" One more question. What's your real name?"She hesitated, evaluating whether to trust me."Betsy Powell," she said softly.I didn't want to chance the ...hugs. We got a cab in front of the hotel and, in minutes, were at my home.I lived in an old, four-story brownstone on the east side. I occupied the first and second floors and the basement. I rented out the top two floors to a gay couple who were quiet and paid the rent on time.I opened the door, deactivated the alarm, and let Betsy slip past me. 30pm. And we became good and close friends. She used to wear nighty at home and sari for work. Once while watching TV she lay on my lap and watched and I took some courage and caress her cheek and hairs. She smiled for that and didn’t oppose me. Then I caress her arms and after sometime, she slept. I silently opened her nighty buttons one by one and I opened all the three buttons in five minutes and widened the nighty neck. I am surprised to see her in black bra with a lot of cleavage. But I am. More

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