John: I was just remembering the time I had my hand on my mother’s tit, in 1 Blomfield Rd,
John: I was just remembering the time I had my hand on my mother’s tit, in 1 Blomfield Rd, near Garston. This is when I was about 14, took the day off school. I was always doing that, hanging out in her house. We were lying on the bed and I was thinking “I wonder if I should do anything else”, you know. And it was a strange moment ‘cos I actually had the hots, as they say, for some lower class female who lived on the opposite side of the road. I always think I should have done it, presuming she would have allowed it… by the way, mother was wearing a black angora, short sleeved, round necked sweater. Not too fluffy, maybe it was that other stuff, cashmere. That’s it, cashmere. Soft wool, anyway. And I believe a tight, dark, tight yellow-green mottled skirt. Hey ho. I also remember seeing her going down on Twitchy, otherwise known as Robert Dykins, D-Y-K-I-N-S. Bobby Dykins, her second husband, I don’t know if she ever married him or not. She was under the bed sheets, and I wondered into the room 'cos I was staying there. Same period, fourteen on, thirteen on, whatever. And I can’t remember exactly what I felt. Shock, I know that. Cos I was already probably into it myself, probably wasn’t that shocked. It was the idea of going down on him, I think, sleazy little way with the nervous cough and the thinning, margerine-coated hair. He used to always push his hand in the margerine or the butter and grease his hair with it before he left. He used to keep his tips on a big tin on top of a cupboard in the kitchen and I used to always steal them, and I believe mother got the blame. That’s the least they could do for me. -- source link
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