‘Steven, it’s not your fault. There’s nothing to forgive. I was just as in to it as you were. I just think… maybe we should slow down a little... Just for tonight?’ I pleaded with him, looking into his eyes. We spent the next hour cuddling and talking, before he got up to go. He kissed me gently at the door, like I was a breakable porcelain doll. ‘Not that slow,’ I teased him, and pulled his face down for one of our soul-shattering kisses. Over the next three weeks, we continued to see each other. I have drinks and dinner return to my hotel eat a sleeping pill and try to get rest. Finally it is D-day: the twentieth of August. I take a local train from New Delhi railway station to Okhla railway station. He train stops at Hazrat Nizammudin railway station. Standing in the crowded compartment I feel odd. I am going to spend the day in a five star hotel. Yet I have chosen the cheapest possible mode of transport: a local train. Somehow I cannot rid myself of middle class miserliness. Minutes. I felt like stomping in frustration. I had never been so turned on without release in my life.The clothes were hardly clothes. The skirt was black and made of a thin, airy fabric. When I put it on, it just covered my pussy in the front and left the bottom curve of my ass cheeks exposed. The shirt was a tiny white tank top that looked like it would fit an 8-year old. I put it on and it stretched around my D cup breasts, hugging them but just covering my nipples, leaving the bottom half. He was a big man, over six foot, whereas I was 5′ 6′, with short cropped blond hair, dressed in an anorak, under which I just wore a cut t-shirt to just under my poor excuse for breasts. ‘You OK’, he whispered, as we hugged, and I shook my head, as I did not want him to let go, and he bent forward and kissed my head, so I looked up and puckered my lips, and he bent down a little further and we kissed each other, that was when I took hold of his cock and held onto it. I still don’t think it had.