I’ve had a few adventures during those years, the sort you’d read about in erotic novels. There was one particular house where two young females lived; their names were Charlene and Carrie Wright. I had seen them blossom into the finest pair of young women on the street. Charlene had just turned eighteen and Carrie was nineteen, so when they greeted me in the mornings, I was familiar with them both. I knew that Charlene had just turned eighteen, simply because I had a wad of birthday cards in my bag for her. I was running a bit late that morning, as there had been a minor accident at the depot, which put everybody behind. Charlene greeted me, knowing that I would have a few cards on me. I sorted their mail out and then took one out of my jacket pocket. "This is from me," I said handing her another card. She pecked me on the cheek and started to say thanks, when we heard Carrie cry out. It sounded urgent so I rushed into the house to find a small fire coming from the frying pan. Carrie was just about to throw water on it, when I shouted, 'No!' I quickly explained that that would just fuel the fire, while wringing a tea towel out under the sink taps.
