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The usual warning, regarding immature brains, naive and yet unprepared for the adult world: "Do not venture any further down (pun happens) if you are not biologically and/or mentally of the age that allows such an undertaking"

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My Story (Part 23) by Sharmila Sanyal.

      I closed the door and went back to my room.  The fragrance from the generous bunch of tuberoses made the air inside the room heavy.  Overwhelmed, I opened the window to let some fresh air in.

      I would have waited for Promila to come back, but I could barely keep my eyes open.  She had keys to the front door, so I found no reason to be waiting for her.  I changed into my night dress, made my usual round to the bathroom and hit the bed.  A thousand thoughts tried to crowd into my head, but I drifted quickly off to slumber land.

      I dreamt a wonderfully naughty dream.  He was kissing me on the slopes of my unrestrained breasts as he lay on top of my eager body, his legs straight and down between mine and his naked chest flat against my belly.  I felt his bare back and traced my name with my nails on his skin.

      I felt his tongue on my taut nipples and became aware of the wetness between my legs.  It soon turned into a river that carried my passion between the ridges of my thighs.  My naked skin against his... his perspiration running down his back and joining in a stream with my passion-river... his unseen hardness trying to enter my slippery cave...

      I held it in my fist and he thrust himself inside me, and, in some magical contort, his young tongue found its mark between my outstretched thighs... the swollen seat of my excitement throbbing, responding to his ministrations.

      I was matching the steady rhythm of his piston with my hips, listening to his grunts against my earlobes... his warm, heavy breath permeating my warm being and down to the valley where we were one.

      I held his head between my hands, and I wrapped his robust back with my thighs, while his soft hands kneaded my breasts and his ruddy lips sucked on my aureoles...

      I heard him mutter my name, the sound muffled against my own skin.  As I took my hand between our bodies and to the junction where he entered, I felt his silky curls... the satiny feel of his wet manhood pistoning inside me made my entire body jerk in pleasure, and I touched my rudimentary shaft with one wet finger... and that was all... a spasm... a deluge...

      I woke up in a sweat... an utterly satisfied body draped in a disheveled nightgown bunched up above my waist with both my hands securely lodged between my thighs... my legs bent at the knees.

      A sliver of the fluorescent light from the street was all that softly sliced through the darkness inside my room, casting an otherworldly iridescence on the white-washed wall across from my bed.  I grabbed the sheet from under my feet and pulled it over my almost bare body.  I turned and faced the window and went back to sleep hoping to dream some more.  It was a feeling that I can only re-live in my own memory, for words fail — no matter how I try — to describe that satiated state that gently swept over every follicle of my warm body... that, yet, threatened to lift me up into another height of passion with my dream-mate... my unseen — yet so familiar — lover.  I dared not go there once again as the delicious languor overcame my still tingling body.

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"Hmmm... Sharmi-di, quite an evening you had I suppose?" there was a naughty smile on her face as she stirred the tea for me.

"What evening?" I tried to sound as casual as I could in trying to avoid Promila's probe, "we just talked and then he left."  I knew I wasn't being candid, but, in all honesty, that was the truth for me.

"Thhaak, nyakaa shaajthi hobé naa," she said through her soft giggle, and I didn't quite understand why she thought I was being coy.  Being coy was not, and never has been, in my nature — at least not when it came to confiding in my friends.  Promila had, by then, earned that privilege, I'm sure.

"Nyakaa?" I looked at her with genuine puzzlement, "Kéno?" I wanted to see in her eyes what she meant by that? Had she been peeping through the window last evening as Bidyut was satisfying himself of my femininity?

"Aami shob shunichi kaal raaté go." Her long urbanization losing its hold, her roots closer to the Bay often endearingly seeped through in her dialect.  I shot a glance at her eyes momentarily from above the rim of my tea cup.  She immediately lowered her eyelids, the sudden surge of blood into her fair face betraying her own embarrassment as, perhaps unwittingly, she had broken the code of propriety expected of a maid.

      I was more intrigued than anything.  What could she have heard last night? Neither of us made any sound that would have been audible to anybody standing outside.

"You heard us doing what?" I had to ask.

"I don't know what you did, Sharmi-di, I wouldn't know, Sharmi-di, I am sorry..." she was quite perceptibly embarrassed at her own indiscretion.

"No, really, tell me... I don't mind," I looked at her squarely and insisted in a tone that, I hoped, would put her at ease.  At the same time, I was suddenly struck by her raw beauty even as I prepared myself for a rather embarrassing revelation.

"Aami to moné nilaam tomraa kaal khub ékchot mojaa koirlé," she said with the faintest hint of a wink and still hanging on to the suggestion of her dialect.  I had no idea why she would have thought that we had a wild time between ourselves.  For all I could imagine about Bidyut, "wild" was not one of his attributes nor would I have categorized that, which happened the night before, as such. Moreover, I was sure Promila had no way of imagining him as one.

"Why did you think that?"

"Well... the sounds that you were making... and then..." she paused.

"You mean last night?" I finally understood what she meant by "kaal raat".

"Yes... last night... I suppose you were dreaming about Bidyut-da, eh?" She was on a roll... her excitement showing on her face — and in her eyes — even as she recalled.

"No!" I said emhatically.  I couldn't be any more assertive than that.  As it dawned on me that I must have been very noisy in my dream, I have to admit that I might have blushed in embarrassment, even if it were seemingly the lesser of the two.

"No?" She had already mustered enough courage to be naughty in her delivery, "I heard your moaning, Sharmi-di."

      Somehow, suddenly, the "-di" sounded very incongruous coming out of her.  She was perhaps my own age and we had had become quite free with each other.  From what was about to be revealed, she might as well drop the formality — I thought.  I told her so and it didn't take her but a moment to comply.  "Sharmi, aacchhaa," she settled down with that newfound privilege of hers quite effortlessly.

"You were moaning and groaning... and..." she elaborated further.

"Was I?" what else could I have said?

"Yea, my God, you were making so much noise... like... you know..." her tentativeness was amusing at that point.

"Like what?" I suddenly found my ground, "How would you know, anyway?"

"Aha... aami kochi-taa kina... taai," lapsing back to her unguarded dialect with a naughty giggle, she reminded me of her youth.

"I see... so you are quite experienced... are you?" I found her lack of sophistication rather refreshing.

"I had to look in..." she avoided my question and confessed.

"Looked in?"

"Yes, you were doing it..." I could tell that she was both excited and embarrassed as she mentally recalled what she observed that night.

"Hmmmm..." I looked away in my own embarrassment.  I had absolutely no idea how to react.

      The three of us in that household had dropped a lot of protocols between ourselves, and that included the occasional plays on word with mildly sexual undertone, but never had Promila been so direct in her banter before that morning.

      The strangely opposing feelings of unease and excitement had my mind fogged.  The embarrassment I ought to have felt at being discovered in a rare moment of my solo self-pleasuring was being overcome by a far more powerful emotion that I had felt but once before in my life.  I was in my early adolescence then. 

      This was quite different... not so much in its effect as in the involvement of my intellect.  It was not the adolescent passion that had my body all aquiver; it was a sinful realization that I had had been the subject of another's voyeuristic delight.

"So..." I looked up and at her, "I am sure it was nothing new to you, Promila!"  I forced those words to form and uttered them mechanically.  I still found it difficult to converse freely.  I wished Debi were there.  She was far more comfortable dealing with Promila and, when it came to sex, she always knew what to say.

"Tobé?" she responded with that single word that summed up the awkward formality between the two of us... two women - in their very early twenties - separated per chance by an unwritten social dictum.

"What 'then'?" I couldn't suppress a smile while repeating her very open ended word delivered with an interrogatory inflection to put me on the spot.

"You don't have to be embarrassed about it, Sharmi-di..." she said by way of reassuring me.  I reminded her of the redundancy of the "-di", and she smiled a shy smile.  At that instant I remember thinking of the idiot that left her for another woman. 

      Promila had confided in us about the very short marriage that lasted about a year.  In their society, men rarely think twice before wandering off.  Promila, for her part, was guilty of not having brought forth any issue within the year.  So, when her "husband" left her for a supposedly more fertile pasture, she was left alone to fend for herself. 

      As is often the case, she found herself in the city working as a maid.  Without any formal education beyond the eighth grade, anything beyond that would be an improbable proposition.  She was bright and witty and her sunny disposition enhanced her country girl beauty.  With a figure that would have given any centerfold a run for her money, she could have had any man at her beck and call.  I hadn't asked her if she had a man in her life, but assumed she didn't.  She lived with a distant aunt and her family in a nearby slum, in a one-room accommodation.  It would have been quite improbable for her to be able to indulge, I thought.  I was wrong, but that would be another story!

"I am not... really," I tried to sound in command of the situation.

      Increasingly, the thought of her watching me masturbating in my sleep was making me feel something.  The early morning's exhausting, and satisfying self-gratification notwithstanding, I became aware of the distinct little tingling in my already swollen labia, and inside of me... there the wetness slowly, but surely, building up like a river in monsoon, ready to sweep away everything along its shores.

      I looked up again at her and found her staring intently at me.  Her countenance betraying her own state of excitement, she lowered her eyes and blushed.  "Raag korchho, go?" she asked in almost a whisper, her large eyelids still guarding her beautiful eyes.

"Naa... Naaaah..." I tried my best to sound reassuring, but my voice — through the schism between my brain and my body — failed to establish that there was really nothing that I could be angry about.  That morning, I could not say much more.  I just threw a forced smile at Promila and went to my room with my cup of tea.

As I sat down on my bed I looked at the door and, through the opening between the door frame and the curtain, caught a glimpse of Promila cleaning up the table.  I suddenly realized that probably more than anything I was afraid that she would find out about my dream!

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"You are late today!" Bidyut's voice startled me at the bus stop.  I was indeed held back at the college studying Pathology with a few friends that evening, and was waiting at the bus stop in front of the movie theater to catch my ride.  Harrison Road was as busy as always and one literally had to shout to be heard.

"Oh!" I was surprised to see Bidyut.  It was not our usual meeting day, "Tumi jé ?"

"Why?" he was visibly amused at my unpreparedness, "You expecting somebody else?"

"No... No... Whom would I be waiting for?" I said, trying to sound hurt.

"I don't know..."

"Don't be silly," I grabbed his hand to reassure, "There isn't anybody else!" And I sounded funny to myself, trying to assure somebody who least needed it.  "So, what are you doing here?" I asked, "Harrison Road isn't your usual beat!"

"Uh... Uh... Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi Road!" and with that attempt at humor, Bidyut laughed aloud.  It was so unlike him that I wondered about his state of mind.

"Right, I am used more to "Harrison" than "Gandhi".  My entire extended family never call it anything other than Harrison Road, and so there..." letting his hand go, I stamped my foot in mock defiance and looked up at him.  He was smiling.

"Will we get together this week at your place?" he asked almost abruptly.

"Sure, why not," I responded, "when?"

"Whenever Debi is away," he said, confounding me with a devilish smirk.  Till that evening, I had never seen this side of him.

"Oh my!  Bidyut!" I said and I didn't have to even feign surprise, "I never knew you could be so... so..."

"Naughty?" he completed my sentence.

"Yes..." I almost stammered back.  I must say I was also amused at his directness.  I suppose the physical intimacy that he encountered with me a few nights back had done a number on him.  What was even more amusing was that I had thought that night that he hadn't the slightest inkling that I knew what had happened.  To me, it was an episode that, in all probability, would not be brought up in any discussion with Bidyut ever.

"So?" Bidyut egged on.  So, he knew that I knew that... oh well, you get the idea.

"Oh, Bidyut, you are incorrigible!" I was starting to feel a little uncomfortable by then, "Do you suppose I can pack Debi up every weekend?" It is not often that I am caught off-guard, but that evening's little myth-shattering disclosure certainly qualified as one such occasion.

"I suppose you are right," he held my hand — another first for the seemingly matter-of-fact Bidyut.  I couldn't recall that he had ever taken my hand in his unless I put it there.  I remember thinking to myself — maybe not in so many words — that I had created a monster.

In spite of myself, I was pleased... immensely pleased.

"Oh, don't be discouraged, Doctor, I will parcel her off to her in-laws this coming Friday again!" I said with a deliberate mischief in my voice, and gave his hand a meaningful squeeze, "How does that sound?" It later puzzled me that he never wondered about my ability to "parcel off" Debi at "our" convenience.

"Sounds good," he responded with somewhat of a restrained enthusiasm... perhaps suddenly apprehensive of his untethered emotions.  Then he looked at his watch and excused himself in favor of an elderly patient in the neighborhood.  We exchanged composed glances and I saw him briskly disappear into the crowd.

      The bus, bursting at its joints, pulled up and spewed out the passengers like a pressure cooker exhausting built up steam.  I was lucky and found a seat in the still crowded vehicle.  Settling down between two rather well-fed housewives – who, by their appearances, betrayed their western Indian origin of mercantile persuasion – I finally could ponder upon the possibilities for the following Friday.  Bidyut obviously loosened up since we last met.  It was only a couple of nights earlier when he couldn't leave our flat fast enough.  And they call us fickle!  Obviously he liked what he got!

      Having tried his utmost to take in exactly as many fares as had escaped the hull, the conductor finally heeded the not-so-friendly utterances of the sweaty, exhausted passengers eager to reach their homes.  I sighed in relief.

I couldn't possibly have described my dream to Bidyut.

      I looked up and smiled at the young man standing in front of me.  He smiled back confidently, blissfully ignorant that I knew the reason for the bulge in front of his pants.  I arranged my aanchal a little better to indulge.  I could swear that I detected a direct response almost at my eye level.  I was in my prurient mood already, the gentle throbbing having started at the junction of my thighs.  I looked forward to a relaxing night with Debi.  I wished I could make the crowd — save the young man in front of me — disappear.  There would be the two of us... complete strangers tearing at our clothes and feeding on each other.  God!  I was bad, I thought to myself.  I looked up and smiled again, and he turned his head away as if in pain.

      The trip was not too long and I just remained seated till the last moment.  I was wet, and the crotch of my panties felt wet... almost like those rare occasions when I would be unprepared for my period.  By the time we passed Sealdah, the bus was almost "empty".  At my stop, I hurried down the steps and looked up from the street at the window.  The poor guy was still staring at me.  I smiled and waited till the bus left.  I wished that the bus was too crowded for me to have found a seat.

      I was horny, extremely horny, that evening and spared little effort to let my cousin in on it.  She was lying on her bed with a book and Promila was finishing up her day's chores, when I reached home.

"You are late!" Promila said as she opened the door for me.

"I know, I had things to do at the hospital," I smiled and replied.  She was looking tired.

      I went straight to Debi's room and closed the door.  We had never revealed our physical intimacy to Promila, and I wouldn't — not in a sober mind.  I sat beside Debi on the bed, bent down and kissed her passionately.  She looked surprised as I pulled my face away from hers.  We had the unspoken understanding.

"What's the case now?" she looked at me quizzically after we broke our kiss off, wiping the saliva off her glistening lips with the corner of her saaree.

"Oh, nothing really," I steadied my voice as I struggled to suppress my impassioned state of mind.  "What are your plans for the next Friday?" I couldn't help asking right at that moment.

"Nothing, why?" Debi's eyes were intent on mine, trying to see the inside of my brain.

"Well, he wants to be alone with me again."

"Oh?" she responded with some doubt in her voice, "I could go away again, if that's what you want."

"It's up to you, I didn't commit, you know."

"That's all right, Sharmi, let's see if he is any better this time," and with that she started laughing.  She already looked good enough to eat and her laughter made her even more sexy.

"God, I am horny," I confessed.

"Already?" she said through her laugh, "In anticipation?"

I paused before I answered, "That... and then there was this guy in the bus," I said and bent down to kiss her on the valley of her breasts when suddenly Promila pushed the door open...

"Bordi..." that's what she called Debi, "I..."

I shot up and looked towards the door.  Promila stood there with an utterly embarrassed expression on her face.

"Promila?" Debi sat up on the bed and asked in a very calm voice, as if to dissipate the sudden tension in the room.  I wasn't sure how to handle the situation, except that I should follow Debi's cue and act normal.

"Naa... maane... ekhon khaabe ?" she quickly asked.  A loaded question as far as I was concerned.  I was indeed ready to eat... surely... but not what Promila had in the kitchen.

Debi and I exchanged glances and Debi sat up laughing.  I realized that that was her way of making light of whatever Promila would have had fancied.  I followed her lead with my nervous titter.

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End Part 23 (to be continued)