Lunatic (n): From Old French lunatique, from late Latin lunaticus, from Latin luna 'moon'. The belief that changes of the moon causes temporary mood changes or periods of intermittent insanity. Also: Moonstruck, Moonsick.
The lady with the red hair was on her knees in the moonlight, rocking back and fore with her wide hips bouncing against me. Her elbows rested on the soft cool sand, into which my knees sank further with every thrust. In the distance the waves lapped on the shore, barely audible above the sound of the gentle wind through the bushes that were close behind us and the slapping of hips against butt.
I stroked my fingers along her sides, feeling the ridges of her ribs and cupped her tiny but firm breasts that hung below her. Then I scratched my fingernail slowly down her spine, one vertebra at a time from the nape of her neck all the way to her coccyx. She shuddered and I raised the tempo until she gasped and pushed backwards firmly against me. I held her hips as we both enjoyed the moment. Two lines in the sand had formed between the hollows that marked the position of her elbows.
Ingrid was the only woman I ever knew who had nipples so long that they wrote her initials in sand.
* * *
I first became aware of Ingrid Irwin when I was young. I had joined the village dramatic society, which was something people did in those days. There was a club for everything from cycling to chess and football, and people came together to support them.
With the Drama Club if you weren't involved as a performer or in the crew, you were in the audience. I expect things are different nowadays but in an era before internet and big-screen sports in every pub, everyone knew each other and joined in these events.
Ingrid was young, fresh-faced and pretty with a ready smile showing flashing teeth. She stood out with her dark red hair and wide green eyes that penetrated my soul whenever our eyes met.
I was older than her. Not by much, but at the time the difference seemed too wide by far. I stayed in the background, working the primitive lights and sound system whilst the cast sang and danced on the tiny stage. I had left school four years before her, now she was, what eighteen or nineteen herself? A blossoming woman starting to make her own way in life. The star of the show, her beauty self-evident as she sang a humorous song accompanied by a comedic dance and then after a costume change, the lead in a rousing sing-along.
There were no changing rooms in that tiny hall; a black screen curtain was rigged at the back of the stage, taking up valuable space to give some privacy to an area where the ladies could change costumes. The few men involved could take their chances with the darkness and weather outside, between the kitchen and the stinking toilet block.
So there I was, pressing buttons on a reel-to-reel tape player (remember them?) and pulling on the ropes for the main stage curtains whilst rehearsals took place. The hall lights were up as there was no audience, one number had finished and the compère fluffed his lines to lines of empty chairs. I cringed at his delivery and hoped that it would be better on the night. It was beyond hope that it would actually be good. Then I noticed a disturbance behind the screen, the screen cloth moved and with a shriek of laughter someone fell through onto the front of the stage. The hair showed that it was Ingrid, the fair skin showed that she was wearing very little.
In fact she wore just high heeled shoes and little black panties, and as she fell she tried to hold her arm around her bare chest. Unfortunately her heel was caught in the curtain and instinctively both hands were used to save herself from injury as she twisted around.
The image that was burned into my memory for evermore was that of her left breast being revealed to the hall. A single boob with an uncommonly long pink nipple.
She swiftly recovered herself and concealed the flesh with her arm once more. Then before I could blink, even as her face blushed brightly, she had crawled back under the curtain to continue with her change.
As is the way of these things, nothing was ever said. Later there was a discussion about why the fall occurred and how to prevent it in future - in particular during the actual performance. But no comments were made about those of us present having a good flash. She stood with a straight face dressed in the flamboyant costume of the final number and explained that a frayed hem on the cloth had caught her heel and if someone had a needle and cotton handy it could easily be mended.
The incident was replayed many times in my mind; the long legs crumpling off balance, the flat stomach above the skimpy underwear, the embarrassed giggling as she wriggled out of sight. But most of all the arm flailing out, the firm small breast and the exhibition of a nipple that was the size of a baby's finger.
* * *
A few years passed. I had left the village and was working in the city. Then one night I was at a popular nightclub, together with some mates from work. We saw some girls talking at the bar and asked them for a dance. A girl with red hair turned to me and asked if I was married.
Her green eyes were sparkling and her white teeth flashed as her speech showed that some alcohol had been consumed that night. But it was clearly Ingrid, as gorgeous as ever.
"No, I'm not married", I replied.
"Are you sure? I don't dance with married men so you'd better not be."
I protested my innocence in the marriage department -- even had confirmation from my friend - and we commenced to dance. She had a sexy little wiggle as she danced that made her slinky little dress shimmy as she moved her hips. Then all too soon it was over. We had a brief kiss (hand placed chastely on her hip), exchanged telephone numbers and separated.
A week later I had a party to attend. It was an engagement do, the sort of event where a 'plus one' was firmly expected. Being firmly single I phoned Ingrid on the number that I had scrawled down and asked if she could come.
She enquired again as to my marital status (why would I be asking her if I was already in a relationship?) and then the deal was done. The following evening I collected her in my car and we went to the event. This was held at a venue overlooking the ocean, a spectacular place at the top of a low cliff away from the town itself.
Ingrid was intrigued when I mentioned that we had met before; she hadn't recognised me in the club with the booze and the music. When I reminded her of the tumble through the curtain she burst out laughing and blushed again. She remembered it well enough; she had hoped that everyone else had forgotten.
The party passed as these events do; plenty of alcohol and false jollity. I introduced Ingrid to people that she would be unlikely to remember or ever meet again, we ate snacks from a long table and when I could see that she was getting bored I bade farewell to the happy soon-to-be-divorced couple and we left.
