Brenda thought that she'd have to go to Mississippi when  Mickey's body wasn't found at first.  Luckily, it turned up three days later.  She knew it sounded cruel and callous to think that way, she certainly wasn't daft enough to voice it out loud.

            She was - not pleased - that wasn't the way she felt, she was - relieved - that she didn't have to go  all that way for that purpose.  Seemed a waste.  Well.  It would have been one last favour though, to have gone there for Mickey. 

       She'd met Mickey at the local disco.  She and a few mates were having a laugh.  Brenda and Charlie had come back from the loo, a swig of vodka from the quarter bottle in Charlie's capacious  handbag had done the trick.

      It was giggles galore as they circumvented the dance floor, eyeing up talent.  "Don't fancy yours much," Charlie laughed as she pointed out two unlikely candidates standing eyeing up likely females on the floor. 

     "Too true you don't, I don't fancy him either!"

     Just then a tap on Brenda's shoulder made her turn round.

     She looked into a pair of blue eyes, saw a cheeky grin, and said: "Okay, mate, let's dance."

     She winked at Charlie as she was taken by the hand and led on to the dance floor.  Charlie winked back and was immediately accosted by a guy.  Brenda laughed when she saw Charlie-girl dancing as only she could.

      "My name's Mickey, by the way."

     "Hi, I'm Brenda."

     And that was how it began.  Mickey was the best snogger Brenda had ever come across. That was her downfall.  She couldn't get enough.

      She was sweet seventeen and her hormones were raging.  They'd been babysitting one night, a good excuse for a snog. 

     "Come here, gorgeous," Mickey rolled on top of her on the settee.  His nose touched hers, his tongue flicked over her lips.  Brenda melted instantly. 

     How were you supposed to resist, she wondered?  She wanted Mickey to do it.  He was the one to resist.  "We'll have to wait until we're married, Brenda.  As soon as you turn eighteen we'll get married.  But until then," he nuzzled her neck, "we'll just have to go easy."

     When she dragged his face back to hers, begging his tongue to get back in there, Mickey's repeated 'No, we can't' didn't go down too well.  But all of her protests were in her mind. Brenda couldn't bring herself to say them out loud.  She hadn't been brought up to express her emotions.

     Hailstones ping'd at the window.  Little Sal cried.  Reluctantly, Brenda remembered why she and Mickey were there.  Giving what she hoped was a seductive look, copied from a teen soap, Brenda slowly moved away from the settee.

     Eighteen at last.  And Mickey gave in.  A disappointed Brenda had preferred the foreplay to Mickey's later exploration.  Nothing happened.  That's what got a girl down.  All that build-up, all that excitement and delicious feeling, and then - nothing.

     Mickey saw the hurt look on Brenda's face.  The gift he saw her as bestowing on him made him love her all the more.

      "Don't worry, Bren, we'll get married now."  What else could a girl do but comply?

     Brenda threw her bunch of wild flowers outside the church.  Millie, the local bike caught it.  Mickey pulled Brenda onto his knee as the taxi sped away.  One night of so-called bliss in a city hotel.

  Brenda stayed awake all night listening to apparently non-stop traffic.  Non-stop drunks too, having a non-stop good time.  Where was her good time?

     So began married life.  Mickey joined the Merchant Navy.  "I'm not asking you not to go out while I'm away, Bren, but just watch what you do," he had said.  "I love you, Brenda," was what he'd left her with.

     Mickey couldn't help it.  The sea was in his blood.  Take that as an omen if you like.  Postcards would arrive from many ports of call.  Brenda started her collection of postcards with those sent by Mickey.  They saved him from having to write more fully. 

     Brenda pretended to be a little housewife to the likes of her mother and her mother's cronies.  She had the protection of the title, old-fashioned as that was, but she was pleased she didn't usually have to deal with the smelly socks.

     Yet, our Brenda was full-blooded.  What was a girl to do?  She had enough money in the bank, Mickey would never let her go short.  Except in that particular way he couldn't help - well - he could, but she couldn't talk about that.

      One day, Brenda saw a girl's handbag being pulled from her shoulder by a guy on a motorbike.  "Hoy, stop that!" Brenda couldn't stop herself.  She pulled the bag from his shoulder before he had a chance to make his getaway. 

     Cath and Brenda became bosom buddies after that  Each Saturday night they hit the dance scene.

     A half bottle of vodka was secreted in each handbag.  Don't men understand that's why girls are so anxious to hang onto their handbags in a teetotal or too-expensive dance hall?  Trip to the loo in twos too.  Camaraderie born of necessity:  "Hey, girls, have you any Coke to go with my vodka? Give you a slug of vodka for a bottle of Coke."

     Brenda and Cath always  got condoms from the machines in the loos.  They'd go back to Cath's place with their pickups.  Cath's flat was dingy, but worked well enough for what they had in mind.  Designer wallpaper, bed coverings and paint were all very well, Cath thought, but she preferred to use her money on fun things.   And the guys were more interested in what was on offer in bed than what aesthetic value they could get from their surroundings.

     Sometimes, the men would last from one weekend to the next.  Yet, both Cath and Brenda preferred the freedom of one-night-stands.

     Brenda was searching for  a climax.  She didn't feel she was wanting much out of life.  She would analyse the method each guy used.  Their sucking and licking and fingering she'd measure in terms of roughness, and in pleasure.

     So far, none of them could hold a candle to Mickey.  He could get her randy and kiss her better than anyone she'd come across yet.  But neither he nor his would-be replacements did the climactic trick for Brenda.

     It had to happen.  Brenda had blossomed into a highly desirable young woman.  Now, one of her potential one-night-stands wouldn't agree to only that.  "Divorce him and marry me," he begged.     She didn't normally tell the guys that she was married, but she was trying to put Jack off.

     Brenda really did fancy him.  He had short black hair, deep blue eyes and very kissable lips.  But if she was to get heavy with anyone, Mickey would be sure to find out.  Safety in numbers after all.

     Then Jack discovered how to do it right!  Brenda achieved a climax at last!  Hallelujah!  Jack surfaced for air and Brenda nearly ate him alive.  They went on all night.

     Still, Jack wasn't working at the moment.  And Brenda was used to her little luxuries which came her way via Mickey's generosity.  She wanted her cake and eat it too. 

     Why not?

     Just as Mickey had wanted to marry her as soon as she reached eighteen, so Jack wanted to marry her as soon as she became single.  Brenda spoke softly, kitten-like, "You know I love you, Jack."  She kept telling him what he wanted to hear.

      She had no wish for this particular well to run dry.  Every time Jack did his magic, she would say:

       "Jack, Mickey refuses to divorce me."  And when Jack said he would go to see Mickey, Brenda could console herself, knowing she had never, thankfully, given Jack her true address.

     One day a Merchant Navy official called with bad news.  Mickey had gone with some others for a night out in New Orleans.  Using a boat from the diesel-powered ship, they had rowed ashore.  They were in high spirits, pleased to be free, looking forward to the excitement of a new drinking hole.  On the way back, Mickey had somehow disappeared between shore and ship.

      They flew Mickey's body home.    Brenda sat at her kitchen table, dressed dramatically in black, writing to Mickey's family. They all lived a great many miles away.   She discovered she suited black.  The tears she cried for Mickey's loss of life were genuine.  Yet, Brenda was used to living alone.

     Now she really did have her cake and eat it too.  She didn't tell Jack that Mickey was dead - not yet.  So long as Jack stayed up to scratch in the bedroom, she would go on letting him bestow his gift on her.  If he found a job, she'd then think of telling him of Mickey's death, think of marrying Jack.

     Meanwhile, Brenda had Mickey's pension,  and his insurance money.

    One fly in her ointment though.  She misses Mickey's postcards.