Burnley has a nice surprise for me

A meeting, a kiss and more, I hope there’s more to come

It was 1967. I’d collected my new (to me) E-Type Jag, a lovely silver-grey convertible, a couple of days before, so it was the first weekend to drive it. Sunday afternoon, summer so it was warm but the weather nothing special so the roof was on. I was in Burnley, heading downhill towards the town centre. The road was making a corner and I noticed a girl walking uphill on the other side of the road. A black girl, she looked 18 or so and she looked good. She looked over across the road, she’d noticed me, the car’s an eye-catcher. I’m sure there are plenty black people in Burnley nowadays but there weren’t then. So to see any black girl there was unusual and this one looked unusually good. At the first opportunity I turned round and headed back up the hill. She was still walking up and I stopped when I was level with her.
I rolled the passenger side window down and she came over. Tallish, slim and shapely, long braided hair, she was wearing tight blue jeans and a loose tee-shirt on top. The top was clinging to her body and leaving little to the imagination. It was well filled and obviously no bra. “Hi! Want a ride?” I said.
She smiled, that looked good too. “OK, I might. I’ll get in, then you take the next turn left, stop there and we’ll talk about it.” She had a West Indian accent, I didn’t know enough to pick the island she was from.
The left turn led into a cobbled street, terraced stone houses on the right, the left side looked down over a field towards the town below.
“I think you’re from the West Indies, which island? And what do you want to talk about, to decide if you want a ride with me?”
“I’m a Trini, I’m from Trinidad, but I’m here for three years in Burnley. Long enough to know that guys who offer lifts say “A ride for a ride.” I can’t offer you sex, I’m on the rags, on my period.”
“I don’t expect anything like that, you look good and I’d like to get to know you better. There’s some nice country round here, maybe you haven’t seen it yet. I’ll bring you back and drop you when you want, where you want.”
“I don’t have time today. I live there (she pointed at a house further down and across the street). I could meet you here this time next week. I wouldn’t go with just anyone, but I think I might like you and my period will be finished.”
“How about a little taster now, a little kiss and cuddle? You’re gorgeous.”
“If you’ve got ten bob, you can feel my tits.”
“But people can see from over the street.”
“Pretend we’re snogging, you can put your hands under my tee-shirt, no-one will know.”
I leaned over and put my left arm round her and pulled her towards me. “Never mind pretend to snog, I need to kiss those lovely lips.” She didn’t complain and she kissed back. I put my right hand under and up inside her tee-shirt and even now, so many, many years later, I can still enjoy the heavenly feel of her perfect breast in my hand. Then two hands, one cupping each breast.
“No-one’s around, I have to see them.”
She looked at me, looked around, smiled and lifted her tee-shirt up for a couple of seconds. Perfection!
“See you next Sunday around two.”
“Wait, you haven’t got your ten bob yet. And I’m Dave. I need to know your name, I’ll be thinking about you all week. And I need a goodbye kiss.”
“People call me Trini. And the ten bob was a joke, I’m not a tart.”
“A deal’s a deal, here it is. And the kiss……”
The kiss was bliss, and I was thinking about her all week until Sunday came round again.

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