The sexual power of a woman
It happened when I had just turned eighteen years old, and looking to get on the first rung of the property ladder. I had arranged an appointment with my bank manager to see if he would lend me the money so that I could take out a mortgage on a flat that I fancied in town. His name was Mr Brown, an ageing gentleman with old school values. I wore my tightest crop top that I could find in my wardrobe, along with red fishnet stockings and high heels, suspender belt, and a skimpy skirt, which only...