" He tapped the empty bag on my IV stand. It had been blood. A second, full bag of clear stuff hung next to it. "You had some pretty serious injuries,...not including the broken arm and the blood loss. Let's give it a few more days and see how it goes, okay?"With a put-upon, dramatic sigh, I replied, "Alright, but the orange Jell-O better be damn tasty."He laughed and adjusted the drip on the small, clear bag, "I'll see what I can do. For now, get some rest and the Jell-O will be waiting, I. Days passed by and she was habituated with all this. Her friendship with abhishek and gang was well known, and she was often taunted by senior girls for this. She broke her shyness and immersed herself in the rigours of the course, in which one cant afford to be shy. She also started enjoying her short skirts for food & beverage service classes, and the saree of the front office sessions. It was a competition of sorts which girl would wear the shortest skirt showing her legs, or wear the saree. He was still a bit of a schmuck at heart, at least in some ways. He could be toughened and smartened up a little, but he would only go so far. Religious backgrounds carried so much baggage, after all, though at least his religion was civilized and aloof, didn’t try to convert people. Fundamentalist Christianity was nothing short of pure medieval barbarism and absurd superstition in my book, and it tended to spread like a cancer. Radical feminism was also a disease to be purged with fire.“Simon. I’d love to paint you, and I think your cock would make a great subject for one of my Brews & Brushes painting classes. What do you think?”“Let a bunch of middle-aged housewives paint pictures of my boner?” he asked laughing.“Yes, that’s right,” I told him, “Me first, of course, so I can show them what to paint.”He agreed, and we set a date for the next day in my new studio at the Tyler Building. Remember what I said about how fate has a way of screwing things up when they’re going.
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