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He eased himself back to consider the girl more carefully. And think about the question she had unexpectedly asked him. Kamaljit had been volunteering in the charity shop for some months, but until May it had only been at weekends; she was a final year school student, and had been working hard for her exams, hoping to gain admission to the university course she wanted. Now exams and schooldays were over, so she was a more frequent volunteer indian porn. This was the third shift on which they'd worked together.,,She was slight, newly eighteen, short and slender. Beautiful in ways for which he had no appropriate words in either English or Scots. Like many other women with origins in the Indian subcontinent, her face was slightly hirsute, a fact of which she seemed unhappily self-conscious. Almost every time he looked her in the eye, her hand rose automatically to cover the few wee black hairs on her upper lip. He didn't understand this; she was just lovely, in ways only girls of Indian heritage can be.,,He glanced at the book before him which had occasioned her question: 'Helen & Desire', by Alexander Trocchi. He had just purchased it in the shop in which they worked together. He was interested in Scottish literature; knew that Trocchi was an almost forgotten author from the nineteen-fifties, and despite his surname, firmly in the Scots literary tradition. He was delighted to have found this rare treasure of erotica on the shelves of the Oxfam second-hand bookshop on the edge of Glasgow University's large campus. And was disconcerted by Kamaljit's question. ,,She'd heard of Trocchi from her literature teacher; wanted to know what the book was about. The till was quiet; a few folks were browsing the shelves, so right now there was no reason he couldn't answer her, although a diversion would have been welcome to him. He really didn't want to get into a discussion about erotic literature with an exquisitely attractive Asian teenager many years his junior. So he dissembled:,,- It's about... a girl's first sexual explorations. I bought it because it's both unique, and something of a rarity, and I'm interested in Scottish literature. ,,Then he had a thought... Kamaljit's an intellectual and most attractive girl, drawn to literature, and at an age of burning curiosity about sexual matters:,,- If you're curious about it, do you want to borrow it? I won't read it for another week or so. It's less than a couple of hundred pages, so it won't take you long.,,Her hand rose to cover her lip, but neither hand nor her darker skin could conceal the blush which suffused her face. And this time, her upper arm rose so he could see the wisps of black hair at her oxter - she was wearing a sleeveless top on a day uncharacteristically warm for the west of Scotland:,,- Oh... could I really? Borrow it? - Her voice faltered - It... does sound... interesting. Her voice was educated Glasgow Scots, with barely a trace of the characteristic Indian accent to which he was accustomed; most of the Asians he'd met before were first generation immigrants.,,- Sure, put it in your bag now if you want, so you don't forget it?,,But at that moment she was distracted by a customer asking a question, so the book remained on the shelf behind the counter where he'd placed it. Then they were both busy; it was Saturday, and the West End Festival had started, so there were plenty of customers. They barely had a chance to speak until the shop closed, and they were waiting for the manager to clear the till. Kamaljit was fixing her voluminous dark hair ready to go when he remembered the book. He picked it up, and when her hair was sorted to her satisfaction, he handed it to her:,,- Don't forget this!,,She glanced at the manager, but the woman was by now preoccupied with the till:,,- Oh... thank you Sandy. See you next week.,,Her blush was just delightful. He hoped she would indeed find the book interesting. And arousing.,,His diary wasn't so busy during the next few days that he could forget about the engaging girl's literary-sexual interests. When she returned the book to him, he wanted to be able to discuss it with her, should she so wish. So one evening, he borrowed a copy from a friend. And immersed himself in it. Wondering as he read, and became aroused, what effect it was having on his new young Sikh friend. Would it get her cunt wet? It was very brutal in places. But that had been the life of the girl the strange author had sought to portray. ,,Well, she had it now; if it aroused her, it aroused her... He was certain, from her face, forearms, and his brief glimpse of the oxter growth, that her cunt was delightfully, blackly hairy. His cock rose at the thought of her driven by what she read, to play with her black bush and the beautiful cunt it concealed. He knew his thoughts were inappropriate, and this excited him further.,,*****,,He didn't share another shift with her till the following Saturday. She was already there when he arrived; having hung her wet rain-jacket in the staff area she was fussing with her hair. She blushed when he entered, and was uncharacteristically nervous when he joined her at the till to start their shift. He understood why; she was embarrassed that he knew she had been reading erotica. The best thing he could do was behave normally. There was no reason between them why he should appear in any way concerned.,,Maybe the normality of his behaviour reassured her. After more than an hour during which they had both been dealing with customers, she relaxed with him. Then the custom thinned, and when they were both, for the first time that afternoon, free for a wee while, he started chatting. But very deliberately not about the book. He was of course most interested in the effect it had had on her, but he wasn't going to ask about that. Yet. So he enquired about when she expected to have her exam results, which would determine whether she had gained a place on the university course she wanted. He knew that was the question weighing most heavily on her mind.,,She smiled broadly, no doubt relieved that he didn't mention the book. Explained that she'd sat most of her Highers in her fifth year, and was only waiting on the results of the one she had just completed at the end of her sixth year. She only needed a 'B' pass in it to have her entry to Glasgow University in September confirmed; even in the arts faculty it had fairly stringent entry requirements. It was, after all, the fourth-oldest university in the English-speaking world. And yes, she responded to his question, she was fairly confident she'd get the pass she needed; she already had five 'A's. So she wasn't biting her nails.,,He liked her ability and self-confidence; glanced at her minimally be-jewelled hands, and smiled his confirmation:,,- Aye, so I see. Just as well, your hands are most elegant.,,She blushed at his words. It was the first time this distinguished looking older man had commented on her appearance in any way, and she was proud of his flattering but innocent comment. And glad she'd showed him her palms, with fingers curled over so he could see her nails; she knew there were dark hairs on the backs of her hands. ,,When shop business allowed it, they chatted easily for the rest of the afternoon. Or rather, he encouraged her to chat about her aspirations. She wanted a good degree in English since, as she explained, once India became the second largest economy in the world after China, British English, the only language which united all educated Indians, would once again become one of the most important world languages. And though she was Scots-born and Scots-spoken, and had only briefly visited relatives in India twice, she intended to 'return' to India to live once she graduated. She wanted to be part of its rise to again become a great world power, centuries after the British Empire had eclipsed its last period of global pre-eminence. He was more than impressed by her shrewd intelligence, understanding of the pattern of world economic growth, and her endearing patriotism. And despite his burning curiosity about how the book had affected her, was very glad they had something else of mutual interest to discuss.,,The intermittent June rain when they started their shift had by mid-afternoon become a downpour, and both the busy street outside, and the shop, soon emptied of people. By four thirty, they were the only folk in the shop, with still an hour before closing. They had no problems finding things to natter about, without mentioning the elephant in the space between them. When the last customer then had exited into the rain, she turned to him with a wide, if slightly nervous, smile:,,- Sandy, I'm so glad we had time to chat about other things. I was nervous about seeing you this afternoon, because I didn't know how to talk to you about the book you kindly lent me last week. I wanted to but... I knew it would be difficult. But now that we've had a political discussion, and I know you're a decent man... well, that makes it a bit easier for me to discuss... sexual matters... with you.,,- Ach Kamaljit, I was nervous too. I read it a long time ago, and knew that you're about the age Helen was when she started her - he hesitated, wondering how open he should be, and decided to go for it - her exploration of her sexual needs. It would be hard enough to discuss with any attractive teenage girl, but I'm very aware that though I have met a few Sikhs in Glasgow, I know little about your culture. So aye, I was nervous too... and thank you for thinking me a decent man. I hope I am.,,She shivered at the knowledge that he found her attractive:,,- It's obvious from our discussion that you think about world politics and economics in an intelligent way Sandy. And you wouldn't be volunteering for Oxfam if you didn't care about folks, would you?,