Her name, Bea, (probably Beatrice) was one of those old names you hadn’t heard in years, like Gladys, Gertrude, Hortense etc, that told you without ...eeing them, they were aged.The next day, my 8th of the 10 I planned, I once again passed the woman, Bea, and she greeted me as always with a good morning and after a few more steps she said, loud enough for me to hear, “after following me home, I thought you might ring my bell”.I stopped and said “I’m sorry?” It was not an apologetic response, I. I could see she was too; her nipples bursting thru her prim sweater. Her hand caressed my thigh before we pulled away and we’d driven out to a scenic spot and parked up.It wasn’t long before we were necking and kissing; then she had her fingers up my school skirt twanging my clitoris like a banjo. But that’s the last thing I remember.Letting go of the dog, I muttered, “How did I get here for heavens sake Amanda?“O there you are Sharon, I was wondering when you’d come round; I suppose you’ll be. More

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