.Me : plz hum.Frnd ni ban saktee….Plzz plzzz…She : nahi byee….Me : plzz be my frnd I really likee you….She : okey thik hai bt only friend agey...ke liye kuch matt kehnaa…Me : okhey (usko kyaa maalum agey ke liye toh msh kiyaa hai hahhahaa)Thode dino baad fone par baatey karne lag gaye…. Baatey karte karte usnee mujhe khaa maine tujhse milna hai…..Maine khaa thik hai usne jagah btaadi or tym btaa diyaa…..Mai bhi chala geya milne…Maine jab use dekha toh dekhtaa hi reha geya…..Muhh mein laddu futne. I wasn’t sure if her hand placement was intentional or not, but nobody else noticed it and I tingled at the thought she was hitting on me. Midway through the third song she gently cusped my hand for around 10 seconds, before sliding her hand back under the table towards my knee. This time while she began caressing my inner thigh with her hand, I clasped her hand. As her hand movements got bolder I got the courage to move one of my hands over her thigh. Sarah looked into my eyes while I soaked. Corruption of Natalie. I craved deviance. Perversion. I wanted to defile Natalie. I wanted to violate her. Natalie obviously had no clue as to my true intentions. She only saw the polite, courteous, high achieving college guy I was. Kind and generous. Witty. Funny. Caring towards others. And most importantly towards her. This was all true. And yet it did not tell the whole story. As we sat together on the couch watching TV, smiling, cuddling, and chatting inane nonsense, all I could think of. The conversation turns into an update on how mutual friends and acquiantances are doing. "Have you heard such-in-such about Michael?" "Oh that's crazy, but I heard so-in-so divorced her husband and became a nun." Naturally it starts getting more and more personal as these two women adopt their much practiced conversational intimacy. I am mostly watching the soccer match that is on the television because I don't know any of the people they are talking about and the conversation is basically the.