I remember this girl as an elegant one, with a fine sense of humour and a sophisticated mind. So you can imagine, she was provocative for teenage boys only by entering the classroom. But more than that I remember, that she gave me two great moments where I made a fool out of me.

The first moment was some day in school, when she took my exercise book from the desk and wrote something in, gave it back to me with the warm smile, that attracted me over years. I checked, she had noted her telephone number. "What for?" I asked. "Just that you have it", she answered.

Would you believe that? I was sitting there, near panic, because I felt like I should be very, very cool ... and I had no idea how to! She wafted away and I had a lesson what it means, if dreams come true. I was in trouble. My favoured interpretation was, she had done this for the fun of it. But in the main I felt, huh! Girls don’t act that way, I kept convincing me.

Let me tell you, she looked like one of these italian ladies, I had seen in movies. A proud one, handsome of course, allways blaming it on the young dudes, if some of them tried to get fresh with her. Do you know this special shoulder-and eyebrow-action, followed by a smile cutting like a knife? Sometimes with a pointed remark. I always had a weakness for these self-confident women. And guess! I never rang her up. My fear to compromise was stronger than my desire. But to be honest, I dreamed to hold her in my arms and more than that: to tell everybody.

Retrospective: I had too wimpy intentions and I think, it was best to keep on dreaming. She would have killed me. What a mess!

Years passed by and I met her again. She was a grown up beauty. And she was ... married. I had turned into a young hero, angry, unbreakable, playing the blues harp, writing poems and riding a motorcycle as old as I was, a big single cylinder-steamhammer, painted indigo, sounding like thunder in the night. We had some rendezvous sipping wine, making suggestions, having little touches. I still remember a special way of moving the corners of her mouth, causing a fine sound, that charmed me.

She once visited me in my apartment. I had furnished it in a Japanese style. Tatamis and a futon on the floor. No bench to sit on, no chairs, a wooden case instead a cabinet, a lamp of paper, stuff like that. Unusual in the 70ies. It was summer and she wore a light red dress with little white points. We spent this evening going slow. Kissing and hugging, not more, but it gave me a taste, what we could reach.

She asked me, if I could guess, what would be the most arousing touch for her, the most sensitive part of her body. Huh! Well, I even was smart enough to suspect, it would NOT be that simple, I thought at first. "Yes, I think so"; I whispered as a pretender, she smiled and walked a few minutes later. Of course I was disappointed seeing her leave, but I knew, I had to learn about the intentions and the schedule of a married lady. And I had silly dreams about the developing of this situation.

The night I had been longing for was dawning soon. In her apartment. While her husband was on a business trip. Wine and candlelight and really everything a jerk’s phantasy was about. But, my quest for her sensitive area failed like everything else. I’d been too fast, too rude, too much in my own ken. From the hollow of her knee, a spread of my fingers up her femoral, even this was quite over my head. And as she did not enjoy, what I was dreaming about, she kissed me goodbye. In fact I had been deaf and blind for the discreet signs and sounds of her body, so I never got to hear the explicit one.

I suppose, you can figure out, how young heroes dash away in such a situation. I was like a stray bullet on my indigo steam-hammer. And of course I only wanted to get drunk for the rest of this night to stop thinking about the deviation of my wet dreams and, hm, my experience. What a wonderful crash. What a great reason to wallow. How tough I suffered. I am sure, you know these scenes of men, hanging around in taverns with their lament about cold women over warm beer .

It took time to prick up my ears. I did not see her again. But years later, uups! Years? Decades later I remember a moment in a bar, flirting over glasses of wine, candles on the table, and I really was laid back then, I knew, this evening may pass by, cause if something is possible, there is no urge to happen today, I smiled and said: "Ya know, I like to go slow." The lady answered: "K, I tell you, women like to go slow."

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