It worked. I churned out what my drunken self considered Shakespeare. The next morning, well, afternoon, my hung-over self recognized it as Much Ado a...out Nothing, Act III. No more booze. Mom saw what I was going through. Hell, she had seen it coming years ago. I had no talent. No gift. Just desire. Desire doesn’t pay the bills. Once, after another day of writing attempts, she called me into the living room to take a break from my blank pages. She was spread out on the couch in her green robe,. Thodi der mere sharer ko nihaarne ke baad unhone meri bara ka hook peeche se khol diya. Main na bhaiya…. na bhaiya… bolti rahi lekin Nitin Bhaiya pe to jaise junnon sawaar tha. Unhone meri bra ko mere kandhon par se utara aur meri chunchiyon ko jee bhar ke dono haathon se dabaane lage. Wo bolte jaa rahe the… Hai Meri Jaan Anjali kahan thi tu ab tak… Kya Pink nipples hain tere… kabhi ek choocnhi ko apne moonh mein lete aur doosri ko dabaate aur kabhi doosri ko peene lagte.Thodi der baad mere. More

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