Me And Mrs Hotter: Our Little Secret
The wages of purchasing dirty magazines
It was without doubt the most embarrassing moment of my life. There I stood in a back street with a brown paper bag between my feet and its contents, five dirty mags, spread out on the pavement in front of me. Not only that, but Mrs Hotter was standing there staring, hand over mouth.Mrs Hotter was her real name, by the way, which occasioned a great deal of sniggering among us boys-becoming-men, but that’s neither here nor...