Adultery My mom's treatment at the hands of commoners by debt_is_paid

[usaiha2]

Here's an incident that happened this summer:

 
Summers are quite harsh here in this city. People sweat gallons and yet they are forced to carry out their day-to-day duties. My mother decided to go to the market that day. While serving me breakfast, she was wearing a pink colored nighty which seemed rather tight on her luscious figure. She wears a nighty quite often when she's at home, and almost always without any bra or panties. This particularly nighty accentuates her curves beyond any other apparel. And the absence of a bra, causes her nipples to be constantly visible. Her nighty is such that as she walks towards u, u notice her succulent breasts swaying proudly with every step she takes and as she walks away, u notice her pantyless arse jiggle timidly as if they're teasing you, taunting you to grab it and bite it if you have the guts.
 
After serving breakfast, she said to me, "Beta, ami ektu bajare jabo. Keu bell bajale take boshte bolish ebong bolish je mummy ektu bade firbe!" ("Son, I'm going to the market. If someone comes in my absence, tell them to sit and wait, since mom will be here shortly"). Then she went in her room to change.
 
As soon as she came out, my jaw dropped. She was wearing a red color light chiffon sari and a beet-red blouse underneath. The fabric of the saree was so thin that the part of it dbangd around her upper body seemed to become see-through the moment she stepped into the sun. Plus, the blouse was so tight that her boobs seem to be trying to burst out of it. Although she had covered her ample bosom with the sari, her curves were perfectly conducive to her clothing.
 
"Tumi eta pore jabe" ("Are u going out wearing this"), I asked her
 
She looked down and twisted the folds of her saree and asked, "Keno, kharap ta ki a6e etate" ("Why what's wrong with it")
 
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Now, I must say something here. 

The market where my mother was headed to was located in a densely populated area. There, several hawkers - from sabziwalas to butchers to fishermen - sit on the ground side by side, against the walls of old broken buildings, selling their stuff. The hawkers aren't the nicest lot. They're a band of low-class merchants with pot-bellies and blackened teeth, yet with strong muscular arms. They wear dirty old shirts that have seen more days than their wearer and lungis that have small patches stitched all over them. Their mouths are foul but their minds are fouler.
 
 
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