The Repost Continues:

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WARNING:  Do not proceed beyond this "warning"  if you are not a mature person and/or are  offended by explicit written descriptions of sexual encounters. 

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My Story (Part 21) by Sharmila Sanyal. 

      It was a strange feeling living independently and away from home.  Almost overnight I was catapulted into real adulthood, it seemed. 

      A lot of things that I used to take for granted while living with my parents now started looking like privileges.  I never had to see the inside of a kitchen till then, and I had no reason to decide what a day's menu would be.  I was a spoilt child of a relatively affluent home, who hardly ever had to make her own bed.  Anyway, with my study load, I had little time to worry about such things.  I had no culinary know-how and Debi had moved from her in-laws so that she would not have to deal with such things. 

So, naturally, we hired Promila to take care of our daily housekeeping and an elderly lady to cook for us three times a week.  We affectionately called her "Maashi", meaning, “auntie.”  We probably never bothered to know her real name, otherwise I would have remembered.  Promila came every morning for a few hours.  Her job was tidying up, sweeping and mopping the floors.  She also did our laundry when needed. 

      Debi and I slept in Debi's room, of course, and that - I must remind the readers - was hardly unusual.  I suppose a plethoric mention, too, that I was happy being so close to her every night would be pardoned.  What may be of interest, though, is the fact that — however unwittingly — Ajit was lending a helping hand almost every night. 

      It seemed that Indian Postal Service needed no other reason to justify its existence other than to keep the passion between the two love birds alive.  That, in turn, was sufficient to keep us warm in bed at night. 

      Did I feel used? Come to think of it, such a notion had never crossed my mind until this very moment.  Maybe, in a way, I was; but I loved every bit of that use. 

      Ajit wrote to Debi almost every week, and sometimes more frequently than that.  Debi was not as regular in writing back, but that hardly seemed to matter to either of them.  Indeed, I remember having to remind her every few weeks that she would need to respond to her "husband's" letter. 

      Ajit's letters sizzled with pent up passion, and Debi had little flare for expressing passion on paper.  So, it behooved me that I should help her verbalize her response once in a while. 

      Yes, like everything else in Debi's life, I was privy to Ajit's letters.  They read like some very well-written "Anonymous" literature.  He was good with words, I must say.  His descriptions of what he wanted to do to Debi while she stood against the wall, or as she showered, or when she would be fast asleep, never failed to light my fire.  It was obvious — from the way they read — that Ajit knew that I had the privilege of reading his letters.  Every so often, one would include me in their joint fantasy.  He also knew, however, how not to overdo it. 

Here is a running excerpt from one of such letters that I had borrowed from Debi:

"I cannot possibly describe my state of mind as I write this letter to you, lying on my stomach on my cold bed at night...I have not relieved myself in over a week.  As you can imagine, I am ready to burst...I had saved all of it for you, thinking that if by some miraculous turn of events you arrived here and took your charge in your hands, I will fill you up with what is truly yours...If you wanted to share it with somebody else, like Sharmi, you will have to do it yourself.  I don't think I could handle both of you at the same time...I want to love you to the fullest and satisfy your body and mind all night long tonight, ...and let Sharmi watch (maybe she will join in, or perhaps gratify herself, as we climb towards the peak)...'

      That was, by no means, the full extent of his fantasies.  And, I must admit that during translation of the originals some of the edge may have been lost.  It may have been seasoned with my own sensibilities and my own "façon de parlar". 

" ...This morning I couldn't contain myself any longer, as I showered." — another of Ajit's letters read, "...I have not received any letter from you for almost a month now, and I have been thinking about you every minute and all through each passing day ...I start it at night, as I retire, but the bed is a poor substitute for my Debi.  I fall asleep holding back and wake up the next morning with a yearning unmatched in this world... As I showered this morning, I worried about the state in which I was in.  I couldn't possibly let others see me like that.  It would have surely attracted much attention from the coworkers.  Especially from the ladies.  And more I thought about it, worse it got.  Almost painful.  I took it in my hand and it reminded me how you held it the last time we were together, ever so gently as if you were caressing Sharmi.  I had implored you to be brutal... to close your fist tightly.  I wanted you to bite down hard on the head and you looked up at me in amusement.  You did... and I screamed in pleasure.  It didn't take me long as I imagined your mouth on me and I imagined Sharmi lying beneath, her head hidden away from view between your beautiful, smooth, thighs.  I saw my seeds — that should have been yours to have — wasted against the wall, as my fist tried to emulate your beautiful mouth.  I imagined Sharmi's tongue reaching out to that distended button of yours and you screaming out in a delightful release...with me."

      My existence in their fantasies was hardly news, but to see it in black and white — in such exquisite detail — did wonders to my already over-active libido.  Somehow, the hide-and-seek that Ajit and I played, with Debi in the middle, added spice.  As Debi and I would grind our bodies together, recalling Ajit's most lush words, the seed of Debi's next letter would form in my head.  We were inevitably — though slowly — perambulating towards the completion of the lascivious nexus, that had had started some time back.  And, as Ajit's letters got bolder, I had a distinct feeling that they were as much for me as they were for Debi.  They served their purpose to the fullest:

"As I rock back and forth I can see you two," he had ventured to write in another, "locked in a tight embrace, with nothing but a film of perspiration separating your skin from hers.  It is full moon tonight and I can see your skin glistening in the soft light of the silvery orb..." — that would have been an impossibility for two reasons.  Firstly, our bedroom faced the street and the west; secondly, from the date of that letter, it was monsoon — but "Debi" certainly didn't bother to dampen his imagination by pointing that out.  And she was the least bit perturbed by such licenses. 

 "...I reach out and touch your bare skin, and you shiver.  Sharmi extends her hand and I place myself on her soft palm ...you open your mouth for a moist kiss and I lose myself there, while Sharmi grabs at what should be rightfully yours..."

Amazing!

"...while Sharmi grabs at what should be rightfully yours.  Your hand moves down to where Sharmi is moist, and you insert..."

Well, bashful I'm not, but I believe one gets the idea.  I risk losing control here, so I will refrain from translating any more ...at least for now. 

      Whatever the future would have in store, I really took everything as a part of my ongoing fantasy, the only reality being Debi...and, of course, Sanju, my handsome cousin.  I cannot discount him.  My relationship with him had made me more bold about men, despite the fact that we really hadn't gone all the way.  Not yet, anyway. 

****

      We sat on a bench by the pond and watched the kids frolic under the mid afternoon sun. 

      We hardly got to meet as regularly, since he started the internship.  Between the clinic and the shifts at the hospital, he barely had time to smile.  I did not burden him with my wants.  I was busy with my studies too.  Ordinarily he would not have been able to carry on looking after his father's practice, but the two professors in-charge of the interns knew their family well. 

"Debi is going to visit Ajit next month," I said. 

"That's nice," he looked at me with those incredibly bright eyes and smiled, "when was the last time she saw him?"

"Oh, it's been five months since Ajit came for that short two-day visit!"

"That long, eh?" he chuckled, "Must be hard."

"Yeah," I nodded in agreement, "I definitely couldn't live like that." I gave him a cue that fell flat.  That was quintessential Bidyut.  And I couldn't have put his concerns over Debi's living without a mate at rest, could I?

"Yes, but sometimes people have to...you know...in this day and age, career is a big concern," Bidyut had opined. 

"You can come and visit me when Debi is away," I had tried to inject a slight insouciance even as I spoke, my eagerness pathetically seeping through. 

"I'll surely try.  When is she leaving?"  He was not insincere. 

"The Thursday following the coming one," I tried hard to contain my excitement, while making sure the dates registered. 

"Oh...Oh..."

"What?"

"That whole week I will be busy at the department," this time his disappointment showed through.  "I wish I could check up on you otherwise."

"Busy?"

"Yes...first there is that symposium on GE and then Dr.Sarkar wanted me to teach the hemato class as he will be away..."

I wasn't listening to all the details.  I just said, "You are too busy even for one evening?"

"Come on, Sharmi, you understand," his voice carried no pretense, "And then Bagchi-babu's son-in-law may need my attention any time of the day."

"How is he doing?" I asked. 

"I just hope that his BP stabilizes," he said, "I don't like to continue the Lassix too long."

"Hmmmm..."

"I will watch another week and then call in Dr.Sen," he almost mumbled to himself, "So far nothing serious is being presented except the extraordinary diastole; I had a ECG done...at the hospital...it looked normal to me...but...I... maybe the PR... a bit..."

      By that time, I had already made up my mind about my post- Hippocratic-oath career.  I realized that I had little interest in a life that took so much away from personal time.  Unfortunately for me, I had not known anybody in medical profession with whom I might have had an opportunity to confer before deciding to get into a medical school.  It was more of a social dictum that made me study Medicine.  If you excelled in academics, you automatically chose either of the two careers: Engineering or Medicine.  Since I liked Biology as a subject and was quite good in Chemistry, the logical choice was Medicine.  I liked studying Medicine and I enjoyed all the years at the school, but I wanted to do more than just be a doctor. 

      Bidyut's thirty-six-hour days had made my resolve even stronger.  "I don't think I am going to be a doctor," I took his warm hand into mine as I looked at his face. 

"Hmmm," he was looking straight ahead at the diving board across the tank, "That's nice."

"Nice?" It  took me a few seconds to realize that he hadn't heard a word of what I said.  "Did you hear what I said?" I shook his hand vigorously. 

"Ah...what? What?" he came back from wherever he was, "What's the matter?"

"I said I don't want to be a doctor."

"You don't?" his big eyes easily betrayed his puzzlement. 

"No" I rested my head against his shoulder, "I don't think I could handle the work-load, Bidyut."

"What then?" he was still puzzled. 

"Raise a family." I said with a not-so-feigned affection in my voice. 

"Oh!" he laughed.  The elderly gentleman, taking a stroll along the path, looked in our direction following the source of that loud chortle.  I was embarrassed.  "Well...isn't it a bit early to be thinking in those terms?" Bidyut placed his other hand over mine.  I lifted my head and looked down at our hands. 

      That was a lot for him — that holding my hand!  His show of affection was limited to an occasional twinkle in his eyes while talking to me.  Only I could read that!  In the two years that I graduated from dropping the "-da" from his name, not once had we kissed.  It was natural.  Kissing in India is almost having sex!  Well, not quite but it is definitely part of the foreplay.  It is so intimate that the next step, as imagined, would be quite steamy and unavoidable.  And, that's something one would have been hard pressed to reconcile with his nature. 

      I looked at his eyes and smiled.  He smiled back and, freeing the hand from mine, put his arm across my shoulders.  He gave a gentle tug towards him and I lay my head again on his shoulder. 

      We had never uttered the words, but our friends knew; and Debi and Ajit had accepted us as a couple, going steady.  We had never been explicit even to each other.  We had progressed to being able to rest my head against his shoulder as if on some intangible cue — as the autumn follows monsoon. 

      Like the birds heading south in winter, we met regularly, at 5 in the evening, in that park — by that pool — on Tuesdays, Thursdays and Saturdays.  We sat there talking till seven and then it would be time for Bidyut to head back to his evening of taking care of the patients.  He had always been an extremely good 'doctor', and even as a senior medical student his professors treated him almost as their equal.  Some even consulted him on complicated presentations.  He had an uncanny aptitude at diagnoses.  It was as if he was born to be a physician.  And, it was — to a large extent — this faculty of his that made my lack of dedication to medicine so stark to myself.  I could never be like him as a physician, and that was a compromise my soul wouldn't allow. 

***

      Bidyut did visit me at the flat a few evenings while Debi was gone.  She had actually ended up staying with Ajit an extra week.  I had cautioned her against getting herself into trouble.  "Don't forget that you need to complete your University first, Debi!" I had told her.  She had winked and replied, "I will try ...but you know ...accident happens!"

      One of such evenings, Bidyut and I sat at the dining table and had tea and biscuit while Promila took care of the household.  She was persuaded to stay the nights while Debi was gone.  While I would have liked to stay with my parents during that time, I didn't have the time to pack for it.  It had been quite a while that I hadn't stayed there for a whole week.  It worked out for us, with Promila switching her time with the house that she went to during the evenings. 

"He is doing a lot better," Bidyut always found time to update me about his patients. 

"I'm glad." was my perfunctory response, "You work too hard, you know."

"Not really, Sharmila," most of the time he insisted on calling me by my full name, "a doctor's duty ...that's all."

"What about the other duties?" I dropped the question very softly.  He was looking at Promila sitting on the kitchen floor and chopping some vegetables at the 'bonti'.  Her 'aanchal' had slid off her chest and the slopes of her tightly supported breasts were in clear view.  I hadn't noticed till then, but it wasn't just the personality that was attractive about her. 

I liked her a lot, but this was ridiculous — I thought.  I had to clear my throat with some gusto. 

"You okay, Sharmi-di?" Promila looked up with her wide eyes and genuine concern, "shall I get some water?"

"It's nothing, don't worry, I'll get it myself," I said and hurriedly left my chair to enter the kitchen.  As I stepped away from the table, I looked in Bidyut's direction and found him staring at Promila the same way, but this time I was looking at his eyes almost directly.  The tinge of green in my eyes instantly disappeared and I almost laughed out loudly to myself.  I was familiar with that stare rather well.  The typical reflective stare that I would often get while all that 'reflected' off those deep, wide-set eyes were my own puzzled countenance.  It had bothered me in the beginning. 

      Bidyut was not staring at anything in particular.  I must have laughed out after all, for he came back from his self-communing. 

"Eh?"

"Nothing..." I stepped inside the kitchen and came back with a glass to pour myself some cold water from the fridge.  "Do you want some?" I asked. 

"Sure," he smiled at me, "but another cup of tea would be nice too."

"I will make some," Promila got up from the 'bonti' and started to fill the kettle, "and then I will have to step out to buy some eggs for tomorrow, Sharmi-di."

"Okay," I said, as I poured some water for Bidyut. 

      A little later, as we sat sipping the tea, I suddenly found myself somewhat emboldened by the realization that, with Promila gone, we were the only two souls in that flat.  Never had we been by ourselves before that evening. 

"Hey..." I tapped lightly on his wrist.  He was holding the cup daintily by its handle as he took a sip. 

"Yes?" He set the cup down on the table and looked at my eyes.  And, I wondered how a person could be so clue-less.  I got off my chair and stepped up to him.  I sat down on his lap and, holding his head between my palms, planted a kiss on his lips with my mouth open. 

"Ohhhmmmmphh!" his surprise was amply detectable even through his pursed lips.  A minute later, when I broke my kiss off, his lips were still wrinkled up and his eyes wide open — the stound ever so obvious!

+++++++++++++++++++ End Part 21 (To be Contd.)

glossary:

bonti (pronounced: boⁿ’ti) = A cutting blade fixed to a wooden base; traditionally used to cut and chop everything from vegetables (smaller bonti) to meat (large bonti).  Pronounced with a nasal 'o' and hence transcibed 'bonti'.