We danced. . .we talked and, well. . ." she again stretched on the bed and turned over on her stomach resting her head on her arms, "he really knows how to treat a woman." Wendy was smiling to herself with her eyes closed, in almost a dreamy-like state. I noticed that Wendy's lipstick was very smudged--must have been from the drinks."Well, I know how to treat a woman too, ya know," I said as I tried to show my bravado that, on this night, seemed to pale in comparison to Michael's.Wendy opened her eyes and looked over to me. With a knowing smile she said "I know you're probably really horny, but I'm really tired and I'd just like to go to sleep." But what about the strawberry daiquiris?" I said sadly."Oh they did the trick," she giggled. "I just don't think I can stay awake any longer. Go put the that stuff away and join me in bed," she said as she pulled back the bedding and began to slip off her clothes--pulling down her skirt first and then unbuckling her heels. Wendy is so. At my pleading my husband, against his better judgement, had bought me a scooter which allowed me to nip through the crowded streets of Mumbai, often with reckless abandonment to at least feel the rush of air on my face giving a flash of freedom. I would of course be properly dressed in my sari ensuring that the hem was correctly pulled over my head and face as a married woman. I drove for miles leaving the city behind me and heading to the beach or secluded woods where I could indulge in my guilty, but so pleasurable sin, I loved to be naked outdoors. The pure rush of joy mixed with the fear of being discovered was such a heady combination as I would unwind my sari until I was completely naked. Then I would lie on my back, crawl on all fours, dance in the sunlight, rejoicing at the sheer freedom of it all, often touching myself and bringing myself to a climax. It was last May that I took the step that led me to where I am today, five months with no rain and even in Mumbai the.
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