#207030 - The summer of 1965 was particularly fine so it wasn’t uncommon for me to sit around our secluded garden reading a Detective novel when my parents were at work. The next few days were quite uneventful apart from Thelma whispering “My cunt is dripping!” or “I’ve just fingered myself…do you want to smell my fingers?” when ever she walked past me out of earshot of my parents. Thelma and Me (Summer of 65) Part 1 Thelma was 22 and like all of the young women at that time was still living at home with me and our parents in rural Kent; even though she had a good job in local Department Store.
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