I remember past occupants of this bare box and think of what they must have felt when I left them here, alone, over a weekend or longer. I consider ho... they must have reflected upon their limited futures. I wonder what went through their minds, after two days of total isolation, when they heard my boots in the corridor, returning. I speculate on whether, as I turned the key in the lock, they in fact felt relief – or simply new fear. Then I remember a poignant moment, two years ago. Returning. It took place in mumbai. My friend’s mom was 48 and she was a beautiful woman, fair skin, big round boobs and over all bulky fleshy buttocks. Jab jab main unhe dekh tat ha mere lund khada ho jata tha. Unki naam tha shukla. Shje was a bengali lady. Who jab jab chalti thi uski gund itna hilta tha ki mujhe mann karta tha ki who hilte huye gund ke bich apna lund ko rub karte rahoon. Main to apni dost ki baap ko envy karta tha ke kitne kismet wala honge who insaan joy eh godi godi boor ko aapne lund. More

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