***Warning: sexual content!***
1965, the year that changed my life
The Day of Pentecost
Monday 7th June 1965Buxton; we got the bus from that nostalgic scene in Manchester of so many comings and goings, Lower Mosley Street bus station, and while we were in or near Buxton took photos of each other in a dry-stone walled field. I still have one of me and Pam sitting together, where again she looks very uncomfortable to be there, and a rather risqué one of me leaping on to her, where all that can be seen of her is her left arm and some hair. This latter scene was not as spontaneous as it makes out, for a similar photo was taken of Chris and Hazel.
2. Afterwards, we were back in the upstairs front room in our, by now usual, positions on the settee: Chris and Hazel were to my left, and Pam was on my knees, leaning somewhat to the right of me; and much kissing was going on. My right arm was round her shoulder, but my left hand was free, and I tentatively moved it till it came to rest on her right breast. She may have looked at me through lowered eyelashes, as if to say, “And what do you think you’re up to, Master Cooper?”; but she didn’t resist, even when I started stroking the breast with my extended fingers and palm. Soon I started gently rubbing from side to side, from one to the other, one to the other. And she started to gasp and to groan, not very loudly, but repeatedly. And she seemed a bit alarmed, for she asked, “What’s happening to me?” I could only shake my head, for nothing like this had ever happened before in my experience. “Is this supposed to happen?” she asked me, and I was at a loss to give her an answer. “I don’t know,” I said.
3. I was very fond of Pamela, but apart from that moment of passion, she didn’t seem to return my love, and in fact her attitude to me was often quite cold. During this evening, for example, she became rather “moody” and quiet, and I heard her mutter something. I asked her what she had said, for I had the momentary impression that it was: “I— don’t— like— you.” But she told me it was nothing.
Pamela’s fifth letter
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