Good for you. I know that is important to you.”Before I could reply, I heard someone clearing their throat behind me. “Keep your hands off my girl, gringo. I happen to know you have one of your own.”Whirling around, I found Mr. Mendoza in the doorway giving me a silly grin.“Whew,” I said to Mrs. Mendoza, wiping my brow with an exaggerated motion. “For a moment there I thought maybe it was your husband and we’d have to tell him about us.”I walked past him and into the dining room to the sounds. To satisfy my great sex hunger, I planned with my husband to seduce our milkman. We were living in ground floor of a house in salt lake, having 2 rooms, kitchen cum dining space, 1 toilet. Our main entrance was on road side and an entry on the back. Landlord’s stay was in upper floor and entrance was a main gate at side of house and through this gate the back side door of our portion could be accessed. On entering from back door, a small passage with toilet door on left, then dining space with. We went to an occasional square dance out of town and her skirts and pettipants (frilly panties intended to be seen when the girls twirled) were a little shorter than at our club dances. I’d often intentionally sit out a dance so somebody else could ask her to dance. I fantasized about her meeting someone at a dance but it never seemed to happen. I can’t say I was disappointed (well, maybe a little) since our lovemaking was so damn good afterward when I’d mention to her what I wanted some guy. Normally, I would start by asking Nardos about her day, to encourage her to try some of our language – the rest of the day she would only speak Amharic. At the beginning of those talks, Nardos would repeat a standard set of sentences, not giving problems anymore, but when I continued to ask more specific questions, she would stammer and her eyes would beg Mehret for help, and beg me for mercy – beg me to end this torture. However, if she couldn’t talk with me, then how would she ever be able to.
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