I have written 9 chapters about my sexual exploits after my retirement at 65. Anyone that has read them will know that I had a wild sexual past which I gave up to marry and raise a family. This chapter is another story from my younger days as a free spirit in the late sixties early seventies of swinging London, long before I married and settled down.
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In the weeks that following the loss of my virginity with Mr Farrow, who was to become my new boss, I had spread my wings. I had continued to have office dalliances with him after hours and things were working out nicely on the job front. The work was easy and I had plenty of time to plan and execute a full social life. I had experienced a few one night stands and I now considered myself as sexually mature because I had fumbled about a bit with a few guys I had met in pubs, or had bent over a desk for Mr Farrow to take me doggy style after hours in the office.
It was at this time that a new staff member, Suzanne started with the company. She was incredibly beautiful, with a slim figure, long flowing golden blonde hair that tumbled in waves across her petite shoulders. She also had the deepest pair of blue eyes that constantly begged others to sleep with her. I watched as the men of all ages became tongue tied and awkward in her presence or stood drooling as she passed them. She seemed to glide across a room rather than wiggle in the way that the rest of us young girls tried to do. She also eschewed the normal "short skirt, tits obvious" mode of dress that we all prescribed to.
Instead Suzanne dressed in flowing dresses made of the lightest fabric. Like me, she never wore a bra and her nipples could often be seen protruding and making little bumps in the front of her top. I recall her wearing a cheese cloth shirt that was so tight, hardly anything was left to the imagination. The older women, what few there were working in those days, did not approve. The men, whilst publicly disapproving, secretly enjoyed the pure sight of her in the way one might admire a striking artwork.
I rushed to emulate her mode of dress whenever I wasn't at work. Long flowing skirts, tight cheese cloth shirts and the money saved on underwear, well, that could be spent on partying! As time went by, I began to spend a lot of time with Suzanne during our after work visits to the pub. I discovered that we had a lot in common in our likes and dislikes, particularly in music. We were chatting one Friday evening in the local and she quite suddenly invited me to a party the following night. I readily agreed and we arranged to meet at the party. She gave me the address, which was a house in Notting Hill.
Notting Hill London was, in those days, nothing like it is now and certainly nothing like it appears in the film of the same name. The street where the party was had clearly been prosperous at one time with large houses lining either side. At that moment in time, most had been converted to flats and were populated by a very mixed bag of individuals and families. Music drifted from a number of open windows making it seem as though there was a party in every dwelling, and indeed there probably was.
I eventually found the address I had been given and wandered up the short front path. The main door was up a few steps and I noticed that the door was open. A large, round faced guy was sitting on the doorstep and looked up at me as I approached.
'Hi', I said with maybe a bit too much enthusiasm, 'I was told there was a party here; I am a friend of Suzanne's'. He made no sign that he recognised the name, but nevertheless motioned for me to go inside.
Immediately on entering, the sweet smell of what I now know to be marijuana hit me and the music took on a deeper tone. I walked to the first door and peered in. The room was filled with a fog of smoke and an impossibly large number of people were sitting on various bits of worn out furniture, gently nodding to the beat, or engaged in heavy petting. I tried to find out where Suzanne was, but nobody seemed to know her, or weren't able to process the information in some way. By now the drinks I had brought were beginning to way heavy, so I went in search of somewhere to put them.
When I found it, the large kitchen was also full of people. I decided that these ones had arrived more recently than the lounge dwellers as they still seemed to be in possession of a number of faculties. I grabbed a beer (cheap and plentiful) and smiled at a couple who were leaning against a wall in a corner of the room. I enquired after Suzanne and the girl knew who I was referring to. 'Oh yeah, she is probably upstairs with Justin in his room. It is the first door on the right off the first landing'. I thanked them and made my way up the stairs. Every wall had been painted with a mixture of graffiti, various political statements and some surprisingly skilled art. I realised that this must be one of the squats that I had heard about in the news.
The bedroom door was ajar when I got there, but I decided to knock anyway. The door opened slightly more in response to my knocks and a voice called 'Hi!' I entered the room which was in almost total darkness except for the streetlights shining in through an elegant bay window. Two figures sat in the middle of the bed, one unmistakably the hippie form of Suzanne, the other a young man of about the same age, sporting long black hair and an equally black, but sparse beard. He was thin and looked strikingly like the images I had seen of Jesus. They were sharing a joint. The Jesus lookalike, who had been holding his breath to get the maximum hit from the spliff, exhaled and invited me to sit on the bed with them.
As I sat, I became aware that Suzanne was dressed in one of her ubiquitous cheesecloth shirts which was fully unbuttoned and draped over her breasts. "Jesus" appeared to be completely unclothed, his modestly hidden by a ruff of bedsheet which was pulled up between his legs. Suzanne's modestly was similarly protected, but neither seemed bothered at my intrusion. Horrified at my gaffe, I quickly started apologising and began to back out of the room. Both of them laughed and assured me in drawling tones that it was 'cool babe' and I was once again invited onto the bed.
