The wife was a housewife. She was decent-looking. Her name was Sunita.The husband was working in a private company. He was so damn hot. His name was R...na. He was 6´1” tall. He had a dusky complexion. An angular handsome face with a beard. Muscular hairy body. You can always see the hairy chest poking from his shirt. He had such a killer smile.I wanted him from the moment I saw him. But he was married and presumably straight. So I had no hope there. Still, I used to steal a look at him whenever. I retired to my apartment for the evening, hoping that maybe a good night’s sleep would help.As soon as my alarm sounded again the following morning, though, I realized it was not to be. If anything, the pain was worse.Still walking in a slightly stooped position ... and now intermittently grabbing onto the walls ... I forced myself through the workday. I was relieved when Lisa sent me a text telling me she had to work late, obviating the need to come up with another excuse for not working out.. I really don't care about how well it has beenreceived because I get satisfaction from what I write that makes mehappy. And this true story made me very happy as the events portrayed init played out a few months ago. Perhaps I should again try to 'trick' youinto reading it by adding new material that would spice it up. But, no, Iwouldn't do that with this one. What it says is really what happened andthat's it. I feel it is most important that we authors are comfortableposting what we write in. But instead of actual lockers, there were slots in the wall with hangers and every one of them seemed to contain dresses, or skirts and blouses, or slacks and blouses with shoes and undergarments. I looked more deliberately but didn’t see any around me that indicated clothes that would be worn by a man. Further down the bay, or hall made into a changing area, were sinks and mirrors. There was an opening further down into a room that was dark but it seemed ….“Are those showers,” I asked. I.
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