Desi Aunty Porn

’ The man, stocky, pudgy, looking like an ex-cop, watched me approach. There was no one else in the lobby. My heels clicked on the tile, echoing off the walls. ‘May I help you, Miss?’ he asked, making no effort to hide his admiration of my body. ‘Yes. I’m Yvette. I’m Mr. Dunson’s guest,’ I said. He looked down at something beneath the counter, then nodded. ‘Take the elevator to the sixth floor,’ he said. ‘Mr. Dunson is waiting in the Green Room.’ Green Room. Got it. ‘Thank you,’ I said, then headed to the elevator. I heard the man make a soft, appreciative whistle behind me. I smiled. This is gonna be fun . . . . At the sixth floor — which struck me as odd, since I thought this was only a five-story building — I stepped out into a small lobby with red-painted walls and soft lighting. There was something gentle and operatic wafting out from hidden speakers. There were two doors in the far wall and a woman in a long black gown seated on a little chair. She stood as I emerged. I thought. "Do you want a bag for that?" she echoed as my feet beat a hasty retreat.I folded up the paper and marched up the station platform to catch my train home. I was both exhilarated and scared stiff at the same time. I made sure that the banner wasn't visible and I held onto it for grim death, trying to look calm and collected. As I sat on the train seat, I placed the paper in my lap, hands on top so none of the other passengers could casually read anything incriminating. I desperately wanted to read it myself, but of course, dared not. Leaving the train, I practically ran the mile or so home and melted onto my bed, paper in hand and began to stare at every word on every page till they burned my retinas. Here it was. Here they were. Gays. Queers. Pansies. Poofs! Back then, all those words were used about my kind so often that we used them about ourselves! But one thing was clear, the 'gays' in that newspaper were loud, proud and real. They were living their lives as I wanted to. All the.
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