I could just start to barely move. It hurt so much. I looked down to my wounded arm. It looked to be worsening. I was cold. Breaking through my aching...muscles, I reached down to my feet and pulled my blanket over me. I would do something in the morning. I was still tired. It was too painful to move.I woke up. Eleven in the afternoon. I was getting worse. I was getting thirsty. I had to use the bathroom. I could barely move.Someone was knocking on my front door. I could hear the faint pounds. Coming to this story now. I have always been a well-built guy and looks like that of Kashmiri guys. So almost all the professors knew me either by name or face.I was weak in a subject and the teacher who taught us the subject was very hot, like a model. Perfect figure, seductive lips, and expressive eyes. She always wore a saree exposing her navel and juicy tummy. Every guy I knew fantasized about her. I’ve always been interested in married and elder women. So she was also in the queue. She. More

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