Who knows of my impatience?

I’m going to Air Tumble, pirouette 360 degrees in space and circumscribe the earth like a rainbow on fire. I’m going to flame with dreams and scents sacred. I’m ancient, and determined. I’ll dance like never before, with my love embodied in every gesture, my caring in every glance; my sorrow a secret.

And this too: I, Menaka, have decided to throw my story to the winds, for the winds to gather in their laps and let it there grow and spread with dew and mist and rain. Maybe my story will cover the earth as speaking dew that spreads without distinction, touching all; and as mist that dissolves the distance between heaven and earth, wrapping us in its soft hands, letting us into the secret that we see little and so must be loving with each step we take. Maybe my story will fall to earth through the rain, each raindrop holding a fragment, a word, which will release on falling, redolent with truths. Maybe the time is propitious; maybe my story will be heard at last.

I, Menaka, desperate and hopeful, am going to take a deep breath and leap into dance.

Moghana felt the story scintillating. Till the end of the story Sunder had been cupping and bobbing, thus dry humping her boobs, naked boobs without removing her blouse. Moghana had already known that Sunder was a boobfiend and while his fingers were engaged in cupping and bobbing her dextral breast, Moghana, gently and slowly, unbuttoned her blouse and set free her blouse to expose her boobs for his convenience.




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