Her name was Tina and she lived near me in west London. She was a local girl and I was a new arrival from a seaside town down south. We had met in the local pub, the Star and Garter, where she knew everyone because they had all grown up around there. I was getting to know a few people but was still the new guy.
Tina was shortish and sort of stout: not fat, but sturdy. She was old-fashioned, as if she had skipped the youthful years and prematurely turned into her mother. Her hair was long, brassy and naturally curly. It was tidy enough but could have done with styling. She told me once that her Mum cut it for her, which saved money.
Some of the clothes Tina wore might have been her mum's too. She was often to be found in a dress or a skirt, womanly but dull, and that turned me on in a strange way. She dressed as if she was not concerned with being attractive, just functional, and her personality was similarly neutral. Even when she made clumsy attempts to flirt with me, she couldn't quite shake off her natural inclination to be one of the boys. She was good old Tina, salt of the earth, who would make someone a good, solid wife, a partner to plough your way through life with.
That is probably why I never flirted back. She clearly had a soft spot for me, but we were like mates and I didn't want to spoil that. She was usually with her cousin, Zena, who was similarly down-to-earth but a little more girly. I would have happily had a quick one with Zena but, oddly, I didn't really have a connection with her. I got the impression that they told each other everything and Zena was honour-bound not to muscle in on Tina's territory.
One night I was in another pub, the White Lion, where they had bands upstairs sometimes. I was sitting with some friends when Tina and Zena walked in, bought themselves drinks and joined us. Zena set about getting to know my friends, which left Tina and me sitting looking at each other. I was wearing a pair of thin, tight trousers and the only comfortable way to sit was with my legs wide apart.
"Don't sit like that," she said, wrenching her gaze away from my blatant bulge. In those days I was oblivious to such things. I was young and naive, unconcerned with what the world thought of me.
"Like what?" I said, genuinely not knowing what she meant.
"LIke that," she said, glancing at the offending area. Then she put her hands together and parted them to make a V.
"Oh," I said, spreading them even wider before cranking them shut.
"That's better," Tina said with something like relief. I wasn't sure if that was because she didn't like me displaying myself to other people or if it affected her in some way.
We talked to each other easily, as always, and hardly noticed when Zena and my friends announced they were going upstairs to see the band. Tina and I said we'd be up later, and those words sparked an exchange of glances between the cousins.
"Oh yeah..." Zena said, and Tina waved her away, giggling
We resumed our conversation and found ourselves laughing like best friends. Then suddenly she stopped and leaned forwards, elbows on her knees, looking serious.
"Listen," she began awkwardly. "Imagine, right? If you were a man and I was a woman. Would you fancy me?"
I hesitated for a split second before leaning back and giving an exaggerated guffaw.
"Noooo," I said. "You're Tina. You're my mate." My legs resumed their parted state.
"You're doing it again," she said and slapped my knee quite hard. "How would you like it if I did that?" she said, as if affronted. Then, just for a second, she did part her legs, pulling up the hem of her dress to make sure I could see. Her milky white thighs parted and I saw black knickers. And then just as quickly normal service was resumed and she was talking about cocktails and suggesting we went up the road to the new bar, where it was dark and loud.
And that's what we did. Suddenly our chance encounter had something of the feeling of a date. But Tina and me? It still felt wrong.
We sat in a corner, she with a Pina Colada and I with a rum punch. And we talked, but because it was so loud we had to put our heads close together. At one point she put a hand behind my head and pulled me even closer, so she could whisper a remark about her drink and what it might contain. I didn't quite catch what she was saying, but it seemed to include the word semen. It was such an uncharacteristic word for Tina to use that I had to stop her.
"Sorry, did you say semen?"
"I'm just joking," she said. "Not very funny, eh? It's cos I'm nervous."
"What are you nervous about?" I asked.
"You and me," she said hesitantly. "Like this."
"Like what?"
"Like I'm your bird and you're my bloke."
Before I could compose a reply, she put a hand on my leg, just above the knee. Then she took my right hand and put it in the same location on herself.
"My Mum's out," she said. "I can show you where I live."
The walk to Tina's house was strangely formal, as if we didn't really know each other. At one point, on a quiet part of the route, she held my hand, then dropped it as we rounded the corner. I was in two minds, pervaded by the desire to have sex, which I was pretty sure was on offer, and wrestling with the knowledge that if we did, if we crossed that bridge, this nice friendship would be gone, possibly forever, because I knew myself well enough to know it would only be a one-off for me.
