“The ring says otherwise.” He shrugged. “Habit. We’ve only been divorced for a few months.” “Sure,” I said. He hesitated, looking at me ...or a moment then said, “I hope you don’t think I’m trying to seduce you, little girl. I’m not into children.” “I am not a child!” I cried. “I’m seventeen!” “I bet you still wear a training bra,” he said and laughed. Being very proud of my breasts and angry at being called a child for the fifth time that day, I reach down and lifted my t-shirt baring my breasts. As she wear saree in house, during some of our visit to her home I had a glance to look her at side pose where her soft and big boobs cupped in tight blouse stands firm and straight and her hip looks like made of butter and wax mixture and tiny micro dot mole on visible side of her hip that increases her glamour to greater extent. Some times when she walks after sitting in sofa, saree that gets bit locked in her buts/ass crack exposes the heaviness and solid size of her buts. Her face is too. My beige skirt suit, with tan hose, and nude patent heels were theoutfit of the day.The day was spent with a few meetings, and I was careful to not be alonein the same room as Barry, which made for some awkward moments, but itwas better than the alternative.Wednesday was a repeat at work, staying away from Barrry, while gettingmy work done. At least, I got to leave around 2:30.Back at home, I cleaned the house, put fresh sheets on the bed, madesure that kitchen and bathrooms were immaculate,. I pretended to be immersed in a new paperback, but couldn't take my eyes off her. Her pale skin didn't tan well, but on weekends she poured herself into these tiny little shorts, I was sure just to keep me horny.Sex on Sunday afternoons had become a ritual for us - for her, really. I'd watch while she pranced around in front of me for half the day, then wait for her to slither next to me and slide her hand up the leg of my shorts. It hadn't come to that yet, but it was only a little after.