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After a couple of years, I decided to try my hand (or should I say foot?) at marathoning, which brings me back to being a spectator at Boston.I managed to snag a pretty good spot near the finish line on the south side of Boylston St., and was having a pretty decent time. Around three hours after the lead runners had gone by, I was getting ready to call it a day when suddenly there was an explosion right across the street, then another just a little ways to the west on the same side as the first.Just as I was regaining my wits I saw a woman runner lying on the street, holding her leg and crying. I ducked under the ropes keeping the spectators off the course and ran over to her.“Please, help me, I need to get to the finish line,” she cried.“We need to get you some medical attention,” I said, taking off my jacket to wrap around her leg.“No, no, I have to, have to finish, for my husband,” she finally gasped out.I didn’t know why at the time, but the mention of her husband left me vaguely. She came back and handed me a glass and we talked for a bit whilst watching tv. I accidentally kicked the table in front of us whilst stretching my leg and tv remote fell on the floor. Disha lowered herself to pick the remote and all I can see was bright red padded bra hugging her big breast. I didn't realise she was looking at me when i was staring her cleave. I was gobsmacked and did not know what to say so I smiled nervously and start watching tv again. Disha got up to prepare the dinner table and I said I will help her. She said you just help yourself to another glass and stop staring at something that you cant have and winked at me. I burst into cheeky laughter and replied there is no harm in looking. We exchanged more of this cheeky banter over dinner and sipped few more glasses of wine. I took this opportunity to take this one step further started asking her personal questions which she didnt mind answering. I asked her whats the weirdest place she and Vivek made love. She.
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