She woke up around her usual time; she looked at Rohan, who was reading a book.“Good Morning,” she greeted.“Hey, look who’s up. Sleeping beaut...,” Rohan teased. “I got you some tea and water. The train won’t stop for another three hours now,” he added.“Thanks,” Maya responded as she drank some water and left to freshen up.When she returned after thirty minutes, they started talking. Their conversations turned from being familiar to a bit naughtier. Rohan, by now, was sitting too close to her. So. You stopped seeing your tomboyish best friend as just a friend and started seeing her as a woman. She had a full figure; tight ass, round, perky breasts, and curvy hips. Her green eyes are enchanting, and the freckles on her face are cute. She seemed like a complete package. Yet you would feel guilty lusting after your close friend.But this was different. This feeling of missing while she was gone was something else. For the first time, you realize you harbor deeper feelings for her than you. That was typical for the first time. Oscar clambered out of the front cockpit, jumped briskly off the wing and tossed me the helmet. He was my dad, late forties, with a weathered face, tall and lanky, a toothpick permanently lodged in the corner of his mouth.There wasn’t much work in the 1930s, everybody scrabbled for what they could get. Mom caught pneumonia, struggling to put food on the table. We didn’t have the money for medicine. Dad tried to peddle his old biplane. But mother died before. The things I was interested in weren't interesting to anyone else I knew. I spent a lot of my time alone in my room with my computer, playing games, chatting online, and masturbating to pornography. I'd reached the age of twenty-one with my virginity still hanging around my neck like an albatross. In part, I think girls just weren't as interested in indie rock or literature as they were in drinking beer and riding skidoos (or jet-skis in the summer). The other part was that I was afraid of.
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