Sailor Moon

That Saturday night the moon was so very

close, I felt I could reach out and touch it

through the cabin window of the liberty boat.

We crossed the harbour from 'Philly' and

came ashore at Admiralty Steps, heading

for Symonds Street and the Oriental.

Symonds Street was quiet but the Oriental

Ballroom was rocking.

She smiled at me through the crowd and

I was immediately drawn to her. Later she

told me that she was attracted to the blue

collar of my square rig and the crossed

cannons on my sleeve. I on the other hand

was attracted to her flaxen hair and the

shape of her breasts which were contoured

by her white peasant top. We danced as

Herma Kyle sang 'A Hard Days Night' and I

was intrigued by the way her nipples

stood out whenever I looked down into her

emerald green eyes. She was beautiful

and although the anti-war set of Auckland

were pointing at us, neither she nor I cared.

Her brother was in the Dutch Marines and

she had never even heard of Vietnam.

We kissed deeply when the last waltz

ended, the sparkle from the revolving

glass orb throwing fragments of light into

the depths of the crowded ballroom.

I couldn't believe my luck when she

asked me to her flat for a coffee.

We only drank tea on the ship.

The cab fare to her flat in Remuera cost

seven and six, but she paid without

batting an eyelid. it was more than two

days pay for an AB. We entered her flat

and quietly went into her room, her

flatmate was in but was busying herself

with a soldier fresh back from South East

Asia. His battledress jacket was slung

over a kitchen chair and I recognised

the combat ribbons. The coffee was

strong and thick, unlike anything I had

ever tasted and in her heavy accent she

explained it was Dutch.

The coffee was excellent.

I took my jumper and collar off, then

threw the silk and lanyard into my

upturned cap and we pashed for what

seemed like ages. She told me she was

24 which scared the hell out of me as I was

barely 17 and she was old enough to be

someone's wife. Presently she stood and

said 'bed' and I watched as she deliberately

drew her peasant top over her head to

reveal two unshaven and natural underarms,

and a pair of beautifully formed breasts. She

then slid down the mini skirt to reveal her most

intimate self. There was no bikini line, dark

shadows drifted down the inside of both thighs

and as well a dark inverted 'V' travelled upwards

to her navel. As tension heightened I reached

for my bell bottoms, popped the dome on my

money belt and withdrew an issue French Letter,

but she lightly stayed my hand.

The condom joined the silk and lanyard.

Presently she knelt above me, the most

natural woman I had ever seen and as our

lips met once more, she moved over me

and our bodies meshed. We kissed long

and slow as she rose and fell above me in

absolute control of her moment of passion.

I didn't know any Dutch words back then

but I guess that 'Eien Commen!' means

'Eien Commen!' in anybody's language.

Orgasms tend to cross the cultural divide.

She woke me at dawn and rang a taxi

while I dressed and then we chatted

about life in Amsterdam until the cab

arrived, and as she kissed me goodbye

she crushed a ten bob note into my hand.

It was only later that morning when we

were steaming out past A Buoy and into

the open sea that I realised that I had

never thought to ask her name, nor

she mine.

Things were different back then, later

they called it a sexual revolution.

©Mike Subritzky

2001