She told me that she read my post and was interested in me. We exchanged few emails. Slowly we started getting to know each other. She was married and her husband works in a private firm and she was a lecturer in a college in Bangalore. She told me that she was sex deprived and wanted to do it. Then sex chatted for a month and we shared our fantasies and fetish. We were more like friends.She told me that she trusts me and she wants to meet me. We never exchanged photos till now. Then later one day she asked me to wait at Indiranagar KFC signal at 10 in the morning as it’s the time when she’s alone at home. I reached the place at 9:45 and was waiting near the metro station. She texted me on hangouts that she’s near the metro station too and she’s in a black Honda city. I saw the car and I went near the car and opened the door. Omg, what I saw was an angel and I was spellbound. I sat next to her. She was in a red saree. Long hair, fair and a bindi on the forehead. She looked like a. But it was Marta who snapped to attention. ‘Listen here, missy,’ She barked. The cameras were off, apparently the switch that stopped the rolling of film also turned off her geniality, too. ‘This isn’t however serious you’re making it out to be, okay? You don’t do anything except pout when the cameras are on. Get your attitude in gear! So you’re butch, you’re masculine, we get it. That’s why we picked you in the first place. Well, so are those boys on ‘Queer Eye’.’ There they went again, using references to which Dez was only fuzzily acquainted. ‘Those boys let the queers dress them up in pink and become little metrosexuals and you can’t even handle a skirt. If they’re secure enough in their masculinity to do that, why can’t you?’ At that point, Dez was angry. She’d spent the last two days getting primped and polished, touched more in an hour than she’d ever been touched her whole life, being remarked upon and tweaked in ways that felt degrading. And the whole time, she’d issued soft.
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