And looking around at the display of breasts it seemed as if it might be the best thing that had ever happened to me. Rose had invited me home for supper—pot luck, she said—because I was temporarily on my own. XXX I was constantly treated to the sight of gaping cleavage and deep valleys and rolling hills, and two or three times the edge of a delectable pink pagoda came into view. I was eighteen at the time, and I’d never been invited out by a girl before. Then up again, and down again a little lower as if she could take me no further. My pants were hauled right off, and then my shorts, and I thought that was the last of the indignities.
