I blame my mum for what came next, which I know has elements of Oedipus about it, but it's really not like that, not by a long shot. It was just a matter of coincidence; of circumstance.

When I was a little girl I went through a stage of having nightmares, really bad nightmares. Not your bog standard monsters under the stairs crap but real life stuff. My family getting hurt and killed and lost and stuff. I don't think they ever really got to the bottom of why, and ended up just chalking it down to experience, but while they lasted I spent a hell of a lot of time out of my own bed and in there's. It must have driven them absolutely bonkers, but I remember mum always being especially kind to me, and letting me sleep literally on top of her, my arms wrapped tightly round her neck and my head on her chest. Dad always said that I probably felt safest there because I'd have been able to hear and feel her heartbeat, like in the womb, which I have no idea if its true or not but I think sounds quite good.

So that night, with Connie, when she held me as I cried, it just seemed so natural for me to lay my head next to her heart that, that was precisely what I did. And since she made no complaint or comment, and because we'd been pretty close for most of the evening I assumed that she was as happy with the arrangement as I was and let myself drift off to sleep.

This is… no… was the embarrassing part. Going back to the whole kid thing, I have vague recollections of stroking my mum's breast though her nightdress. Now I'm sure this is some big huge Freudian nightmare on so many levels but my mum always seemed to just let it go. At the end of the day I was 4 or 5 – it wasn't a sexual thing, it probably just goes back to when she was nursing me as a baby.

All the same, you can probably see where this is going; I woke up to find myself stroking the breast of a woman who not only wasn't my mum, but who was virtually a stranger to boot. The whole thing was a complete and utter car crash moment, even as I looked up at her my hand was still on her, grazing her nipple through her top in a way that it so shouldn't have been doing, I just couldn't bring myself to tear it away although embarrassment was flooding through me in a way I had no idea was possible.

"I'm sorry." I blurted out, waiting for her to slap me or similar but to be honest, she looked as embarrassed as I did, her cheeks were flushed red and she was every inch the deer caught in the headlights.

I finally managed to find the sense to snatch my hand away and we were left just looking at each other and I'm sure she had no more idea how to diffuse the moment than I did. I tried with another half arsed apology but it sounded piss weak, a bit too much "oh I'm sorry I grabbed your tit" and not enough effort to genuinely excuse my behaviour.

Torn between running out of the room in tears to concentrate on being embarrassed out of my mind in private and pouring myself another large drink in order to drink myself into oblivion, I weighed up my options before eventually settling for a drink twice the size of my previous two. Connie watched me both pour and down it before she finally managed to find words that had apparently evaded her in the minutes that had passed since I'd woken.

"It doesn't matter." I turned to look at her wondering how exactly she was managing to find the good grace to excuse my behaviour, but as she spoke again she gave me the answer that would make it entirely crystal clear.

"You don't need to be embarrassed… actually…" her cheeks flushed an even deeper shade of red, "… I liked it Martha, I liked you doing it…"