On her knee, and over it

When I was around four (it certainly wasn’t any older, as I hadn’t started school), my mother took a little cleaning job to help boost the family income, and she left me in the care of a much older lady (mid-40s) called Mrs Clarke.

Mrs Clark was originally from Barbados and had come to London about five years earlier in search of work – this was during the mid 1960s, by the way. She was the typical West Indian ‘momma’ type – tight, frizzy ‘afro’ hair, broad hips and large, motherly breasts. She sometimes got in the tub with me when she bathed me, so I can still remember her shiny black skin, her ample tits and the dark bush of hair around her pubic area.

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