When I was 18 and first got my driver's licence and was allowed to take my father's car on unsupervised solo social outings, I met a girl called Anne. She was a friend of my best mate's girlfriend; a workmate actually - a dental nurse, to be precise. All these years later I can still see her face vividly. Her smile, her laughing eyes ... I can hear her giggle and I can recall the sound of her voice. She was a diffident person, quiet, even passive, inclined to go along with other people's opinions and ideas rather than asserting her own (assuming she had opinions and ideas of her own).
I remember my immediate reaction when I first met her was liking her, and my second was to check her out. After all, I was an 18-year-old male, what else was I going to be interested in but her body? I confess I was a little bit disappointed. She was by no means fat, but her hips were probably broader than what I considered ideal and her breasts were smaller, I was disappointed to note. I don't know why it is but I suspect most teenage boys equate large boobs with sexual appeal and Anne just didn't come into that category. Compounding the problem, since I clearly thought of it as a problem, was her habit of wearing oversize sweaters, jumpers and shirts that disguised her bust altogether. I suppose she was self-conscious. I don't know what her measurements were, I never asked her, but I guess we're talking an A or a B cup.
Anyway, disappointed as I surely was, I still liked her and was happy to go out with her, to be seen with her in public - although I don't recall ever suggesting we went to the beach where her shortcomings may have been more evident.
Our first dates were joint affairs with my mate and his friend Gail. Nothing spectacular or particularly memorable, I don't think, just movie and pizza nights, that kind of thing. And when we went back to my mate's place afterwards I don't think I was in any hurry to put any moves on her.
Once we'd got comfortable with each other we risked going out together on our own. I remember going to Anne's house, which was in a semi-rural area featuring large blocks and designer built homes, very different to my own ordinary suburban family cottage. Anne's father was an airline pilot, a very dominant character who made his opinions known to all and apparently listened to no-one. Meeting this authoritarian head of the family was nerve-wracking, but I minded my p's and q's and tried to make a good impression. I prided myself on being able to hold a conversation with anybody - parents of friends, the elderly, little kids, even girls my own age. On this occasion, even though I didn't think I'd made much of an impression, Anne's mother gave me a nod of approval afterwards. She was a tall, slender woman who wore a scarf around her hair and had Anne's small breasts, I observed, which put paid to any hope I might have had that Anne was still developing - at 18. Anne herself was on edge and nervous having me in the home. I got the distinct impression she didn't bring a lot of boys home and when she did it didn't always end well. I guess that had a lot to do with her father. Anyway, we went off for the evening. I don't know what we did, I honestly can't remember. It can't have been that spectacular, I suppose.
On the way home, driving along a dirt road in my father's Ford, the headlights cut out. Suddenly I'm driving in pitch black. I jammed on the anchors - and fortunately we didn't skid off the road. I got out to investigate. I'm not terribly mechanical but I did manage to figure out it was a fuse and nothing more sinister than that. When I replaced it and the lights came on again I felt like a hero. Suddenly Anne was warmer to me than before. I guess she was thinking maybe I wasn't a total dickhead after all.
