When I was 17 I worked for a national bank's head office in a north of England city. One afternoon, just after the bank had closed to the public and we were cashing up, the bank manager called me to his office on some pretext. Without any preamble, he got up from his desk, shoved his hand up my skirt and his tongue down my throat. I can remember gagging and struggling to get away. He eventually let me go but as I was leaving his office, he slapped by bottom very hard and told me to keep quiet. And I did. It was 1969/1970 and I knew that if I said anything, I'd be told that it was my own fault for wearing a mini skirt. He must be long dead now but I remember his name and his face like it was yesterday.
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