I'd dropped my parents off at the airport a couple of days earlier and was just doing a little house sitting for them whilst they were away. It was the damned cat that led me to make my little discovery otherwise I would never have been in my parents' bedroom in the first place.
I had fed the animal and I was trying to get the thing out of the house so I could lock up for the night when it disappeared from the kitchen. It knew I was going to eject it outside and was obviously in no mood to comply with my wishes, doing a vanishing act that cats seem to be the masters of.
I'd searched high and low for the creature; I'd looked in every room in the house, some of them twice, with the exception of my parents' room. I pushed the door open and went in, calling out for the cat as I did so. I was looking deep in the wardrobe when I noticed a box of old super 8 film rolls.
I remembered the camera my dad used to own and with which he would record films of the family on special occasions and holidays, all before the days of video cameras and digital technology. I did some quick calculations and was surprised to figure that those films would have to be something like thirty years old, perhaps as old as thirty five years since he'd had that camera in 1970.
I was gripped by a feeling of nostalgia and I pulled the box out of its place in the dark wardrobe, all thoughts of the cat forgotten. It would be great to sit and watch a couple of the old home movies so I dropped the box in the living room and went back to get the projector.
Although I hadn't seen the machine since I was about fifteen years old it wasn't too difficult to figure out how it operated and I soon had the first film settled on the spool and fed through the slot at the rear of the projector.
I flicked the power switch and 'hey presto!' the image flickered on the living room wall as the first few feet of dead tape wound through the machine's workings.
When the footage began to display real images I recognised the setting straight away. It was the old flat my parents' had owned in the late sixties and early seventies, we'd moved out in 1974 when I was ten years old when dad had been promoted and we were able to afford a bigger place.
The scene showed the living room at the time, with the old style settee and chairs and then the camera moved to focus on the front door.
The door opened and in walked a young woman that I recognised straight away, my mother's friend, Sylvia. Sylvia was one of those friends that mothers seem to have that are almost family, the ones that are called 'Aunty' by the kids, even though they're no relation whatsoever. I'd stopped calling Sylvia 'Aunty', years ago but she was still a regular face at social gatherings, weddings, christenings etc.
Sylvia walked into the room a little self-consciously, she smiled at the camera and waved, just a little waggle of her fingers. She spoke to the invisible camera man and then laughed at whatever was said in reply. I was a little disappointed that there was no sound, only pictures, but that was the technology in those days.
I'd known that Sylvia had been a bit of a glamour girl back in the seventies but she looked absolutely gorgeous all the same as her image projected onto the wall. She had long, straight hair and she was made up according to the fashion of the times. Likewise her clothes were stereotypically seventies also, white boots up to her knees, a shockingly short mini skirt that showed her legs off as she no doubt intended with a tight red sleeveless sweater that clung to her body.
'Wow,' I thought to myself. 'What a fucking babe you were Sylvia,' I muttered to myself out loud. Sylvia was over sixty years old now, still a fine woman but to see her in her twenties brought the realisation of just how tasty she had been.
On the wall Sylvia was doing a little twirl for the camera, I guessed she was being directed from the other side of the lens as she appeared a little awkward and her face had a questioning look. Sylvia turned and showed her tight buttocks, barely covered by the skirt she was wearing.
I imagined that she was showing off a new outfit, or was ready to go out and was just posing for the camera. If she was intending to go out in that skirt, down to the pub or a club, I bet she'd have been royally fucked by some lucky bastard later on that night. I wished I'd had a time machine; I'd have been onto Sylvia in an instant if I'd been old enough in those days.
Sylvia strutted around the room in her high boots, the camera following her every move. She was laughing and waving her long hair as she moved, pouting at the lens and wiggling her delightful rump playfully.
Then Sylvia did something that made me sit bolt upright in my chair.
She'd been cavorting around the room for a minute or so and then she sat down in one of the armchairs. She listened attentively to the unseen cameraman for a moment and then nodded and smiled wickedly. Sylvia sat back in the chair and pulled the hem of her tiny skirt even higher up her long thighs than it already was, she revealed the gusset of her knickers by slightly parting her legs, looking directly at the camera and biting her bottom lip seductively.
