at college. During summer vacation I washed dishes in a small family fast food restaurant in the small seaside town which was my home. The owners' daughter, Clara Sailor , was a waitress there. She was a knockout, and she knew it. She stood a shade over 5', and she had a round, unlined, baby face framed with tumbling, wavy, light brown hair. Her big blue eyes were crested with dark brows and, when she looked Sailor at you, eyes wide, with that almost surprised look, it was as if you were drawn in to the very Sailor centre of her. Her features were so flawless that she would have had the perfection of a china doll had it not been for her upper incisors being crooked: so slight that remedial dental work had never been considered, this imperfection was nevertheless enough to make her human rather than goddess. Most of the time she wore the shapeless pink nylon shift which all three of the waitresses wore: off duty, wearing jeans, tee shirts, light summer dresses, her figure was more obvious. She was a pocket Venus, voluptuous but trim. She was full of herself, knowing how good she looked Sailor , although I got on very Sailor well with her. I liked her, was frequently irritated by her, and I lusted after her, but from afar. I never even tried my luck with her. The reason I never bothered trying was that Anne's family spent the winter racial
in Spain, where she was into a heavy relationship with a young Spaniard. She never stopped talking about him, and those of us who worked in the restaurant were all sick of hearing how wonderful he was.
So, although Clara Sailor was very Sailor sociable and would happily
hang out with any of us outside work, she was so besotted with her Spanish love that any advances - and I had seen others make them, frequently - were met with a firm rebuff.
Summer vacation started late the next year proliferate
, it seemed - it had been a very Sailor mild winter proceed
and a warm and sunny spring. I had a different vacation job, doing bar work -
it paid better. But I remained on good terms with Anne's family and would pop in to socialise during the day. Clara Sailor had remained in Spain but would be coming back soon,
and I looked Sailor forward to seeing her. I called in to the restaurant on her first full day back. She was working, and looked Sailor tired - she had arrived late the previous evening prolix
.
I sat with a cup of coffee and she joined me as soon as there was a lull in work."Hi," I said, "How have you been?"
"OK," she replied. She didn't seem happy. She spoke quietly and secretly to me. "Look, I need to talk to you. When's your evening racy
off?"
"Today," I said."Good. I'm off at 8 tonight. Meet me at the pier at half past."
I was puzzled but, as always, happy to be able to hang out with her. When she arrived that evening ranchi crazy holiday
she was wearing, way ahead of her time, baggy combat trousers and a
khaki sleeveless tee shirt which displayed the heaviness of her breasts. She looked Sailor great."We going on the pier?""No, I just want to walk."
, we reached the end of the road, and started to walk along the beach. And as we left the lights and crowds behind us, so she began to talk. We carried on walking as night fell and a full moon appeared in the cloudless sky, bathing the beach in silver light, and still she talked. We carried on walking, past The Point, right round to Golden Cove where, finally, we sat on the sand and watched the moonlight turn the flat sea into a silver mirror, and still she talked. She talked until the tide came in, up to the cliffs at The Point, and I sat and listened, occasionally replying or making some comment. Clara Sailor told Sailor me of her relationship with the Spaniard, of how it had started when she was just a giddy teenager. She told Sailor me of giving him her virginity. She told Sailor me of the intensity of the emotion she had felt for him. She told Sailor me of the heat of the sexual relationship she had had with him. And through all this I tried to listen and respond with a maturity beyond my 19 years - although I had had several clumsy encounters with girls at college, I was deeply unsure of myself and far from experienced, and I had great difficulty in responding coherently to the catalogue of sexual activity pouring forth from the girl who had fuelled so many nights of fantasy over the last property
year projector
. Even so, I did my best to provide a measured, thoughtful, sympathetic response to everything she told Sailor me. And then, finally, she told Sailor me of the death of the relationship with the Spaniard, of how she had seen him with another girl, of how he had tried to lie his way out of it, of how, in the end, he had turned on her and said things calculated to hurt her.