She talks. I listen. Gorgeous men ogle her and I barely warrant a second glance. She’s the socialite and I’m the recluse. In fact, other than her ...and the few acquaintances I’ve managed to make along the way. I’m not sure anyone even knows I exist at all. I try to smile and look hopeful about my future. Christine flashes her perfect pearly whites back at me. As if she believes the lie I’m trying so desperately to sell. Well, it is Christine so, it’s possible that maybe she does. Chapter 2. He lost control then. He couldn't help it. The look on her face. A hard, deep thrust, then another and his face was a mask of pleasure-pain as his body jerked violently on hers.He was seeing the same moment she was. She could see it in his eyes. He wanted that moment again. She could see that too. And her body was more than happy to comply. Taking his hand as they stood there by the window, she guided it up her leg, up under her nightshirt to the damp mound that waited for him. He took over. A moment later they arrived at the lingerie section again."This time we go full out on the underwear. If mere panties don't fazeyou anymore then overkill it is. Stockings, garters, pantyhose, bras,and corsages.If we can hide it beneath your regular clothes it is fairgame. Oh, look. You turned so pale one might think you are the undeadout of the both of us. Granted if the people around us could see me."Brad had to swallow hard. Wearing panties was one thing. Even buyingthose wasn't as bad as he. He’d desired to meet “the woman of his dreams”, marry and move out of his apartment into a nice-sized single-family house. Though Gary had typically been attracted to White women, seeing the film “Towelhead” on HBO, planted a seed of fetishism for West-Asian women – specifically Arab and Indian. Songeet was a second generation Indian-American whose family was of Panaji. She was a meek girl: not very tall, hourglass figure bordering on thin and always very quiet. She was quite pretty: long.