*I haven’t chosen to tell this story to get a reaction. Although a big part of me is desperately curious to know what you think. And what you feel. I’m writing this because it’s cathartic, it helps me. It helps me to think about the things I’ve done. To figure out how I feel about these things. Whether I’m ashamed or not. If people are interested, I’ll tell the rest of my story, although it might need a few chapters.*
Home again from a night out with friends, off in gloomy rainy lovely Manchester. The cold walk back from the train station had left my exposed flesh goose-pimpled and a fair proportion of my flesh was exposed. My dress wasn’t as tight-fitting as some of my friends’, but it only just covered what it needed to. If I’d have bent over at any point in the evening a lot of people would have seen midnight-blue knickers and my firm little bum. I wrestled with the key and let myself into my parents’ semi-detached house in what must be Northern England’s tamest suburbia.