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beautiful body, life was returning, lust was returning.
    One hour and forty-five minutes later, I’d gone from a totally inexperienced virgin to a rampant stud. The learning curve was so rapid that it had me worried. Something was not right. The music played on and I didn’t recognise a single song. Somebody had stolen Radio One and turned it into the adventure in the bland. My body seemed to know things I didn’t have any clue about, to go places I’d never even thought of. It was as if I’d been born genetically programmed to be a willing and athletic lover. Bloody hell, I was one hell of a fast learner! I liked what I learned to the extent that I was insatiable. I wanted more, much more, and I wanted to soak my body in the experience. I wanted more now!
    â€œCome on, Sam, let’s do this all day. I feel I can keep going for hours,” I said.
    â€œNo!” she said.
    â€œWhy? I want it, I want you, all of you, I want to consume every bit of you,” I said. I was one sexy and very randy young bastard.
    â€œNo, you must get up. Mike will be here at twelve,” she said.
    â€œMike who?” I asked.
    â€œMike who you are going to play pool with later. Mike my husband. So stop messing about pretending to be seventeen and get dressed now,” she said.
    â€œYou’ve got a fucking husband?” I said.
    She just rolled her eyes and walked back into the changing room, this time to clean herself of us, and to get dressed for the town.
    I knew these people, this I’d already figured. I hadn’t a clue how I knew Sam who was actually Samantha. I knew Mike, I played pool with him, and he was her bloody husband!
    The song “We gotta get out of this place. If it’s the last thing we ever do” came into my head. I had to make an excuse. I’d just had a life changing experience and didn’t think I could stand playing pool with a man whose wife had just given me all these sensuous gifts. He might see the truth in my smile.
    Walking into the bathroom to go to the loo was a pivotal moment that would change the rest of my life. It’s hard to describe the fear this moment instilled in my mind. What started this reaction was my reflection in the full-length mirror at the back of the dressing room. This had been unnoticed as I staggered in to take a piss with my now forgotten terrible hangover. The large mirror was a little misty from the steam of the shower. The image was indistinct, like looking at somebody through a thick fog.
    What was standing before me wasn’t me, it was a different me, but it wasn’t another person, it was still me. Overnight I’d put on several kilos, possibly eight or ten. My hair was much blonder, longer, and I was different! I couldn’t put my finger on it. The hangover was coming back with a vengeance as I struggled with this strange vision. What was so different? It was a mystery that wasn’t going to be solved by standing there, gaping at a disturbing misty image.
    Then I saw it. On the dressing table was a telephone, not a telephone like I’d ever seen before. Why was I focusing on the telephone? These people had money. They could afford unique things that could only be purchased in London. The phone had touched a nerve memory. It had triggered a feeling of strangeness. Something was different. Something was wrong. I was groping in the dark for an answer, any answer, or any clue as to what was causing this feeling of being disorientated with the world. On the top of the linen basket was a newspaper. It was a copy of the
Daily Mail
, on the front page a picture of the Prime Minister. I didn’t recognise him. Then and only then did I see the date. It was August 23 rd 1973. The
Daily Mail
had said so. It wouldn’t lie, would it?
    â€œWhat day is it?” I asked.
    â€œIt’s Saturday,” Sam shouted from the shower.
    The
Daily Mail
was Thursdays.
Shit
. Today was the 25 th … I went out on