Then I Touched Her Perfect Body With My Mind

In the mid 'seventies I was a feral teenager, I had no rules except to survive and enjoy. I had little or no regard for anyone except my Nonna and did very much as I pleased. My wife claims that not much has changed.

One evening my brother John and I ended up in a tacky night club. I seem to remember all night clubs being quite tacky back in the 'seventies. I think it's safe to say that we had both drunk far too much and, like all teenagers under the influence of drink, we became immortal and incredibly attractive to the opposite sex. These two beliefs often had me visiting the local A&E and suffering a deflated ego. But this evening would be different, as we had met two girls. These girls were different to any other girls I knew at the time. No they didn't have any extra man bits, it was the way they dressed and spoke. They were not conventional for the time, and they laughed and mocked both my brother and I but they did it in a playful warm way.

The funny thing about personalities is how quickly we form an opinion about people when we first meet them. Of course our assumptions are often way off the mark, but we have to make snap decisions - this is how we function. The other thing is how amazing it is the way we gravitate to certain people, this particular evening I sat with one of the girls and started chatting while my brother chatted to the other. This wasn't a conscious decision; we just all sat feeling very comfortable with each other. The night was a success and we agreed to meet again, though next time as two separate couples. The girl I was with was baby sitting for a friend that week who had to work late, so she asked if I would like to call up and sit in with her. I didn't hear the words "call up and sit in with me", my mind heard "why not have sex with me on Thursday?" so I eagerly agreed to meet up.

I planned my night of seduction very carefully, which meant I had a bath and changed my socks. I took my favourite album at the time with me, which was Tubular Bells by Mike Oldfield. This for me was late night music that was bound to loosen the tightest of knickers. I had all the seduction qualities of a rutting ox. I knew that it was only a matter of time before this poor hapless girl would swoon under my enormous charm and charisma, not to mention Brut aftershave. How could I fail?

The girl met me off the bus. She was dressed as if she was a country squire, with a tweed hacking jacket and jodhpurs. I had really never encountered anyone like this on my council estate. She was very witty and had an instantly recognisable voice. It was educated, with a hint of vulnerability, and very attractive to me. We walked up to the house where we were to babysit and we laughed and chatted. She asked about my album that I had firmly clutched beneath my arm. I thought I would educate her about music but she just smiled in a way that said the album has had its time, move on. She was, of course, correct; the album was about three years old by then.

We walked on up to the house, which was an old weavers' cottage, the sort that dotted the outlying areas of Huddersfield at the time, the same ones that are now modernised to such an extent that they are no longer recognisable. Her friend was a few years older than her, and was very attractive and welcomed me in a way I was not used to. She hugged me and gave me a kiss. I only got this from the Italian side of my family, not from strangers here in Yorkshire.

When her friend had left to go to work and the children were in bed asleep we turned the lights down low and with a warm drink sat in front of a large coal fire with its flames brightly dancing seemingly trying to escape up the chimney. I put Tubular Bells on the record player but instead of it having the desired effect of making her fall at my feet helpless to my commands she just sat there and chatted, just every now and then she would lean forward and gently kiss me. I was confused - this is not how seduction works! Surely you listen to my album, take off all your clothes, I then have sex with you and then catch the next bus home. I was a man of the world, damn you! 

I was in uncharted territory but hadn't yet worked it out. I wasn't the one doing the seduction! We listened to the whole album and if I'm honest I was bored of listening to it by the time it had finished. In the quiet of the room by the glow of the fire I could see her smile as she leaned forward and gently stroked my hair. Back then, I sported a full luxurious head of shoulder length hair. She again kissed me then whispered, “Have you ever heard of Leonard Cohen?”

Scared she might be suggesting a threesome I retorted, “ No, is it disco crap?” Destroying a beautiful moment. She smiled and said, “No, but it might take a bit of getting into for you.” I can't stand presumptions, especially if they are aimed at me! “Put it on then,” I said. With those words I didn't realise that something in me would change for the rest of my life.

As the needle gently rested on to the record the girl moved over to me and pet her arms around my waist and kissed me with a passion I had not encountered before. The music played, it was a low rhythmic voice the music strummed along in a hypnotic repetitive call, it calmed me it relaxed me then the voice spoke to me. This was not mindless formulaic chatter of 'seventies pop, this was the cry of a man that had suffered, a man that had loved and lost. He was bearing his soul by doing this he was bringing mine alive. I was transfixed with the music and the voice. The girl slowly took off my shirt kissing my body. As she did, I too slowly took off her top, kissing her in return. This was no longer having sex, this had become making love. I had never encountered an experience like this in my life. The music by now filled the room I was aware of every word that was being said by this incredible man but it was as if it was being spoken directly to me, and he knew how I felt deep inside, I didn't need the hard man image.

We both lay semi naked on the floor in front of the large imposing fire, our bodies entwined. We moved slowly and rhythmically, kissing and caressing as the next song played he spoke a line which even now resonates with me every time I hear it. As the girl and I kissed she stopped for just a moment and looked at me and smiled gently and the song said, “Then I touched her perfect body with my mind.”

I knew what he meant. I just knew, at that precise moment, that is what I was doing, I had been seduced, not only by an attractive and clever eighteen year old girl, but by a middle aged Jewish Canadian poet. His words, his voice, this was true seduction.

Both the girl and I spent the rest of the evening in love, it was a moment of magic we all have had them in our lives My love for the words and music of Leonard Cohen has never diminished, whereas the love for the girl did. Though she altered my way of thinking about making love and seduction, she couldn't alter my stubborn arrogance, and we split after a year or so. I have not mentioned her name as she has a family now and it wouldn't be fair to her but is she reads this she will, I'm sure, laugh at the thought of that evening.

When I heard the news that Leonard had died this week I was so sad. Those of us that purport to be poets know we are just scribblers when we hear his words. I make a living from my words but I'm just a pretender, an upstart who had no right to call himself a poet, when a master can reach such an ill educated disaffected yob such as I was back then.

By the way my brother's date fared a little better than mine. He and his date that night have been together now for nearly forty years.

RIP, the wonderful Leonard Cohen. A true genius.

Thank You!

Earlier this week I had the good fortune to spend a day with a young person who , though he has had to deal with lots of issues, is still good company. The young man in question has autism, which means he sees life through a unique pair of eyes.

He wanted to go to Wakefield in West Yorkshire to visit the Waterton collection in the local museum. Charles Waterton is credited as being the first naturalist. He collected animals from all around the world and brought them back intact to Britain. One of the famous stories about him is that all the collections of snakes here in Britain had wooden heads at this time because people decapitated them for safety while collecting them. Waterton wanted to change this and show animals as they were in the wild. One day while out walking in the jungle, Waterton found a large python and is supposed to have punched it in the face! When the poor creature came round, it coiled itself around our intrepid explorer, who then calmly walked back to camp with the creature intact. Who ever first told that story had no idea how a python kills its prey. Every time Waterton took a breath The snake would have tightened its grip until it would have been impossible for him to breathe. But what ever the truth was, the young man I was with wanted to see this snake in the museum, though it is now very dead and very stuffed!

So we set off on a bus together and he happily chatted as the bus slowly manoeuvred itself on what seemed a never ending journey. As we trundled along, I noticed a person I hadn't seen in a long time. This man was at school with me and, unlike lots of other people I have written about before who attended my school, this man is quite successful. He owns a very busy and, I would imagine, profitable business. But as he walked past the tediously-slow bus, I couldn't help but notice just how he had physically changed since our school days together. He had taken on board excessive timber and was now quite portly, plus his hair, though suspiciously jet black, now had a large "helicopter pad" on the back (bald patch). He wore a suit that screamed money and which needed to be let out by a good tailor, and to round up his new look he had a pair of small spectacles precariously balanced on the end of his nose. I had to smile, because he was regarded as a good catch when he was younger, as he was good looking and slim and his father had a successful business. I suppose now he still would be regarded as a good catch by some, and he seemed happy enough and is 'financially viable'.

As he rushed on I caught a glimpse of myself reflected back at me in the window, I noticed that the years of abuse have also taken their toll on my face, As my young companion carried on chatting away I couldn't help but think of the line from the song 'Once in a Lifetime' by the 'Talking Heads' “How did I get here?”

My life, like everyone else's life, has been a mixture of highs and lows. I have worked hard to make sure the highs far outweigh the lows. I thought about those I have met recently who have trodden different paths to me and paid a heavy price. I looked at my travelling companion, who had little or no say in his life, and who found it hard to make sense of what the world around him was doing (just like a lot of us I suppose). I thought about all the times in my life that I have been rejected for whatever reason, whether it was for a job, love or life, and I started to feel so happy.

I would like to take this opportunity to thank all the people who have rejected me in the past; all the employers, women, directors, editors, thank you all! This is not a sneer at any of them, as their rejection has led me to where I am now in life, which is in a very good place. I have everything I need, family and friends. I can choose what work I wish to do and who I wish to spend my time with. I can afford my bills (for the moment) and I live a good life. If I had been successful in any other way my life may have been so different, so thank you to all those who couldn't see what others could see in me.