Wife Ko Ghodi Bana Ke Choda

Holding the glass, I turned around, gazing at the rest of the party from my post at the bowl of punch. There wasn’t much to look at, just rich people dancing, talking, or arguing with one another. It was all rather ordinary despite all the flourishes of the ball. No matter how you dress them up or where you find them, people are still people and still boring. And thus the next couple of hours passed: Myself, loitering near the spiked punch gazing at the general crowd without incident. I had become such a fixture there that near the end of it, men and women were approaching me with the expectation I was there to refill his or her drink. I was mesmerized by a woman on the dance floor, feeling almost as if she were dancing for me. I had been watching her for quite some time when suddenly, and quite sharply, I felt a tug on my sleeve. ‘Excuse me, but I would like some more punch. Hello?’ To my left, a smaller woman who had obviously been trying to get my attention (for how long I didn’t. Tom, who knew the area well, came to our rescue."Don't worry, Mr. Hill," he grinned, pointing into the gloom. "There's a shepherd's hut up just the track. I've never been there, but if it's anything like the huts on our property it'll be nice and dry, with bunks and blankets. We could stay there until sun-up, then go for help."Now that the teenager had pointed it out we could see the hut silhouetted against the darkness only a few hundred feet from the road. It seemed the only smart option, so we grabbed a small tarpaulin for shelter and dashed across the wet field together. To my surprise the door was unlocked, but Tom said that was normal because the huts were used by different people at different times, often as emergency shelters.Inside the hut was indeed snug and weather tight. There was a pot-bellied woodstove in one corner and a hurricane lamp on a ledge, which Tom lit to shine its light not on bunk beds but on a huge old king-sized bed that took up almost half the floor space..
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