There were four of my friends and I who sat around my kitchen table that evening. The table was adorned in a red linen tablecloth, fitting of the sea...on. I had a silver tray of various cookies on the table and my grandmother's best china cups which had been handed down. The kitchen was warm with friendship and aromas. As conversation progressed, Inger remarked about the 'silly' garments she had witnessed in the ladies department the other day. "Honestly, now how many of you would wear a. I tried to clear my mind and told her she can call me ‘dad’. She said she’ll just call me by my name (Sanjay) for some days before calling me ‘dad’.Then my son asked her to touch my feet. I could see that the saree was poorly wrapped. Anika had no experience with a saree and obviously, it was her first attempt. It was almost coming off. Still, she bent and touched my feet. I got a clear view of my son’s wife’s exposed back and perfect ass this time.As I put my hand on her head, I felt the silky. That's how they wanted to do it. They did it to each other too." You had an orgy, Larry? On my bed? This is what you thought I would find acceptable behavior from you? This isn't what your mother and I had in mind. You should be ashamed!"As soon as she said that to me, I was ashamed. I was ashamed that I'd allowed myself to tell her the truth. I'd broken my own first rule for survival with adults. With anyone really. I had talked about things that I shouldn't have."I can't believe you fell for. My syntax was terrible, the dialog was flat and so on and so-forth (my main character had three different names.)* There was one in particular by a "Vickie" that hit the nail on the head. The nicest part: "You're so self-consciously self-contradictory, self-vaunting and self-evasive, I hardly know where to begin. So I'll won't begin. I'll end.Forget yourself. Just write the best you know how and let your readersjudge. Some will be grateful." Vickie, keep on writing. Every paragraphwas a punch.
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