I'm Bose, the proud owner of a little coffee shop just down the street from a girls' college. At 58, I've got the kind of bald head that makes me look distinguished, or at least that's what I tell myself. My beard has turned a respectable shade of grey, and I might carry a little extra weight around my belly, thanks to my love for baking. You see, I can't resist the treats I make-chocolate croissants and raspberry tarts are my specialties, and they've become quite popular with the students.
I'm a divorcee, and while the weight of that chapter still lingers, I find solace in the bustling energy of my shop and the laughter of the girls who come in. They breathe life into my days. I've noticed, however, that I have a particular weakness-navels. It's a silly quirk, but there's something about the way some of the girls dress that catches my eye, especially Radha.
Radha is just 19, and every time she walks in, it's like a breath of fresh air. Her laugh is infectious, and her passion for art draws me in. We've shared countless conversations over cups of coffee, and I can't help but admire the way she expresses herself, often sketching in the corner of my shop.
"Bose, can I have a chocolate croissant?" she asks, her voice teasing as she leans on the counter. Then, with a playful glance, she lifts the hem of her saree just enough to reveal her soft T-shaped navel.
I find myself momentarily mesmerized. It's an innocent gesture, but the sight of it makes my heart race. "Just for you," I say, a grin spreading across my face as I slide the croissant toward her. "This one's free."
Her face lights up. "You're too generous!" she replies, taking the treat with delight, and I can't help but chuckle at how easily she charms me.
In those moments, surrounded by the warmth of the coffee shop and her playful spirit, I realize how much she brings joy to my life. Each interaction feels like a sweet escape, and I can't help but wonder where this playful connection might lead.
Often I looked forward to seeing her soft T shaped navel and curvaceous hip. Not to mention the sexy mole on her hip. She wore the most flowy transparent saree that hugged her figure. She had a hot navel and hot busty bossom. Hotter than the bakery ovens, oh her hot hot buns.
One rainy afternoon, she burst in, her cheeks flushed from the cold. "Hey, Bose! Got anything new today?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
I offered her a freshly baked pistachio muffin, and her delight was a highlight of my day. "You should teach me to bake!" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm lighting up the dim room.
We ended up planning a baking day, and I felt a mix of excitement and nerves at the thought of spending more time with her.
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