The two I will mention played with and aroused my lively dirty mind more than my unloved, ugly pussy.To be fair, the first, Anil, did not know what he...was doing to me. He was an Indian postgraduate student I met during my year in Cambridge. He was a historian, came from a three-generational Indian railway family. He worked on a thesis and book about the nineteenth Century colonial railway boom.I was stuck in Newham’s, a women’s college. Anil and I met over a shared table in a Pakistani. I return to my doorway perch and continue to watch and listen to the entertaining show you provide. I hear you smell the air, taking in the delicious aroma of black coffee, and watch your head lean back, while the water pounds your chest.“Good morning, love,” I hear you say.“Hi, darling,” I reply with a small giggle. Somehow, it’s like I can feel your smile through the steam and fabric curtain.“Would you like to...” you pause, as you hear the curtain pull back and the mild shock of wafting cold. More

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