She bats her eyes down and retreats, a deer shy of a walker in the forest. I let her move off, she won't go far.The dance floor is open in front of me...without her pixie presence. I realise that I'm being watched, scrutinised, visually tasted. A couple are dancing entwined, his hands cupping her breasts, discussing me. I look into her eyes and I'm lost. She is a tiny, petite, brunette and has a harshness to her face that suggests she takes no prisoners, veiled under dark sultry eyes. She smiles. 1969/70 was a time when fairly skimpy swimming trunks were the norm and people in shorts were seen as a bit of an oddity! My mother had asked me to go along to the local gentlemen's outfitters (I love that old fashioned name for a clothes shop) and purchase my new, long school trousers ready for the imminent term.I needed to walk the mile or so to the shop. That was no hardship, I was a fit 15 year old, it was pleasantly sunny and a warm late afternoon in early September as I set off. My. More

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