Free Love, they called it, the Pill had been invented, was becoming widely available and there was no HIV to worry about back then. Yes, there were other things you could pick up, but a couple of trips to the clinic normally sorted those out.
Christ, if it had two legs and a skirt, you shagged it. That is, unless you were in Scotland, of course.
If you had any sense, you popped down to 'The Clinic' every couple of months where, if you'd been unlucky, they gave you a couple of jabs in the arse (painful I can tell you). But generally there wasn't too much to worry about.
Anyway one day I was at "The Lido", no more than a disused reservoir really, that had been turned over to a leisure and boating lake, when this vision of beauty caught my eye. She was wearing one of the tiniest of bikinis that I'd ever seen and it left absolutely nothing to the imagination.
My first sight of her made me sit up, in all senses of the word. Whilst my fellow lechers were still taking in her beauty, I was on my feet and in for the kill.
Unfortunately, this beauty who's name turned out to be Jean, was well aware of me and my reputation before I even knew she existed. She told me to sling my hook in no uncertain terms and using some pretty charming colloquial language.
But I was smitten and my days of shagging anything that moved were over. Thoughts of Jean filled my every waking moment.
I was to spend the next year or so in my pursuit of her. Strangely enough after that first meeting at the Lido, I seemed to run into Jean just about everywhere I went. Maybe it was that I was just aware of her now and was consciously looking for her. Regrettably, she would always tell me to get lost in the most colloquial (but not very lady like) of terms every-time I tried to chat her up.
I think if it were today, I would probably have been called a stalker, as I would swing past her house every chance I got, trying to catch a glimpse of her. I think I would be safe in saying Jean wasn't too enamoured with my efforts to win her favour.
But she had stolen my heart and I just couldn't get her out of my mind. Jean of course was dating other guys, and it would break my heart to see her with them. Still, I persisted!
Then one day I had gone to a Pub that I just happened to know she and her latest boyfriend were frequenting. It was out in the country and not too crowded. As usual she gave me a black look when she saw me in the bar, but her boyfriend was apparently unaware of my presence.
I couldn't hear their conversation but Jean was not looking very happy with him that evening. I could see that he was putting it away a bit, and I wasn't too keen on him driving my goddess home having put that much drink down his throat. It was around ten-thirty that they got up to leave.
I gave them plenty of time to get out the door, before I made my move to go home. I'm not a voyeur, I had no intention of watching them make out. But when I got out to my car I just happened to notice that Jean's date's car had not left the car park. He had driven over to a dark corner someway away from the Pub's buildings.
Curiosity got the better of me, and I didn't get into my car. I just watched to see how long they were going to stay there making out. After a while there was some movement in the car, and it rocked around a bit. I had visions of him shagging the arse off of Jean, but what the hell could I do? She wasn't my girl!
Then suddenly I thought I heard a scream. No, I definitely did hear a scream. Then I heard another one. My brain switched off and instinct took over. I was running over to the guy's car, before I knew it. As I got closer I could hear Jean shouting.
"No! No! Get off me, you bloody bastard!"
I could hear him shouting as well but couldn't make out what the hell he was saying. I got to the car just in time to see him land a back hander across Jean's face. Incensed, I yanked the car door open and dragged him out by his collar. He landed in a heap on the tarmac in front of me. In the dim light I could see that Jean's clothes were torn, most of her assets were now on display and she was crying.
I didn't actually hit the guy. I just kind-of dropped onto my knees, landing both of them in his stomach. He kind of rolled into a ball and lay there quietly moaning.
Jean was trying to cover herself and with a deft movement, I chivalrously slipped my jacket off and handed it to her.
"I know you don't like the idea, Jean. But I think you had better let me take you home tonight," I said.
Jean slowly got out of the car and began walking; she seemed to be in a daze and I had to physically guide her over to my own car. The jacket wasn't covering very much, so I put a travelling rug over the lower half of her body once she had got in.
"You're not looking too good, girl. Would you like me to go and get you a brandy or something," I suggested.
"Home," she whispered. So I drove her to her house.
As I pulled into her driveway I was getting just a little bit apprehensive. Her parents were well aware of my unwelcome pursuit of their daughter. And here I was bringing her home, in a state of shock and virtually naked. Jean was just sitting there staring through the windscreen. I jumped out of my car and battered on the door. Then went back and opened the car door for Jean, but she wasn't moving, she just sat and stared.
Jean's father came out and on seeing me standing in his drive, demanded to know what the fuck I wanted. Then he saw that I was lifting his daughter from the car and came to help me. Between us we carried her inside and placed her on a sofa in the lounge.
"That bastard she went out with tonight attacked her," was all I could think of to say.
"How do we know you didn't do this?" Jean's mother demanded.
"Don't be silly, woman. He might act like a bloody idiot. But he wouldn't be stupid enough to bring her home in this condition if he'd done it to her. Now go and make Jean some tea. No, better see if we can get some brandy down her. I'm going to call the police."
I said that I had better be leaving, but Jean's farther said the police would want to know what had happened and Jean was in no condition to talk.
Then he said, "By the look of you, you could do with a Brandy too, boy."
The police arrived quite quickly, explaining that they had already been on their way. A guy had been found with serious injuries, laying by a car in a pub car park, some torn women's clothing had been found in his car, along with Jean's handbag.
I began to explain what had happened and next thing I know, I'm down at the 'Nick'. Jean's attacker was apparently suffering from a ruptured kidney and a busted spleen; it seems that these were quite serious injuries and he was going to be in hospital for a long time.
The police were talking Grievous Bodily Harm, and I was shitting myself! A few terrifying hours later, Jean's father turned up at the Police Station with a solicitor, and I was on my way home.
I made the decision that night, that although I thought I was in love with Jean, I was going to back right off.
Christ, I could finish up doing serious time because of that girl. I'm no bloody hero; I just wanted a nice quiet life.
In the end, the GBH charge was dropped against me in return for Jean dropping the assault and attempted rape charges against the Wanker. Back in those days the police used to do the prosecuting; if you didn't push things, they tended to let things go.
I stayed well away from Jean from then on. I told my friends that she was just too much trouble and that I was back playing the field again. In the weeks that followed I didn't get that much in the way of action though. Playing the bloody hero had got me too well known locally.
So for the next few months, I just kind of hung around, playing Gooseberry on my friends and spoiling their action. Then a friend asked me to go on a blind date, as his girlfriend wanted someone to go out with her friend from work.
Oh, yeah, I thought, I've been caught like that before. What kind of a dog had they lined me up with this time?
My friend's girl insisted that my date was a nice girl. She said that she was sure I would like her when I met her. With some reluctance, I agreed to go and we all arranged to meet in one of the local pubs on the Friday evening.
I arrived early. I thought I would get a couple of drinks down me up front. If I were to be lumbered with a dog, a couple more drinks and with any luck, I wouldn't notice what she looked like by the end of the evening.
I was sitting at a table waiting for the others to arrive, when who should walk through the door, but Jean.
'Shit!' I thought and tried to disappear into the corner.
'Bugger!' She spotted me straight away, and she came strolling over to my table.
"Hi, Pete! Aren't you going to offer to buy me a drink?"
.... There is more of this story ...