Then Raghu bai spoke out.Raghu: how was it aunty !…?Mom: come on darling, I told you several times that don’t call me aunt when we are alone. Now ...’m your slut and you are my master. You can call me whatever you can now. You only call me aunt when Agil is around. I want you to treat me as your slut. I love to be like a slut.I was shocked, what am I hearing….. is that really my mom. I couldn’t believe my ears, is really mom saying like that.Raghu: ok shantha my bitch. Tell me, slut how was my. Let’s be honest here and concede that when we’re in the middle of something, we don’t stop to write down the exact detail, we don’t have a voice recorder to capture every aspect of who said what and when. So even in stories like this, we use writing skills and some imagination. As a writer, I’ve always thought that imagination is borne of experience, sometimes it’s our experience, sometimes it’s that of others. This is my experience, even if all the words and actions were not mine, and even if. More

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