”“No, I don’t think so,” you tell him “I think I’d like you to have a Bacardi Breezer, what do you think?”“Okay, I’d like the lemon ...ne”“You’ll have Watermelon and unless I’m very much mistaken, it’s your fucking round so give John the money so he can get them,” you hiss.He sheepishly hands over a ten pound note but with a twinkle in his eyes. I get the drinks.“What are you wearing underneath?” you ask.“Nothing” he says “you told me not to wear underwear.”“Good boy, open you zip!”“What?” he. I am also into sports and second, sometimes third base foreplay.I had met Vineeta’s husband on a few occasions. He seemed pleasant enough. He left the house early each day in formal clothes and came home late most days with a scowling face and disheveled hair. He drove a nice car, she drove a smaller one.At weekends they’d have occasional parties, they’d have their share of visitors and they generally seemed to have a nice set of Indian couple friends. It seemed then as if they had a typical. More

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