I met Frances (Siss) Buenoat at the local 'Learn-to-dance' studio. At age nineteen, she was about six months older than me.
There were two occasions during my time with Frances that I could have made more progress in my social life. Once she told me she was at home 'all on my lonesome'. In a round-about way, I was invited to visit her at home with her parents absent. I was vaguely aware of her invitation, but unaware how to respond.
The other one was during one of our necking sessions, I accidentally rubbed her tit. I apologised profusely, and she said 'That's OK'. Years later, I read that to mean 'You can do that again if you like'.
Siss and I went to Willetts, a dance hall in Prahran. We would go back to her place in Gardenvale and I'd take 30 or 40 minutes pashing to say good night at her front gate.
I used to hitch-hike home from her place every week, about 10 miles total, (16 kilometres) along Hawthorne Road and Glenfern Road to White Horse Road, then east to Dickens Road, Ballwynd.
I was picked up, and given a lift by the same driver more than once.
I always enjoyed the different cars and talked to the drivers about their cars all the time. There were mostly English and American cars around at that time in the early 60s. There were Austins and Morrises, Hillmans and once, an English Ford Pilot V8, stopped. Also Chrysler Valiants, Ford Falcons, Volkswagens, Holdens, Chevs, a Buick once whose driver told me it had a straight 8 motor, a Ford Mercury and other Chryslers. I loved the American cars for their power and ostentation. My favourites were the Ford V8s.
Drivers of other European cars rarely stopped and gave me a ride.
I didn't resent drivers ignoring me. I was grateful to be given a free ride at any time, as transport was free by courtesy of others' generosity.
A man in a Wolseley stopped for me and I asked him about his car. I forget the details but I don't think he knew very much about it. He had a deep voice and seemed to speak smoothly as a confident person would.
He asked me about my clothes. I wondered about his interest in fabric as he felt the material of my trousers.
He dropped me off about half way home and I hitched another ride home.
A few weeks later a Wolseley stopped again and the usual greetings and comparisons of destinations were worked out as I climbed in and he drove on. There was something familiar about him and I asked had he picked me up before. He said he hadn't but I was sure he had. I told him his voice sounded similar to another Wolseley driver and that I thought it was him.
When he asked about my clothes, I was almost certain. He began feeling my pants again. That confirmed it.
I said, 'Last time I was in a Wolseley, the man asked about my pants too.' I think he was self conscious and a bit embarrassed about having the same conversation 2 times.
He admitted, 'I remember now. You're right. I have picked you up before.'
I started to wonder why he was interested in my pants. At age 18, I was very naïve and just accepted it as something I didn't know about grown-ups.
