https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sr56-wLBEZA

With all the charms of a woman
You’ve kept the secret of your youth
You led me to believe you’re old enough

I met her at a dance. I am twenty one, newly employed by the local engineering firm. They wanted an internal department rather than outsourcing; none of this matters except I was well paid. I say a dance? It was the last of a series of genuine dances organised by some community groups for the young people of the area. The idea was to give young people a place to meet others and have fun. I went along with some guys from work. New friends who I got to know well; they were typical of young men everywhere. Football, computer games, girls, beer, not always in that order. There was no drunkenness, lighting did not reduce to zero, the groups who played were all local and not that good; but it was fun. Given the lighting, I could see well. And I saw her. She was at least as attractive as all the others, and more so. She was just lovely, even from a distance. What was it? I don’t really know, even now.

I edged over towards her, and “Can I buy you a drink? Or we could have a dance?” She smiled at me. “Both? Dance first.” We danced. She didn’t have bulging, plumped lips, she didn’t have heavy eye make-up, she didn’t have hair extensions (I wasn’t sure on that, her hair was shoulder length, surely extensions would be longer?), she had her own eyebrows not plucked and painted. She didn’t have a big bust. Up to then I would have said I was a boob-man, but for tonight I was happy with a girl like this. I found out later that even the bust she had was emphasised by her lift bra.

“Drink?”

“White wine spritzer please. Thanks.” We talked – it was difficult in the noise, but I got her name – Emily Maitridge, she got mine – David MacLintock. She was eighteen, shared a flat; she waved at her friends who waved back, touched their wrists, ‘time to go’, and she shook her head. They left.

We danced together for the rest of that evening five more dances I think. I mean, she could have made excuses and gone back to her friends and then left with them. So could I; but I didn’t want to. They told me they were heading off for some other place with less light and more booze, but I opted to stick around.

As the dance started to slow down, we had a couple of close, slow dances. I kept my hands on her waist, she held me close so I could feel her breasts against my chest.

As the lights came on, I asked where she lived. She told me it was the Ederly Estate, nice houses. “Are there flats there too?”

“Oh, yeah, we were lucky, someone converted one into two flats.” she said. Ederly was a bus ride away. I offered to come with. No subtext, no plan, just that I wanted to see her home safe. “No need, the bus stops near my ... our flat.”

“Sure? I don’t mind.”

“Sure. It would be way out of your way. No, I know you don’t mind. But it’s fine. Just wait until the bus comes.” So I did, and as we saw the double decker bus come round the corner, I kissed her until it arrived. She opened her mouth and let me slide my tongue along her teeth. “I’ve really enjoyed this evening.”

“See you again?”

“I hope so.” She typed her number into my phone. That was as forward as a girl could be. Yes! I was in!

Beneath your perfume and make-up
You’re just a baby in disguise

“What subjects are you doing?”

She listed a line of six subjects.

“Oh? Wow you must be really clever, I thought people only did three or four A-levels.”

“Oh? Oh yeah! I forget. I mean I’m doing, umm, History, English and err, Geography. I was thinking of the GCSEs I did.” Ohho! I thought, she isn’t eighteen, if she’s just done the GCSEs then she must be seventeen, in the first year of A-levels, not second year. I wanted to believe, I suppose. Or I was blinded by love. Call it what you will, I didn’t see any problem. She was still over age, we were starting to fall for each other. Well, at least, I was falling for her. She was smart, quick and pretty, seemed she liked me enough to come on another date.

We were heading out on a second date. Instead of another dance, we were out for the day. Going to the seaside. I figured she’d like that. Unlike so many girls of seventeen or eighteen, she didn’t have a Saturday job. She shared with some friends and her parents paid the rent. I didn’t understand why she wasn’t still at home, but I figured there had to be reasons. So I’d made a picnic – I mean I’d bought some diet Pepsi, diet Fanta, three packs of sandwiches, crisps, and a packet of biscuits – and we were sitting on the early train to Margate.

We got off, walked to the funfair and went on the wheel, then on the log flume and finally after a dare, we went on the ... what’s it called? The thing where it spins round and the floor drops away and you stick to the wall. We held hands and as we started to stick, I leant in and kissed her. Then neither of us could move. So for several glorious minutes we were stuck in a lip-syncing kiss. It was lovely. I mean I’d kissed her before, but not like that; just a good night kiss or a kiss on the train. Would she think it too soon? Yes, that was my worry. I didn’t want anything to put her off. When we got out, she was glowing and smiling and happy. “Is there a quiet part of the beach? We could swim.”

“In Margate? Quiet part?” I had an idea, we rushed back to the station and started back, getting out at Herne Bay. If Margate is the flesh pot, Herne Bay is the retirement delight, we walked along, past the old pier (I mean the one before the current old pier). The people thinned out. It’s a stony beach too, so less of a tourist delight. There are corners of sand at every groyne.

The sun was hot, the sky was blue; she changed under a towel which I held round her. I didn’t sneak a peak. “You didn’t try and look? I wouldn’t have minded.” She said. Our second date and she was suggesting ... what?

She emerged in a bikini, which confirmed what I’d thought, she was small of chest in comparison to what I usually liked. On line, everybody has massive tits; in real life I knew people weren’t all like that. But she was balanced with a perfectly perfect small bottom which her bikini bottom covered in a delightful manner. I got changed quickly. I wouldn’t have minded if she coped a peak either, but she didn’t; she just waited, eating a biscuit. We ran to the sea (the tide being in, never, ever go swimming in Herne Bay at low tide, the water will be miles out and the ‘beach’ turns into thick gloopy mud).

We did all the normal things; she hesitated, I picked her up and threatened to dump her in; she squealed delightedly; I dropped her in. Again, we had moved on, I had my hands around her body only just covered with small amounts of cloth. Her skin was warm, smooth. She could see the bulge in my swimming costume. “I’m sorry, I’m trying.”

“That’s okay, I’d be rather insulted if you weren’t a little pleased with my appearance.” I was, I definitely was.

We splished and splashed. We mucked around, and then we nestled up under the concrete breakwater/promenade/cliff protection and ate some more biscuits. Finally, she went back into that mode of sliding down wet bikini under the towel and pulling up her pink pants and then fiddling around to take off her bikini top and pull on her teen bra. Wait! What? Yes, I had seen the label ‘Teen Bra’. It said. Well, I knew she was small – the bikini showed that, so maybe that’s why she was wearing such a small one. I waited until she was dressed and then did the same, less elegant it’s true, but I felt I should respect the need for privacy. I pulled on the jeans and teeshirt, kissed her and said “I saw your bra ... how old are you really? Sixteen?”

She hesitated, then said “Yeah, sorry. I didn’t want to put you off. It isn’t a problem is it?” I shook my head. We had already agreed that we’d walk along the coast to Whitstable – two miles maybe? No ice cream shops, no shops at all. The tide was going out and the long shingle spit was starting to appear, there were one or two clouds scudding along. Across the estuary you could see Essex, and out to the sea were the forts. It was quiet, and I was with a lovely girl.

“No, no problem. Only, well, you could have told me.”

“I know, sorry ... no more secrets.” I smiled at her and we kissed long and lovely. Damn! I was falling for her. She was falling for me too, I think.

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So hurry home to your mama
I’m sure she wonders where you are

“Where is she? I told her eleven, absolutely not later. I told her!”

Catherine her eldest daughter took her hand. “Relax, she’ll be home soon.”

“But she could be in all sorts of trouble.”

“Mum, she’s a bit wayward, but she isn’t stupid. I might have been at her age, but she has more sense, I’m sure.” Actually she wasn’t sure, but what else to say? “Maybe we should go and look for her.”

“Where? Where would we look? She could be anywhere! I wish Tony was here ... no I don’t, he’d be useless. Still, if he wasn’t always down the pub every night ... Oh! Where is she!

You know she’s got a boyfriend! I mean supposing they are ... Supposing he’s making her ... Oh! Where is she!?”

“She told me she had a boy. That’s who she went to the seaside with.”

“YOU KNEW! Why am I the last to know! YOU KNEW!”

“If I’d told you, she’d never have told me anything again. I told her she should tell you.”

“She’s so secretive.”

“I think I’d say ‘private’, she keeps herself to herself. Actually that’s why I was pleased she found a boy she liked. She’s always on the edge of her girl groups.”

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They sat up, waiting. At twenty past eleven, Tony Maitridge rolled in. As usual he was three sheets to the wind. It was Saturday after all, he collapsed into an armchair; mumbled a garbled “Fankkss Love” for a coffee and then fell asleep. Catherine rescued the half full cup as it started to tip forward in his somnolent hand towards his lap. She took a blanket and covered him, he would sleep until morning now. “I don’t know why you bother ... I don’t know why I bother with him!” her mother said.

“I bother because, when all is said and done, he works hard, puts food on our table, and he’s me Dad. You bother because, when all is said and done, you love him for all his flaws.”