MY INDIAN WIFE
Damian had been out of the shower for almost twenty minutes when the door slowly opened and she slipped in. She was wearing a pair of black platform stiletto heels that gave her barely five five frame the illusion of height. The illusion was helped by a pair of black vertically striped stockings that vanished into her sheer black silk dress. Instead of buttons there were loops and knots of a distinctly Asian style straining slightly to hold the woman's impressive cleavage in place. Despite her stunning body Damian was staring at her cherubic face. Slightly rounded with beautiful defined cheek bones, lips glistening like blood offset by midnight blue vaguely almond shaped eyes. Her jet black perfectly straight hair was pulled into a bun resting high on the back of her head. "Are you going to say something?" "Mika Tan." Damian was correct but whether it was a statement or a question wasn't clear. He hadn't gathered enough of himself to form a coherent thought. "Oh isn't that cute.. Liu sits in front of me on an old chair. His face is void of any expression. He chews his gum, as he watches me slowly turn. Once again, I am helpless in his before him. Sometimes I think that I live on the outskirts of life. The world travels one way, but I move in the opposite direction. I read in history class that people have fought and died for freedom, yet here I am willingly giving up mine. I don’t know why I agreed to meet Liu in this abandoned warehouse. He didn’t tell me why he wanted me here and I didn’t ask. The warehouse looks like something out of a nightmare. The walls are littered with graffiti and there is a stale, musty smell. All around the floor are torn boxes, metal gates and damaged pictures. Only one light barely manages to break the darkness. My body turns toward him again. “Your tits are hard,” he says as he nods his head in approval. He takes off his jacket and hangs it on the back of the chair. He’s wearing his shoulder holster and I can see his shield.
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