After the shower, I put my boxer shorts on again and go looking for Ms Chowdry. I find her in the bedroom, sitting on a cushion on the carpet. In front of her are a tea pot, two filled cups, a bunch of coloured flowers, some incense sticks and two burning candles, which are the only light in the room. She invites me with her warm voice to sit down next to her. She wears an orange nightgown; as I lower myself on the cushion, I see her full breasts shining through the fine fabric, her nipples stand out clearly. Most of her thigs is visible, gleaming in the candlelight. No doubt, she still is a very attractive and well-shaped woman.
As the sweet and fragrant tea wets my tongue and throat and my eyes enjoy the sight of her thinly-veiled body, I suddenly perceive that she looks, with a tender and knowing smile, to my shorts where a bulge is already well perceivable and growing. Embarrassed, I say: "Nice flowers you have here." "Well, take one and give it to your girlfriend!" "Oh, I don�t have a girlfriend." "No date that you can give the flower to?" I sigh. "Well, I don�t have a hand for girls, I guess. The few times I managed to come to kisses and hugs, she usually didn�t want to meet me again. Guess I just don�t know how to treat a girl - or a woman like you..."
She laughs gently. I see the candles dance in her mellow eyes. She leans towards me and puts her hand softly on my knee: "You know, we in India have known for centuries that sexuality is an art to be cultivated, developed and passed on. Nobody is born as a master, you need lots of practice for that; and it�s much easier if you start by learning the basics properly." And, whispering: "I could offer you some extra tuition in that field...";
|