At the door to our tent, I climbed to my knees. An upset bride once asked a famous advice columnist, "My husband insists on urinating in our backyard....Why does he do that?"Her answer became the stuff of legend, "Because he can."I shuffled forward and, plumbing in hand, and sprayed the dry, dusty ground of our cave with a monsoon of yellow rain, the first moisture in more than a hundred years.Lighting a cigarette and holding my prick in my right hand, I glanced at my wristwatch. The time glowed. I found myself in an alley, behind a bar, in a questionable part of a city that I didn't recognize. In other words, I didn't know where the fuck I was. I sat there in a filthy alley, leaning up against an old brick wall.I was trying to get myself together when the door in the wall opened and out came a very large gentleman. He looked up and down the alley and then turned back to speak into the building,"That asshole Tony is not back with the car yet, Boss."My foggy brain realized that he was. Let me make you one thing clear, I was not so much besharm to exploit the problem of some one. It is always a positive signal from opposite side which provided me a opportunity.Due to my on family status,I am a mauji person,used to wear good clothes, Kalaf wali shirts and suits, heavy usage of perfumes.So she herself was more attractive towards me as compared to other people roaming around. I even noticed that at night, when I was on duty, she used to wear tight shalwar qameez.With the pessage. "I'll earn it tomorrow." That got me a smile."I'm sure you will, dear."That evening I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling, my mood swinging from despair and anger to defiance and glimmering hope– Despair at having my plans for a wonderful summer snatched away; anger at my inability to snatch them back; defiance with my remaining plans for biking and hanging out with my friends; The hope was that just maybe Uncle Milton's supplier would come through with my order; and, just maybe, that.
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