Wo boli: Maza aata hai.Maine bola: Haa.Fir maine usse poocha: Aap dekhti ho?To wo boli: Haa.Maine poocha: Aapne kara hai?Wo boli: Nahi.Acha ye bata, m...in kaisi dikhti hu?Maine bola: Achi.Wo boli: Bas achi?Maine bola: Haa.Wo boli: Mujhme kya acha lagta hai?Maine kuch nahi bola.Fir wo boli: Mere boobs ache lagte hai naa tujhe? Tabhi dekh raha tha.Maine haa mein sar hila diya. Fir usne apna hath mere hath par rakha, aur sehlaane lagi.Fir wo boli: Teri nunu kaisi hai, dikha to?Maine bolna: Nunu. He was rugged in a manner men nowadays weren’t accustomed to. That’s what the girl with the golden ring loved about him. To her, he was macho and unforgiving in his dusty, worn blue jeans and a relaxed long sleeve shirt. He even wore one of those green aviator jackets with the orange lining. God, she loved him in that. He was what women loved about a man in uniform. She knew it the first time she saw him hosing down Engine 18 outside the local station house. Her uncle was a firefighter back in. She had said her goodbyes to everyone and wished Eric luck with keeping the house together while she was gone. Lucy had agreed that she would help as much as she could in her free time and Ruthie was old enough to look after herself and help some even. On the plane she relaxed while looking out the window and listening to some soothing music. She thought about all the possibilities that NYC held and what she might do while she was there. Once at the airport in NYC Annie caught a cab and headed. I was nearly home when my phone rang. It was a lady, obviously local, the accent remember, and could she come and see me. We agreed a time just after lunch. I started to give directions but she said not to worry she knew where I was. Fine, I continued home and had lunch.At exactly the appointed time the doorbell rang and I opened the door to find none other than my tattooed lady standing on the door step. I was somewhat surprised, but of course didn't show it. She was dressed exactly the same.
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