Christmas 1961 and summer was upon us. City Beach was my preferred beach for swimming and surfing. But Marilyn used to go to Scarborough or Trigg Beach with her family. I didn’t hesitate. If I didn’t have the Chevvy I hitched my way to Scarborough to spend time with Marilyn and her family. She wore a demure one piece pair of bathers. A white ribbon about an inch wide was threaded across the top. She wore a blue clip in her hair which she kept adjusting. Her skin was warm, soft and gentle. She never smiled a lot and sometimes looked a little sulky but maybe it was just aloofness.
One late afternoon after a warm Summer’s day at Scarborough Marilyn and I walked to a dilapidated old beach shack just behind where the infamous Snake Pit used to stand (on the new Woolworths site). The old weatherboard and iron shack was owned by a friend or relation of Marilyn. There was no-one home. Alone inside, I took Marilyn’s hands in mine, drew her delicate warm body to mine and slowly I kissed the softest, warmest lips I had ever kissed in my life. Neither of us spoke a word. We looked into each other’s eyes. Then we kissed again ….. and again. Afterwards, I walked from Scarborough back to Wembley alone, a distance of about fourteen kilometres. It felt like 100 metres. I did not want to wash away the kiss or the feelings I had by sharing my feeling with a hitched ride. It was summer, glorious summer. I was seventeen and I wasn’t dreaming.
