My friend and I were seated at the breakfast table on the balcony. For a moment, she looked at me as though I was an anathema to her (I felt genuinely...guilty). Then, she held my arm tightly and began to cry.Me: What’s the matter, Nisha? Is it your married life? (I asked taking a guess of course).My friend shook her head in agreement while still sobbing and trying to speak. I comforted her, and after a few minutes, she was able to talk about the problem. I listened to her problems without being. She would leave on a Friday morning and return mid-afternoon on Sunday.I would yearn for her arrival and look forward to smelling the scent on her body. Her lips tasted different and so did her body. I enjoyed the sensory changes that resulted from her being so physically intimate with another man. Nisha knew that when she arrived on Sunday afternoons from her weekend of tantric sex and its many permutations, that I was keen to have a taste. I enjoyed the fact that she had been of service to. More

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