I had calls to make.“RK Lodges. Katie Kop speaking.”“Karen Post here.”“Where have you been?”“At a rendezvous in Norris, Montana. I had a...little accident.”“Dick and I were wondering if you were that Karen Post.”“Wondering?”“John Baird wrote an article about your little accident.”“In the Buckskin Report?”“Girl ... your picture is on the cover.”“ULP”“You haven’t read it?”“I don’t have a subscription.”Connie jumped up and started going through a basket of mail. It was one of those tubs the Post. But if you saw the arrow, pointing down the stairs to where us pervs could find a lovely dirty bookshop. It was a very warm day and I was overheating in my rainmac as I entered the doorway. I walked the length of the normal bookshop, passing people in shorts and T-shirts, one or two who glanced at this flustered-looking perv in his dirty mac, all done up, heading for the dirty bookshop in the basement. It’s the 70s and I’m still embarrassed being seen going into a dirty bookshop, but really I. More

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