Or sab dhikna paragha .apna booba or pussi or gand takk bhi ,kay ap nanghi photo kicha sakthi ha .tho mana bhot socha or boli .i-teek ha kicha lughi t...um hi tho kacho gha na .bunty-teek ha apki marji .ma kal apna boss sa bat kartha hu .pir dhusara din bunty aaya or bola mubarak ho bhabhi mara booss man gaya ha .i-aacha bunty ji app bhot aacha ho .bunty-par bhabhi ap us ko ya mat batana ki app asdhi suda ho .i-par koye .Bunty-koye ki us ko kaval kavari larkia hi pasand ha mana us ko kaha ha ki. So I ignored them and left themon the floor.Later that night he came in to the lounge where I was lazing in mylittle pink babydoll watching a girly film. He was holding his shirts."You didn't do my shirts!" he said coolly. "No, and I won't be doingthem - I am not your slave Rick. You can do them yourself." Then he saidit - his big mistake."That's woman's work Cindy. My mum has always ironed my Dad's shirts. Itwouldn't hurt you to do them when you iron yours. I have no idea how toiron." He threw. They were a duo of brothers recently arrived from the “old sod” with accents so thick that most people didn’t understand a word they uttered.Their opening salvo sounded something like, “You girls need any company in your swimming hole, just holler in our direction because we are a pair of swimming fools when it comes to swimming in our God-given birthday suits.”At least that was the gist of the translation agreed upon by the two girls with their giggly wiggly ways in the ice cold mountain. Her features were pale and smooth. Her hair was long, wavy and golden, drifting around her head in slow motion, as if stirred by a slight breeze. As her hair drifted, Patrick caught a quick glimpse of ears that tapered off to soft points at their tips. Her eyes were pale green beneath upswept brows. The image of the woman pulled back, moving deeper into the waters of the fountain. As it moved, Patrick could see more of her. He saw that she wore a sleeveless diaphanous white gown. She raised one.