Then what happened in the next five minutes was more appalling and I had never seen such offensive thing done in a tailor shop in my life. Master-ji went up to the girl who came for a choli stitching and took all measurements with his hands, I mean stretching his fingers! There was no tape, though there was a measurement string. I was dumbstruck. Master-ji took all measurements starting from her sleeves, her shoulder, her back, her armpits, and obviously her twin cups with his fingers and Ramlal verified that with the measurement string and jotted down in a notebook. I noted that the girl was quite nonchalant in spite of continuous stroking and touching of her youthful boobs by Master-ji. I felt my heart would miss a bit when Master-ji took a measurement with his thumb poking exactly the girls’ upright nipple and his middle finger touching her boob base. The measurement was over soon and the girl went away. Now I had to ask the obvious to this tailor duo. Me: Master-ji, why don’t you. I know that's an incredible statement, but judge for your self.I remember one night when we were watching the tube. Carla and I were on the couch and mom was in her favorite lounge chair, legs stretched out on the ottoman in front of her. I was nude, Carla was in a short black T-shirt that she'd borrowed from me after another one of our sex-romps, and Mom was in a nightgown and robe. The lights were out in the living room, but enough light shone from the TV to splash us all in a swirl of ever-changing hues. During a commercial break, Carla and my mother started to talk about some aspect of the show we were watching. As they did, Carla ran her hand lazily and nonchalantly up and down my thigh. Little by little, her pretty, red-finger-nail-polished hand came closer and closer to my flaccid member, lying lazily on my upper thigh. Finally, her fingers made contact with my phallus and Carla cupped it gingerly and wiggled it back and forth, back and forth, never missing a single word of.
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