I have to admit that when I first contacted ASSM and started sending in the story, I had no idea that it would be received so well.  I have, since the first post, received numerous letters of encouragement.  Some of them (blush) have been rather amorous while most are quite objective.  Taken together, the response has put an extra burden on me which I regard with both enjoyment and trepidation.  I sincerely hope that I can (or, more aptly, My Story) live up to the expectations.  Hence the spacing in my postings.  I am trying to do as thorough an editorial job on my writing as my schedule would permit.  I have also taken the plunge and made an FTP site available for myself from the ASSTR, and I thank the administration for it.  So, from now on, this story will be 'simulnet' (there you go, another weird coinage - if it does not already exist) to the readers as 'email' and at my site (look under 'authors').

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MY STORY (Part 3)

      Debi called me up that day.  It was a Friday morning in May, a few months after her first sexual intimacy with Ajit.  Our summer vacation had started and, it being my last year in high school, I was supposed to be studying hard for my State Board Exam.  I have always done well in my studies and never have had to be tutored by anybody.  But my parents wanted me to do really well if I wanted to be a doctor.  Admissions in Medical Schools in India required making it through a very tough "Joint Entrance" exam.  To be able to go to a school of your own choice, you had to rank high.  And there were other independent tests for private schools.  So I was studying in my room.  Or so my parents thought.

      I was; but after a couple of hours, tired of reading for the exam, I was lying down on my bed with a Bengali smutty novelette.  Debi somehow managed to buy those books without any embarrassment.  This one even had about twelve pages of colored photographs, poorly copied from some European porno magazines.  They were probably meant for some extra stimulation and had little relevance to the actual story.  But the story I was intently reading was hotter than the picture of that blonde servicing three men, or the one of a German shepherd mounting the brunette.  Personally, I hate themes involving bestiality.

      When my Mother knocked at the door and announced Debi's phone call, I was about to reward myself with my fingers for having read about five pages without so much as a squeeze of my thigh muscles (You see, my clit is set low enough between my legs which enables me to pleasure myself quite easily).  "I'll be right out, Ma..." I answered.

      I wasn't undressed; so I hid the book under my bed and opened the door.  My Mother had already left by then.  We had the phone on the second floor.  I ran down the flight of stairs, my cunt tingling with each step I took.

"Want to spend the night here with me?" Debi asked.

"What's up?" I couldn't help but notice the excitement in her voice.

"Ma and Baba are away for the weekend with Sutapa," Debi announced, "They are on there way to my MejoMashi's place and won't be back till Monday"

"You mean..." I gasped, "you're all by yourself... in the house?" I thought I had not heard it right through all the honking of those cars down below on the streets.

"What have I been telling you?" unable to contain her excitement too long, Debi sounded irritated at my questions, "do you want to spend the weekend here or not?"

"Let me ask..." with that I put the phone down and went upstairs to ask my Mother.  She did not find anything wrong with that and actually encouraged me to take my books along with me so that Debi could tutor me if needed. "OK... will be there in a few hours" I added into the phone with a chuckle, "and Ma wants you to show me a few things."

"Yeah... that can be arranged, I'm sure" Debi chuckled back, "see you..."

      As you probably guessed by now, I could not have enough sex even as a teenager.  At this mature age of thirty-something (I'm not giving it away, though), I have to have it about four or five times a day.  At work, I have my fingers and a small vibrator.  At home... well... I urge patience.  I later learned that such sexual need was unusual for a girl between the age of thirteen and eighteen.

      I was aroused even at the thought of spending the whole weekend with Debi, my partner in carnal pleasures.  The very prospect of finding ourselves alone in that house, with nobody else to bother us, sent electricity all through my body, the tingling sensation from my head to toe translating into shallow spasms in my vaginal muscles.

       I was old enough by then to start wondering if I were a true lesbian.  Not that it bothered me too much; I seemed to have fallen madly in love with my older cousin.  Also, as I have tried to convey, I have been — as they put it in the West — rather oversexed.

      Sex in India, though a taboo subject now, had always been regarded as an integral part of human existence.  It was never supposed to have been set aside from our spirituality, for a satisfied libido has less distraction from spiritual pursuits.  I suppose that undercurrent of sexuality still flows beneath the facade of middle-class morality.  Indeed, the lowest and the uppermost strata of the Indian society have never been too attentive of such moralities. Pardon my digression. Anyway, on with my narration.

      It wasn't anywhere near a 'few hours' before I found myself ringing the door bell at Debi's.  Indeed, I was at their door-step within the hour since talking to her over the phone.  It was the middle of the day and the streets were not as crowded.  The bus was packed, however, and, save the occasional gusts through the open windows, the humid summer air inside was almost un-breathable.  I was hot and so was the bus.  Before the seat in front of me was vacated and I could grab it, I had to endure the poking of a hard member from behind.

      A man, standing right behind me, took advantage of the crowded bus and made little effort to move his swelling manhood away from my buttocks.  He was wearing a dhoti* and panjabi**, and there was little between my dress and his cock.  I was hot enough to not mind and actually enjoyed the feeling of the hard thing between the crease of my buttocks; especially when I sensed that he was looking over my neck and straight into my blouse.     Over the past several months, I had developed from a nondescript teen into a shapely one.  Regular sex and the associated foreplay had helped me develop into a young lady.  Although I never flaunted my obvious prides, their shapeliness attracted second looks, which I enjoyed.

      So, the man standing behind me was not helping his condition by getting a deeper look down my blouse.  I arranged my sari, as if oblivious to his stare, so that a little more of the open, rounded, neck of my blouse was exposed.  And I felt his member throb a few times.  He started to take advantage of the bumpy ride through the streets and I almost sensed his urgency.  That had to wait.  The seat in front of me came vacant and I, somewhat reluctantly, slid into it.

      I wish I had not.  The man was in his fifties and had scraggly beard all over his face.  He did not even try to hide his excitement; and I could see it pushing up the bunched up fabric of his dhoti.  He was obviously wearing the Indian version of "boxers" under his dhoti, which help little in concealing such states.  I wished I had not seen his face, for it immediately dampened my arousal - the arousal that I had been saving for Debi.  I wished my fantasy about a hard cock of a handsome man against my buttocks were  left intact.  I shifted my eyes to his groin area.  Through my sunglasses, I kept staring at the sign of his arousal.  For the rest of the commute, I tried to imagine a handsome man as its owner.  And that kept me from getting to Debi with a dry cunt.

      Debi was probably taking a shower.  She peeked through the small window that flanked their front door.  Spotting me, she opened the door and stood aside behind it, out of sight from the busy street outside.  She did well, for she was only wearing a petticoat from under her armpits.  It covered her breasts and ended right below her buttocks.  Her hair was wet.  "I just got out" she said and gave me a hug.  It felt good after travelling thirty minutes in the humid heat.

"Oh... I must be stinky .  .  " I said, trying to get away from a clean and fresh Debi.

"No, No," Debi did not let me go; and, poking her nose into the side of my sweaty shoulder drew a deep breath, adding, "I like your natural smell... it makes me hot, you know."

"Yeah, right …" I managed to get away from her, more than a little flattered.

She bared her beautiful teeth and grinned.  "I was doing it in the bathroom when you rang the bell... see..." and she took hold of my hand, guiding it under her petticoat and between her legs.  I touched her there and, beside feeling the stickiness, was surprised to discover that her dense bush was reduced to a very short patch.

"What the...!"  I exclaimed, and pulled the hem of her petticoat up.

"Like it?" She tried to gauge my reaction.

"I do... but... why... how?" I really wasn't sure how to react.  It was a novelty to me, seeing her without the silky curls that used to frame her nether lips.  But it felt good to the touch.  The triangle was not completely bare.  It is hard to describe, so I will not attempt.

      I could not help myself.  I knelt down in front of her, right there - just inside of the doorway - and, grabbing her buttocks with both hands, drew her clipped muff to my face.  She shuddered as I took the swollen lips into my mouth and gently nibbled on them.

 "Ooooohhhnggh....  Sharmi" She cried out and grabbed my hairs, gently tugging at them in an attempt to free herself.  "Wait, wait, not now... oh, oh, oh, I will... cum... right now... if you don't... no, no, don't... yessss... oh my... no …" with my tongue inside her, she obviously could not make up her mind.

      I was too hot to let her go; especially after finding her already hot from an unfinished shower masturbation.  My own vaginal muscles were in violent spasms all by themselves.  All I needed was a finger inside there... and it would have been all over for me too.

"No!  Sharmi..." Debi finally wrestled herself off my mouth.  "I don't want to finish it right now, Sharmi."

"But" I let myself collapse on my butts and let out a whimper.

"I am just too horny right now" Debi tried to reason, "And you know we never rush through it.  If you ate me one second longer, I would've cum in your mouth right now."

"OK, OK... My God... I am terribly hot…" I declared, "Let me take a shower then to cool off." I said; then, looking at her eyes, I added quizzically,  "And what are you going to do in the meantime; not finger yourself I hope?"

"So what if I did?" Debi said in jest while helping me get off the floor.

"C'mon Debi... you didn't let me finish you, and now..." I played along coyly.

"You know what? Let me come into the shower with you"

"Hey... We have never done it in the shower... like we read in those stories" I was most definitely eager.  We soon discovered it was not as easy as the stories made it out to be.

      We went to the bathroom and, standing outside the door, she helped me undress.  In India, the bathroom floors are almost always wet.  Few houses have anything like a bathtub or a separate shower stall.  The showers in some houses are separate from the lav.  That's how it was at Debi's, and we didn't want to get our clothes wet.

"You soaked your panties, Sharmila!" Debi laughed out loud checking them out.  She tugged at the chords of her petticoat and it fell to the ground.  I smiled back and said,

"Let me go pee and I'll tell you all about it."  I needed to relieve the pressure on my bladder that had built up over the last hour or so due to my prolonged state of arousal.

      I felt refreshed as I stood under the stream, the cool water washing away the salty sweat that had formed a sticky layer on my skin.  Debi watched me for a while and then stepped in under the shower.

"What was it that you wanted to tell me?" She asked while forming some lather up with the bar of soap.  She started to put the lather on me with her soft hands and I started to narrate my bus-ride experience.  It was nothing new to her, she said: "Oh... I get that all the time .  .  " and ran her two palms across my already hard nipples.

"You do?" I asked, "but you never told me..."

"Yeah... one day I even felt a guy cum like that"

"How could you tell?"

"You know... " Debi explained, "I felt it jump a few times and go soft after that."

"I wonder if he wet his pants through" I was getting even more excited imagining the cum oozing out from under his underwear and onto the fabric of his pants.  I put my fingers to work.

      The soap had washed off my skin by then.  Debi was holding me from behind, her two hands cupping my well-formed breasts.  She was massaging them in a slow circular motion.  I inserted two fingers inside myself... and it hurt a little...I withdrew them right away and tried rubbing my clit.  And it did not feel right!  I turned around to face Debi and she planted a full kiss on my mouth.  Our tongues mingled, the water running down our faces and into our mouths.  I took my hand between our bellies, parted her swollen lips and started stroking her love-button.  We have masturbated each other standing up many times.  Our juices flowing out would be plenty for the lubrication.  But, Debi also complained about it now.

      It didn't take us long to figure out that the running water was washing us away and we were losing our natural lubrication.  We lathered up our hands and tried again; but it stung a little.  I guess, the use of our fingers everyday had caused minor abrasions down there.  So, we decided to let our shower fantasy remain a fantasy for then.  We have had good laughs about that incident whenever the subject came up.  It wasn't until much later that we got to doing it 'in shower;' but let us continue on with the present timeline.

      We wanted to do it in the shower so we had to do it in the bathroom - at least!  We shut the water off and, standing under the shower-head in a tight embrace - our wet bodies connected almost at every square inch, we started finger-fucking each other.  Our mouths locked in a deep deep kiss, our tongues darted in and out of each other with fiery passion.  I grabbed her mons as if to tear it off her body, my short nails digging into her clipped thatch, and into the flesh surrounding the opening of her cunt.

"Aaaaahhhhnghhhh... yessssss!" pulling her mouth away slightly, she almost yelled out in a pleasure sensation that bordered pain.  Her finger dug deeper into me, the passage, by now, filled with my love- juice.

      I could feel her whole body tighten up.  Her stiff, swollen nipples dug into my breasts as she started rubbing them against mine.  Sparks shot out from my own and spread downwards, crossed the valley of my stomach and, following her finger, into the deep dripping crevice of my cunt.  The muscles under my navel contracted spasmodically... almost too strongly for me to remain standing.  I steadied myself by putting my free arm around and over her shoulder.

"I am ready." Debi declared.

I had not even touched her clit!

      It made me feel so good that I started bucking my hips on her finger and rubbing her cropped mons with the heel of my palm at the same time.  I was ready too.

"Yeaaaasss... Debi....  do it... frigg... frigggg... fuck... fuck... Ooooo my god... aaaaaah... aaaah... aaah..." I screamed out.  Our repertoire of Bengali sexual slang was essentially a la those smutty stories that we devoured regularly.  Such words are considered "untouchables" in our language and society; and it took us a while to internalize them.  Yet, once we got used to them, our sessions rarely were complete without whispering them to each other.  The frequency and intensity of such utterances have been directly proportional to the state of our arousal.

"Yesss... fuck... fuck... cum... cummmm... nicely... yesss... oh, oh, oh, oh... aaaargghhhnnnng... do it... aaahng... do it... aaaaaaaaaaaaa... .  ." We came.

      We came with earth shattering intensity.  Juices, pent-up since that morning — and through all that had happened — gushed out with uncontrollable spasms from deep inside my cunt.  Debi had been so aroused that she didn't need any clitoral stimulation, although I finished her off by pressing down hard on it with all my fingers and doing a pumping maneuver.  Her legs shook violently and we dropped to the wet bathroom floor, still in each other's arms.

      Lunch was almost perfunctory.  Debi's mom had prepared food to last us a couple of days and left it in the small fridge.  She knew I'd be spending the weekend there, and took the liberty to cook a few of my favorite dishes. Ordinarily, the mere mention of bottle-gourd and shrimp curry would make my mouth water.  But, that afternoon, something else was in a constant state of wetness that demanded attention.  So, we decided to savor the delicacies during our supper.

+++++ end pt 3

* A 5-yd length of finely woven cloth worn by men as a traditional attire ** Kurtaa in Hindi; almost knee-length shirt, usually w/o collar.  Usually worn over dhoti or pajama.  ++++++++++++++++