I live with my brother as it’s easier for me to commute to office. So sometimes i drop my bhabhi to her office or sometime bhaiya. We generally get ...ired working through out the week. So Bhaiya order a leg massager, everyone uses it in our home.Then on one sunday we were messing around bhaiya me bhabhi we were all having fun watching tv. So i was oiling my hair sitting in floor. Bhabhi asked for chair to to straighten her legs. I said take it urself. She rested her feet in my shoulders. I said. Understanding it doesn’t make it right, or reasonable. The shame still resonates inside me. Of course, until now I couldn’t understand my feelings. I fought the shame, feeling like a criminal that should be behind bars. Now I understand, and it all makes sense. The hunger still exists. The shame still exists. But now the demon has a face, and a name, and I find that it’s a demon that resides within us all. It is taboo, but it is also natural. Undoubtedly it is wrong, but that doesn’t change. My neighbour had removed all her clothes from the clothes lines and not a word had been said but I was a bit sad: although the experience from the night before had been intense I knew I wouldn't get that lucky again.I resigned and tried not to think about it until the next morning when I was swept off my feet as I walked into the backyard. There they were, the red lace panties! But what really struck me was the fact that not only were they even closer to the wall but were hanging there all by. I leaned against the passenger-side door, my back cushioned by their bundled parkas. I sang for my ride that afternoon. The sisters stopped every hour to stretch sore muscles and trade-off driving. After one stop, Eva drove and I rode up front, while Dora sat in back and played my guitar, a big red Kay with a dreadnought body. Like me, she greatly admired Buffy Sainte-Marie. Dora sang PINEY WOOD HILLS and TIMELESS LOVE much slower than I usually did. I loved her bluesy rendition of POOR MAN’S.