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Tyaveli ya vishayavar jasta bolne zale nahi. Pan ratri aajine aatyala tyabaddal thodi kalpana deli hoti. Mhanje to mantrik ani tyacha sevak jungalat rahat ahet vaigare. Atyane te pharse manavar ghetle nahi. Ani aajine pan ghetle navte. Pan tya babala marathmolya bayka jasta avadtat he aikun tila jam gammat vatli. Dusrya divshi aatya baagkaam karayala baher padli. Ti dusri aajibai pan nuktich aanghol aatpun ghara baher aali hoti.Mi aanghol aatpun nashta karat hoto.Aatyane tyaveli tya divshi pramane kahi sexy ghatle navte. Pan aaj tine lugde tya divshi sarkhech ghatta thode khali nesle hote. Te dhopra paryant hote. Tine neslelya lugdyache ek vishesh goshta hoti ti mhanje mage sangitlya pramane te ghatta tar asech pan tyala chunya hi padat nasat. Chunya na padta eksandha ase te disat ase. Tyat tiche kule kinchit ubharlele(mothe navet) aslyane te aankhinch sexy disat ase. Te lugde sampurna aslyane tine padar ghetla hota. Blouse pan sadha nehmisarkha hatana kath aslela hota. Pan ticha. “Love you, Sweetie.”She had a helper bringing the food. Betsy placed our meals in front of us while her helper watched her at work.“Who’s your friend, Betsy?” Stuart wondered.“This is Sawyer,” Betsy said. “She’s in training.”Talk about dimples, Sawyer is all dimples with a hefty endowment in the bosom area.“Eye’s up,” Isabel said to him adding a giggle.“Thank you ladies, it all looks so good ... as does the food,” I said getting a jab in the side as our servers both laughed at me.“If there is anything you want, just yell for me,” Betsy said. Sawyer waved, then turned to follow her mentor.“Let’s eat, why don’t we?” Stuart suggested.“Good idea,” Jennifer said picking up her turkey club sandwich.The burger I ordered was remarkable, as were the Idaho grown large cut french fries.Sawyer came back by herself to ask, “Is everything just the way you like it, everybody?”“Everything is very good,” Ms. Guthrie answered.“Could I get a refill of my Root Beer, please?” I asked.“Sure thing,.
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There is just me, the music, and his eyes. The grass beneath my feet is cool, a contrast to the heat of the flame as I twirl around it. The air is still, moved only by the fabric of the loose robe I’m wearing. Its flimsy, almost see through, and as the music rises I let it drop, exposing my body to his eyes. The fire light flickers over my breasts, catches on my erect nipples, hardened by the knowledge of him watching me. They sway in time with my movements, rise and fall with my breathing. I know he is staring at them, at me, caressing me with my eyes, catching every movement, from the strands of my hair, down my torso, along my legs. They catch around the silk scarf I have wrapped around my waist, my only pretense at modesty. I know he wants me to drop it, but for now I just dance. The night sky is clear above, the stars shining down between the trees. Each one is like his eyes, watching me, starring, but the difference is in the heat in his gaze. I don’t know exactly where he is.

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