As a little girl I used to daydream about my real father coming on a white horse to rescue me.
However I dress it up, I was a spy and I am not proud of it.
I enjoyed sex and indulged in it when I fancied the men.
I have survived and possibly I should not hope for more than that.
I never found anyone who was good enough, who I could trust enough.
Men, all men, were always trying to get hold of me, you know.