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me out, and Janey moving in – that I go a little zany. Down I sit on the sofa next to her, and, leaning over the bottom half of her body, I gently stroke a loose strap back into place. She doesn’t even stir, though her breath changes a little and she makes a tiny moan.
    Oh, dear God! Burning to touch more of her, I whisper, ‘Janey?’ and when I get no response I rest a hand on her waist. When this doesn’t wake her, I slide my palm round the dip of her hip, down to her perfect buttock, and I gently stroke her there, exploring the tight flesh. Oh, Kitten! I’m an abuser! I’m guilty of assault! But my pussy is burning so powerfully as I stroke and explore that I can’t seem to stop, and Janey lets out more little moans of pleasure – obviously she thinks I’m Lil. And she even whispers, ‘Oh, God, spank me,’ as she rolls onto her front – and even though it’s nothing more than a dreamy murmur, I’ve never felt so turned on in my whole darn life, especially when the flimsy shorts ride up between her bum cheeks and I can see her buttocks perfectly, rounded and ready.
    Now, thank heaven you’re only a notebook, Kitten, because what I did next is dreadful. But I promised to tell you everything, so here goes. I part my knees and slip my fingers up between my thighs and rub myself through my lacy knickers as I imagine slapping Janey’s bum. Just the thought of her lying across me while I lay right into her, making her eyes brighten as she claws my skirt, crying, ‘Yes, yes, yes,’ is enough to make me come in mere seconds, arching and groaning as the orgasm swallows me.
    As I collapse back, stunned at myself, I hurriedly try to make myself decent, but Janey is still sleeping, thank God. So I sneak away, devastated at what I’m turning into. Tonight I said no to a man who actually wanted to bed me, and came home to assault my twenty-three-year-old tenant.
    I’m turning into a pervert. And I need to take action right now.
    So upstairs, in my bedroom, I tell myself, ‘Never again,’ and I vow that, tomorrow, I’ll make plans to meet Guy for dinner and this time we’ll screw one another. Then I won’t think of assaulting Janey Prince again because Guy is a man with a cock – and men with cocks are the only thing I’m into. Really, deep down, I’m a man’s kind of girl.
    2.30 a.m.
    I can’t sleep, Kitten. All I want is to touch my poor pussy, thinking of Janey’s buttocks. But that’s as bad as touching her again without her permission. And I’m not going to do that, I promise, Kitten. This shoe shop manager had a strange, twisted blip, but she’s committed to becoming respectable again. And so, Kitten, goodnight.

Chapter Four
In His Shoes
    Wednesday, 7 March
    Dear Kitten,
    Today was – and still is – grey and rainy. And who buys shoes on a rainy day? Answer: an elderly woman who has a funeral to dress for and shakes her stick when you suggest court heels. I thought elderly people were usually polite, but since I’ve been working at Pussyfoot I’ve met all types. So, by the time lunch break came, I was relieved to meet Gladys for lunch at the Spring Onion Café. It’s our favourite place because it’s never too crowded – plus their baked potatoes are to die for. Turns out, Gladys is making the most of reverting to being a meat-eater by stuffing her face full of sausages, no less. ‘You’ll starve,’ she tells me as I dip into my baked potato. ‘You need some extra weight,’ she says, glancing at my waistline.
    ‘Just because I’m not a porker like you are,’ I say. And we both burst out laughing because we’re silly beyond words.
    Truth is, Gladys has surpassed herself today. She’s wearing a peacock-blue shirt with a topaz pendant and her hair is up in a bun, little tendrils framing her big brown eyes. She smells of expensive scent and she’s a bright vision on a rainy day.
    Anyway, she soon has me spilling the beans about my date with Guy. As I tell the story she watches me,