index


Message-ID: <51628asstr$1122765004@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} Repost of "My Story" parts 19 to 25
Lines: 3098
Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2005 19:10:04 -0400
Path: assm.asstr-mirror.org!not-for-mail
Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d


Here are the parts 19 to 25

Enjoy

SS

<1st attachment, "MS19.TXT" begin>

The Revised Repost Continues:
*************************

Please be aware that the following is a mixture of fact and fantasy, gleaned
from my own life experiences.  If some readers find this 'boring' or not 
meeting
certain expectations, please be so kind as to look elsewhere.  I am sure 
that the
vast ASSM repository is quite variegated.

Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR.  Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
with comments and corrections.

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.
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++


My Story (Part 19)

	There was an old wooden bench under the concrete canopy.  I gestured 
towards it and tugged at him.

	I was breathless, so I sat down.  Sanju followed me to the bench and stood 
in front of me.  I could see the bulge in his pants right at my eye level 
and, the muscles deep inside my moist recess contracted spasmodically.  
Without a word, Sanju started opening the buttons of my blouse and I let 
him.  I felt both his hands on my bare breasts .  .  .

"You are not wearing any bra, Shona-di!" Sanju observed.

"No, I'm not .  .  .  how come you never noticed that before now?" I said as 
I continued to gently, and lightly rub one hand over his bulge. I was 
hesitant to take the next step of pulling his zipper down.

"I .  .  .  I .  .  ." he stammered.  I was a bit flattered, I must say, at 
the possibility that he did look but failed to notice.

"How hot are you?" I asked, again.  Unsure as to what my next move would be, 
I was essentially biding time.

	Sanju's hands were very tenderly caressing my breasts under the blouse.  I 
was surprised at the gentleness that he maintained.  To be honest, in those 
Bengali smuts, the descriptions  of the men "kneading" had mostly been 
turn-offs for me.  Debi and I had tried the motions -- admittedly to be on 
the ready for such "manly" attacks -- but we relented after a couple of 
tries.  We had decided that, if it came to that, we would have to teach our 
men.

I was wondering if Sanju had already had a teacher!

"Mmmmmm.  .  ." I heard myself acknowledging his masterful touch, as my 
nipples stood up in attention under his palms.

"Do you like it, Shona-di?" Sanju asked.

"Mmmmm .  .  ." I responded, and couldn't hide my curiosity much longer, 
"where .  .  .  did .  .  .  you .  .  .  learn .  .  .?"

"I have been reading .  .  .  since that night," I could hear him breathe 
hard as he answered.

"I see .  .  .  you learnt well," I said and wondered aloud about the book 
that could teach a skill like that to an adolescent.  "What book? 
Kamasutra?" I asked in jest as I started to fumble with his zipper.

"How did you know?" he sounded astonished.

"Really? Kamasutra?" it was my turn to marvel at my own guess, "it .  .  .  
it was just a guess .  .  ."

"Good guess .  .  .  have you .  .  .?"

"No .  .  .  I have never read it," I admitted rather sheepishly.  I can't 
explain why, but I thought I should have.  I was so hot that I didn't even 
bother to ask where he might have obtained the book.  Come to think of it, I 
still have no idea!  Once a widely read anthology of human sexuality, 
'Kamasutra' is not a title to grace every library these days.

	My literary inadequacy notwithstanding, I managed to unzip him while my 
cunt throbbed between my widely parted thighs.  The fabric of his brief, lot 
more stretchable than that of his trousers, bulged out and through his fly.  
I felt his hardness with my fingers and he let out a rather loud groan, 
stepping back a little as if to avoid my touch.  Then he let my breasts go 
and pulled me up by my arms.  I faced him as he put his arms around me.  By 
then, my blouse was open in the front, with just the front tucked into my 
knee-length skirt.  It had parted, exposing my nipples that were now grazing 
against his shirt.  He pulled me closer and I melted in his arms.

	The next several moments, things were blurry.  I don't remember half of 
what we did -- only bits and pieces of a very intense session of extracting 
pleasure from one another.  I remember that we were on the bench and that I 
had his rock-hard member out if his 'jaangia' with his help.

	I remember feeling the moist autumn breeze on my bare nipples as he slid 
down along my length and kissed my legs.

	I remember parting my legs for him as he buried his head between them at 
the seat of my pleasure.

	I remember his struggle trying to pull my soaking panties off; and that I 
pulled him down onto me; and that I felt him rubbing his erection on my 
inner thighs, his own light juice providing the lubrication against my soft 
skin as I felt the searing rod throb when I closed my legs upon his 
adolescent manhood.

	I remember the spasms I suffered inside my own sex with every slow 
simulated motion that he traced between my thighs with his.

"Are you ready?" I heard his voice faintly through the buzzing in my ears as 
Sanju put forth the question directly, adding again, "shall we?"

"Shall we .  .  .  ? Well .  .  ."  I was suddenly catapulted into the moral 
world with that question.  In Bengali it sounded more pregnant a phrase than 
that everyday English query can possibly convey.  The muscles in my thighs 
flexed with the sudden surge of tension as I groaned back "No!  .  .  .  I 
mean .  .  .  ready for what?"

"Don't you want to .  .  .  ? Today?" Sanju asked, his  elbows on either 
side of my chest supporting his torso and his hardness between my thighs.

"Sanju !  Are you serious .  .  .?" I asked .  .  .  again.  I needed to be 
sure and I needed some time to catch my breath.

"I have .  .  .  you know .  .  .  I have the .  .  .  Nirodh," he let me 
know.  I am sure he was ill-equipped to fathom the real source of the 
indecision in my voice.

"No .  .  .  Sanju!  We shouldn't .  .  .  no!" I suppose there was a 
finality in my voice, for I remember him sitting up from whatever position 
he was in.  He sat there awkwardly on the bench, while I lay on my back in a 
state of partial undress.  His reaction to my single refusal was so fast 
that I was left without any further response for quite a while.  I looked at 
his form  and at his manhood, still standing up -- as if in defiance -- 
through the open fly.

"Sanju," I sat up and put a hand on his shoulder.

"Forget it .  .  ." he responded with angry terseness by brushing my hand 
off and I fully understood his frustration.  I blamed myself for having to 
do that to him.  In an instant I was conscious of my own wanton disregard 
for his adolescence.  My throbbing inside wanted to squeeze the pleasure 
from his manhood, yet the sensible 'sister' in my head prevailed.

"Sanju, sweetie .  .  .  " I swung my feet around to sit beside him, and I 
held him from the side with one arm around his waist, and I pleaded, "don't 
do that, .  .  .  please.  I want to .  .  .  really .  .  .  but we should 
not."

"I don't understand," he looked away and said, "I thought .  .  .  I even 
bought .  .  ."

"You imp, where did you buy them?" I asked, as I put my free hand on his not 
so hard cock.  "Forget about where .  .  .  how did you manage to buy them? 
Don't they ask your age?"

"No they don't," he said, "I bought them from that vendor around the corner 
over there," he gestured in the general direction.

	I was almost dumbfounded!  'My God', I remember thinking, 'that guy knows 
our family and me and must have seen Sanju with my brothers or with me!  
What must he be thinking!' I remember that a thousand scenarios played 
through my mind in rapid succession and I could feel blood rushing to my 
ears in total embarrassment -- however imaginary.  But, strangely enough, 
through all that, the very thought that the vendor might imagine Sanju 
having sex with me -- his cousin -- excited me.  The vendor had absolutely 
no reason to imagine that; but, of course, in my state of arousal and 
through my 'guilt-ridden' senses, there hardly seemed to exist any other 
possibility.

"Oh my!  Sanju .  .  .  he knows us!" I verbalized my concern and, in the 
next instant, the inanity of that statement -- out of my sexually inebriated 
brain -- made me giggle out loud.

"Shona-di!  What's so funny?" he finally looked back at me, "and, how would 
he know why I bought them?"

"You're right," I said, feeling the life returning to the flesh under my 
palm.  It moved as it hardened.

"What now?" he asked and put his hand over mine that shielded his erection, 
"I guess I'll have to jack off myself." His uninhibited use of the vulgar 
expression told me that he was not as mad.

"And what should I do then?" I gave his cock a gentle squeeze and said.  "We 
will do each other .  .  .  like that night .  .  .  OK?" I added with a wet 
kiss on his cheek.  As I traced my tongue along the side of his face, he 
turned his head and reciprocated .  .  .  our tongues met between our lips . 
  .  .  and I felt his hand was between my legs.

	I parted my thighs to make room for him.  His hand caressed the inside of 
my thighs with the utmost affection.  If I had known better then, I should 
have surely been amazed.  It turned out, as I later learnt, that he was a 
natural.  How else could I explain his maturity and deftness with me, 
considering it was his first encounter with a woman.  He had had the usual 
infrequent sessions with his best friend at school -- as I later learned -- 
but that hardly qualified as something that prepares anybody for the 
ultimate thing!  Anyway, enough praise about my cousin -- for I am sure that 
my deep affection for Sanju is made abundantly clear by now.  Lets go back 
to the issue at hand.

"Oh .  .  .  oh .  .  .  Sanju .  .  ." I broke off the kiss to come up for 
a breath -- as the 'issue at hand' started to throb and twitch --  and said 
"lets do it in our mouths." That sent another flutter through his manhood.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he pulled my hand off his engorged rock-hard 
penis and said.

"Now?" I wasn't sure what to say.  It hadn't been that long that we were 
fondling each other -- maybe fifteen minutes -- so I had not expected that 
he would have to relieve himself.  There was no bathroom on the roof, but 
there was the huge water reservoir and the gutter drain beside it.  When we 
were kids, we quite regularly made use of that drain.  There was also a 
faucet attached to the reservoir, which had come in handy several times.  I 
told Sanju to do it there.

"Look away then .  .  ." he stood up and said tentatively, his erection 
solidly sticking out of his pants.

"OK, OK .  .  .  go now," I pressed, my own bladder, too, suddenly having 
started to make its existence known, "and don't forget to wash your 'nunu' 
thoroughly."

He stood there in the shadow of the reservoir, not ten feet from me and I 
heard him pee.  He turned the faucet on and I saw him wash his magnificent 
'nunu' sitting down in front of it.  As he came back, I took his flaccid 
cock in my palm and kissed it on the head.  It responded by regaining its 
turgidity almost instantly .  .  .  right before my eyes.

"Now I have to go .  .  ." I declared, "look away, naughty!" While it was 
exciting to see him pee, I did not want him to watch me do it.  That was 
something that I carefully separated from sex.  Double standard? Perhaps, 
but a mind is an uneven and complicated arena.

	We did it to each other then.  After another few minutes of indulging in a 
mock intercourse with his cock held tightly between my thighs, I suffered 
the excruciating heat in my cunt as he moved his buttocks up and down and 
sideways.  The inside of my thighs were by then well lubricated by my own 
juice and I thought I could afford him a little feel for the real thing by 
moving with him.

	My sexual tension kept building with each of his thrust and as my clit got 
squeezed delightfully between my thighs.  I was almost at the verge of 
giving up and parting my legs to take him inside, when he suddenly withdrew 
his member and gasped for air.  He almost jerked himself up as he stood with 
his legs on either side of the bench.

"What?" I groaned in despair, "you done .  .  .  already?" Not that I was 
much further away from it myself.

"Almost .  .  .  I would have .  .  .  Oh .  .  .  Oh .  .  .  Shona-di .  . 
  ." he panted and swiftly brushed my hand away as I extended it to hold the 
twitching, uncapped, manhood.

	He left it alone himself and I saw it jump up and down rather violently.  
He had taken his pants off and I had  pulled his jaangia down under his 
testicles that were themselves taut.  His silky curls were covering the base 
of the six-and-a-half inch rod.  I wanted to run my fingers through them but 
he wouldn't let me.  I sat up and faced him, the throbbing hardness, proudly 
tilted up,  just inches away from my mouth.  I looked up at him and saw his 
eyes tightly shut and his face in a grimace .  .  .  as if he was in pain.

"What's wrong? Sanju.  .  ." I was concerned.

"Oh .  .  .  nothing .  .  .  just .  .  .  oh .  .  ." he answered under 
his breath, and then I saw it happening.  As he stood there, akimbo, 
carefully and strenuously trying not to tip the balance, a sizable glob of 
white semen dribbled out from the slit of his cock and then another small 
portion, as the cock twitched mildly.

"No!  You're done?" I exclaimed in utter frustration.  I was fleetingly 
reminded of the urgency between my legs that was about to break down the 
last barrier.

"No .  .  .  no .  .  .  " Sanju said, "I just kept it from happening .  .  
.  just a little .  .  .  release."

"Wow .  .  .  where did you learn that?" his maneuvers were amazing me.

"I didn't learn it .  .  ." he laughed, "never had to do it before .  .  .  
you know." He swung one of his legs over me to stand on one side of the 
bench.

"Then why?" I asked, expecting to be amazed yet again.

"I wanted to do it together .  .  .  with you .  .  ." and he didn't 
disappoint me.

"Want to?" I asked, "I am ready .  .  .  to do it!"

"Sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," I could hardly wait.  I was not going down that path again 
when I would be forced to feel his hard magnificence inside my throbbing 
slippery cave.  I wanted a safe way out before Sanju felt my weakness.  
Given his carnal aptitude, I wasn't too sure that he couldn't.

	I stood up from the bench and my skirt fell around my ankles.  Sanju had 
already helped me take my panties off.  I stood there with my blouse that 
offered little cover.  Sanju had his shirt off too and all he had on was his 
undershirt and his briefs -- the jaangia.  He faced me and embraced me with 
his arms, our chest against each other separated by the thin material of his 
undershirt.  I pulled it up all the way to the bases of his arms .  .  .  I 
wanted to feel his skin.  My nipples -- hard from my intense heat -- dug 
into his well- formed chest.

"Aaaaaaaaah .  .  ..  nnnnnng .  .  ..  Sanju .  .  ." I heard myself 
murmuring as his cock lay flat against my stomach .  .  .  twitching and 
throbbing.  I felt myself starting to loose control again.  "Let's .  .  .  
do it .  .  .  sucking .  .  ." I said hurriedly as Sanju was trying to feel 
my entire body against his by holding me tighter.  He was also rolling his 
cock against me from side to side, which made me apprehensive of another 
crisis.  I was sure he would not be able avert a second one so soon.

	I broke off from him and pushed him down on the bench and then, placing my 
hands on his shoulders, made him lie down flat on his back.  He swung one 
leg back over the bench and planted both his feet on the ground.  His 
undershirt pulled up, his jaangia rolled down below his balls and his 
adolescent cock standing up straight from the curls, he looked marvelous and 
irresistible.  I tried not to dwell on his form too much as I straddled his 
face, planting my feet on either side of the bench firmly, and I bent down 
over his body to reach for his manhood.

	Sanju placed both his hands on the sides of my waist and gently tugged 
down.  I didn't need any further coaxing, as I responded by lowering myself 
on his face.

"Nnnnnnnnng.  .  .  aaaaaahhhhh .  .  .  Sanju .  .  .  you imp .  .  .  you 
naughty .  .  .  yessssss .  .  .  yessss .  .  .  yes" I felt his tongue on 
my cunt and I shrieked out, "yessss .  .  .  oh .  .  .  oh .  .  .  oh .  . 
  .  my .  .  .  yesssss .  .  .  eat .  .  .  eat .  .  .  eat!"

And eat he did!  My mouth hovering directly above the glistening head of his 
masculinity, I ground my hips in an all out effort to suffocate my young 
cousin, as he sucked hard on the lips of my cunt.  Were I not so 
incapacitated by what was happening over my entire body, I surely would have 
been amazed once more at his mastery.

"Mmmmmm .  .  .  mmmmm .  .  .  mmmmm .  .  ." Sanju's muffled moan into my 
flooded tunnel reminded me to reciprocate.  I let my torso go over his and, 
my nipples digging into the muscles of his thighs, I rested my head on one 
side as I took the head of his cock in my mouth.  I felt him flex his legs 
as he lightly bit down on my swollen labia.  I was close .  .  .

"Aaaaahhhhh .  .  .  Shona-di .  .  ." I heard another muffled gasp as he 
moaned out my name in pleasure.  I wanted to give him the utmost delight .  
.  .  to compensate for what I denied.  We lay still for several minutes,  
with almost a practised ease that rivaled the sessions with Debi.  Somehow 
sensing the degree of my heat, he left my cunt alone and concentrated on the 
area surrounding it.

	Lying on Sanju with 'him' between my lips, my heart raced faster with every 
passing minute.  Increasingly, it seemed impossible to delay the inevitable. 
  The source of its acumen still a mystery, Sanju's expert tongue on my 
moist flesh -- just millimeters away from 'ground zero' --  sent sparks in 
every direction .  .  .  especially to where it counted.  The abdominal 
muscles, and those of my buttocks, were flexing in uncontrolled rhythm.  I 
relaxed my entire body to enjoy his mouth and I took in a deep breath 
drawing in his musk.  The calm before the .  .  .

And then it came .  .  .  like a giant hurricane .  .  .  the moment of 
total abandon with the helplessness in the middle of a storm.

"Aaaaaahhhhhh .  .  .  yess .  .  .  yes .  .  .  yess .  .  .  you imp .  . 
  .  Sanju .  .  .  my God .  .  .  yesss .  .  ." I shrieked and shrieked 
again, as my hips -- as if with a life of their own --  gyrated in their own 
pleasure, grinding my flooded cunt into his face .  .  .

I had no need to wait for his mouth or his tongue.

	As I was about to get to the peak, Sanju somehow managed to get one of his 
hands down between my mouth and his cock and pulled it out of my mouth.  
Before I could protest, he started to spurt.  Streams of thick white semen 
shot out of his cock in rapid successions.  As I watched his manhood jump 
with every spurt and spend gloriously, I felt my final convulsions take hold 
of my body.  With my feet firm on the ground, I bucked and I ground and I 
took his still throbbing and spurting cock in my mouth.  As I climaxed with 
a mind- blowing orgasm, I sucked and I bit and I pumped his cock for the 
last bit of semen that he had to offer.  I didn't get much -- for I was 
watching him spurt his heaviest loads -- but whatever dribbled into my mouth 
tasted heavenly at the moment of my climax, making it as intense an orgasm 
that I would ever remember.

"Oh my God .  .  .  " Sanju was the first to speak.  We lay like that, with 
me on top of him, for an eternity.  The heavenly taste in my mouth was 
starting to turn rather funny and I sat up .  .  .  on his face .  .  .  
when he spoke .  .  .

"you ate it!  My God you ate it?"

"Well, so what?" I reassured him, "doesn't taste so bad, actually." It 
really did not!  A slight astringent aftertaste, but that was about it.  I 
had not had the chance to swallow as much the first time in his room.

	I was completely satiated as I stood up in my nakedness, my dripping cunt 
directly above his face.  He lifted his head and tried to lick it some more 
and I moved away.  It was just too sensitive right then for any touch.

	As I dressed up, I looked at his prone form still lying on the bench.  His 
soft yet enlarged manhood was still twitching .  .  .  perhaps remembering 
the pleasure.  I smiled to myself remembering my screams at the climax, and 
I thanked the loud music down below.

"Wow, Shona-di, that was good!" Sanju sat up and said fondly, "Was it .  .  
.  I mean .  .  .  good  .  .  .  Shona-di?" he asked with genuine concern.

"Stupid  imp," I bent down to kiss his flaccid cock and said, "what do you 
think?" I was still in a state of bliss.  My mind was filled with the sexual 
euphoria that dared to defy any censure from my 'moral' half.  "But, get 
dressed quickly, and splash some water on your face," I said with a hint of 
caution in my voice.

	After we were both 'proper', I unlocked the door to the roof.  I looked at 
my watch in the faint glow of the festival lights.  It wasn't quite eight.  
Talk about "hurricane"!  We had been on the roof for about thirty minutes!

	We decided to sit there for a little while longer and we did .  .  .  on 
the bench .  .  .  without saying much.  As the minutes wore on and my brain 
regained some blood, I started to take stock of what we did and how close I 
came to crossing that technical boundary.

"Sanju .  .  ." I said in a soft tone.

"Hm?"

"You know that what we did was not right, don't you?" It sounded lame even 
to me.

"Ah .  .  .  yes," he looked up at the sky and said, "but .  .  .  you know 
what? I have always fantasized about you."

"Really? What about?" I said.  I cannot say his confession came as a total 
surprise, and I surely had some idea as to the nature of his fantasies.  So, 
I added, "Never mind, you needn't tell me.  I think I know."

There was no word from either of us for a few minutes and then Sanju spoke 
again, "So, now what, Shona-di?" What answer did he expect? I wondered.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, is this the last .  .  ." he uttered in a subdued voice.

"I don't know," I was afraid to say anything.  While a voice of reason 
inside my head was trying to cry out its caution, the sensual self 
remembered the pleasure too vividly.  As has been often the case with me 
when it came to my libido, that voice was finally drowned by a host of 
libertine rationalizations.  "We cannot make this a routine, you know," I 
said in quite an equivocal tone.

"I understand," Sanju responded in a mature voice.  He sounded relieved by 
the lack of resolve in my last statement.

	The tension between Sanju and me completely disappeared.  I had been trying 
to avoid being discovered talking to him alone in the house.  Since that 
evening, I found myself behaving 'normally' -- as an elder cousin would.  
Sanju stayed for another week before returning home and, as far as I recall, 
we probably had similar encounters twice more on the roof.  During his stay, 
he gained some insight into the mysteries of enjoying sex with a woman, and 
I learnt a lot about how to please a man and what semen tasted like.  The 
evening before he left for his home, I didn't let him pull it out of my 
mouth as he came.  Amazingly enough, I had managed to keep my 'cool' 
regarding  going 'all the way' with him.  While he had accepted it and had 
respected my desire to draw the line somewhere, I was painfully aware of my 
own hypocrisy.

***

	After he was gone, I felt very lonely at home.  I tried to analyze if I 
missed him or the sex with him.  After a whole week of soul searching and a 
few very hot sessions with Debi, both Debi and I decided that it was a 
little of both.

"He seems to be a very mature person for his age, Sharmi!" Debi had 
commented after I had described in some detail (and with a little 
embroidery) what Sanju and I had been up to.  It was the Saturday afternoon, 
a couple of weeks following his departure.  The couple of times I had had 
the occasion of meeting Debi during those two weeks, I had kept from her 
what had been happening at home.  She had suspected -- she later told me -- 
that 'something' was afoot.  I was a bit unmindful all that time, she said, 
and knowing that Sanju had been in town she thought his very presence might 
have had put me on the edge.

"I hope you are right, too," I said as my hand traced circles around her 
exposed nipples, "he seemed to have understood that I wasn't going to go any 
further than that."

"Further than that?" Debi inserted two of her fingers inside herself and I 
remember detecting a touch of envy in her voice, "you went further than us . 
  .  .  I mean Ajit and I .  .  ."

	True!  I never really thought about it.  I hadn't thought much about 
anything anyway.  All Debi had done with her fianc� was to jack him off 
inside his clothes.  Neither of them had actually seen the other's 'nunu' 
and there I was suddenly more 'educated' -- however self-taught -- and with 
more experience!  I felt good.  A leg up .  .  .  in more ways than one.  I 
think that it was indeed the first time that I became fully conscious of the 
sense of competition with Debi.

	I was lying completely naked on the bed, my head resting comfortably on her 
stomach as I was talking and caressing her breasts.  As I saw her getting 
hotter and hotter, I started garnishing my story.  I told her how he sucked 
and sucked on my cunt for a whole half-hour and she wet her lips and asked, 
"Better than me?"

	I told her how I sucked on his cock and bit the head and licked the slit 
for a very long time, whereas in truth he barely could withstand that 
manipulation without having to withdraw from my mouth almost every five 
seconds.  But it felt good to gloat about my younger adolescent cousin and 
it made Debi close her eyes and bite down on her lips and  moan with 
increasing excitement.  Then, when I described the details about Sanju's 
cock and his grips during jacking off, she opened her legs wide and started 
sliding her fingers in and out almost in a frenzy.

	Of course I lied.  Even after so many encounters with Sanju, I never saw 
his magnificent dick under sufficient light to describe anything.  And, he 
was not good at jacking off with his hand.  But, I got into a roll and I 
already had had good practice at fantasizing; only this time my fantasies 
were being based on something concrete.

"Wow .  .  .  wow .  .  .  Sharmi, I am so hot .  .  .  I still have not 
seen Ajit's nunu clearly," it was a groan of frustration from Debi.  I sat 
up and looked at her brisk hand between her legs, her fingers wet from the 
juice.

"Slow and steady wins the race," I uttered the adage, and, with a laugh, 
climbed on top of her.  She still had her petticoat and her blouse on.

"Get off," she pushed me and rolled out from under me, "let me take the 
blouse off." It was open and she had no bra on.  We both would occasionally 
go bra- less.  It was not something our mothers approved of -- especially 
with the saari -- but we did it anyway.  One of her friends at the 
Presidency,  Bidisha, would comment that the bra-manufacturers must hate us.

	As Debi slid the blouse off, I tugged at her petticoat cord and undid it.  
She smiled as I slid it off her legs.  We were both naked and it made things 
a lot easier.  I pushed her down on the bed and said, "don't worry, you are 
going to get married soon and then you can see his nunu as much as you 
want."

"Yeah, now I will have to be satisfied seeing yours," she said as I 
straddled her face.  She pulled me down on her and started licking me.  I 
arched my back and moaned out in a low voice.

	It was the afternoon;  we were not at liberty to make too much noise.  It 
was hard .  .  .  it was extremely hard not to scream, for under my closed 
eyelids a vivid movie --  of Sanju fucking Debi while I watched and 
masturbated -- was playing with sight and sound.  I did not stop to think if 
Debi was my surrogate, enjoying every moment of the fantasy as Debi's expert 
lips fluttered on my swollen love-button.

	I was simply oblivious to everything else other than what was sending the 
current from between my legs.  With eyes closed, I cupped my breasts with 
both hands and imagined my nipples against Sanju's smooth supple skin.  With 
my brain in overdrive, I smelled his semen as the room filled up with our 
own scent.  As Debi moaned into my dripping cave, I heard the groans of my 
adolescent cousin against my breasts.

"Do me .  .  .  Sharmi .  .  .  Oh .  .  ." Debi's muffled pleading voice, 
from between my thighs,  brought me back from the roof.  Peeking through my 
eyelids, I looked down to find one of her hands on mine, gently trying to 
pull it away from my breast.  I turned my head and looked behind.  She was 
frantically trying to pleasure herself with one hand.  Her legs folded at 
her knees, she was in a awkward posture trying to get to her own cunt from 
under her buttocks.  Her arm was essentially pinned down between my legs and 
her chest, making it virtually impossible for her to reach herself.

	I got off her face and slid down along her body, planting wet kisses on her 
softness along my way.  I reached her cunt and my tongue found its mark.  
She couldn't stop a loud "Aaaahhhhhnnnggg" escaping her throat, and we both 
froze --  she, with her back arched and her fingers on her taut nipples,  
and I, couched between her wide open thighs with my mouth on her wetness -- 
and waited for somebody to knock on our door to inquire our well being.  
Several seconds passed as I felt the tension in myself and in her leg 
muscles.  For what seemed like an eternity, our love making form just lay 
there on the bed expecting the inevitable interruption.  Looking back now, I 
am sure our tableau would have made a fine subject for any sculptor.

	As I relaxed and brought myself up, I found Debi still in that position, 
her magnificent fullness quivering in apprehension.  I felt my cunt throb as 
I took in the beauty.

"C'mon .  .  ." I whispered, "I don't think anybody .  .  ." I could barely 
finish what I started to say, when I heard my brother Arun's voice outside.

"Sharmi? Are you okay?" there was general concern in his voice.  Debi hadn't 
even began to relax when she froze again, a rather ashen face looking at me 
with beautiful big eyes now even wider in trepidation.

"We are fine, Debi saw a cockroach on the bed," I giggled as I almost yelled 
out at him.  I kept on giggling at my own ingenuity and thinking of the 
scare we both got.  We heard a very perfunctory "Heh!" from the other side 
of the door and we heard Arun leave, satisfied and secure, I'm sure, in his 
conception of the very feminine response to the universally loathed 
creature.

"My God, Sharmi, sorry," Debi spoke finally and in a whisper, as if afraid 
that even her normal voice would bring down the whole house.  Then she 
started to giggle with me, "Cockroach on the bed, indeed .  .  .  two very 
well trimmed and wet ones too .  .  ."

"Lets eat .  .  ." I said and swung myself around.  Without wasting anymore 
time we feasted on each other gently.  I did not think about Sanju and his 
hard cock the rest of the time as I lapped her up and filled my lungs with 
her sweet aroma.  Lying side by side with our heads resting comfortably on 
each others inner thighs, we writhed on the bed in perfect leisurely rhythm.

	We moaned, but very softly and into each other's cunts.  Both ready at the 
same time, we signaled each other.  We came in a series of gentle waves of 
pleasure, hugging each other by the waists in a tight embrace as our orgasms 
melded into one.

	We rested and had sex again .  .  .  and again for the third time that 
afternoon, each lasting about fifteen minutes.  They were pure sex, with a 
new addition in our fantasy land.  She went wild thinking about Sanju and 
then including Ajit and Dipankar in an orgy.  I had a distinct feeling that 
Debi was more sexually charmed by Sanju than she would admit.  By the end of 
the torrid sessions, as we lay in each other's  arms, covered in sweat, I 
came to the conclusion that what happened with Sanju was mostly a physical 
thing with me.  Of course I felt the affection that a cousin feels, but that 
did not translate into this.  I knew that, beside his handsome features, it 
was the sinfulness of the liaison that was arousing to me.  Debi seemed to 
think so too.  It was, according to her, my subconscious desire to get some 
of what she had been getting.

Right!  I could tell her that myself.

	Anyway, by the time I went to bed that night, I had put all the 
psychoanalyses of the past couple of weeks to rest and accepted for what it 
was: My lustful seduction of my adolescent cousin because I had liked the 
feel of his arm against my breast, and I had enjoyed his surreptitious self- 
pleasuring against my being.  I decided that I was not going to go on any 
guilt trip about it, nor would I blame Sanju for it.  I received pleasure as 
much as Sanju did, and I was not going to deny myself that memory.  I fell 
asleep, at peace with myself .  .  .  probably one of the few times that I 
did  without playing with myself.

++++++++++ End Part 19 (To be Contd.)
<1st attachment end>


<2nd attachment, "MS20.TXT" begin>

The Repost Continues:
***************************

Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR.  Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com> 
with comments and corrections.

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.



My Story (Part 20) by Sharmila Sanyal.

	Drizzles of the autumn afternoons gave way to cool northerly breeze.  
Almost imperceptibly -- rather apologetic -- feeble winter dragged himself 
into the metropolis.  Calcutta never slowed down, yet the evening smog of 
the winter months catered an illusion of lethargy around her.  Au contraire, 
she came alive with book fairs and expositions, with film festivals and 
music conferences.

One, still, could get really lonely in a wintry Calcutta - - if one chose 
to.

	Christmas came and went and my 'Apollo' did not show up.  Ajit and Debi 
were getting married the following summer, in June, to be precise, and he 
had to be present at the wedding.  He had decided that he couldn't get away 
twice within such short a period.  I was disappointed and sad, a sure sign 
that I was in love.  I was in my second year of college by then and the work 
load was the saving grace.  However,  that was one of the longest winters.  
As always, Debi and Ajit helped comfort me.  Sex have always helped in 
cheering me up and, naturally, Debi took it upon herself to keep my mind off 
Dipankar.  I knew Ajit would have liked to help too, but I kept a very 
careful distance.  For nothing had changed yet.

	There were nights alone in my bed when I wished Sanju were there.  I knew I 
would be mindful of the ultimate barrier, but I wanted the thrill all the 
same.  I wished his naked body against mine and I wished his hardness in my 
grip.  Imagining his erection between my thighs, I would feel my clitoris 
swell up and become taut.  I would press down on it flexing my thighs .  .  
.  and I would come in a subdued heat, my orgasm gently blanketing me in a 
restful slumber.

	 ***

	They wanted me to tag along for the "honeymoon".  I respectfully declined.  
I was in no mood.

	He couldn't make it even for their wedding.  Debi thought that if I went on 
a short vacation with them it would cheer me up!  That was the 
quintessential Debi .  .  .  ever the tender-heart.  Not that she would have 
invited anybody but me, but it was a ridiculous suggestion nonetheless.  
Ajit was not that enthusiastic, what with him already having had to wait so 
long to really be alone with Debi.

	I would not have, anyway.  I knew how much Debi was looking forward to the 
short honeymoon in Orissa.  Ajit had secured a nice position with a new 
company in another state.  He was hired to oversee their semiconductor 
department.  It was a job too good to pass up for somebody from Calcutta 
University (which has been in shambles for a very long time).  Debi did well 
too, and she opted to continue with her studies.  She wanted to get into a 
teaching position after obtaining a doctoral.

	They had decided to live apart for a while till Ajit found a decent place 
to live and, Debi could transfer to the local reputed institute for her 
post- graduate work.  So, I allowed them their time with each other.  
Indeed, strange as it may sound, even this honeymoon was delayed till Ajit 
could be back with a couple of weeks of unpaid vacation during November.  
Ajit had left for his job within a week following their wedding.

	It was a miserable time for me.  I don't remember ever feeling so alone.  I 
was also very upset with Dipankar.  He had called me up before the wedding 
and I had slammed the phone down in what my mother had later described as a 
'rage'.

	It took me a week to get over that feeling of dejection and despair.  I 
reasoned with myself that the only time I really talked to him in person was 
more than eighteen months back.  So, I decided, it was not worth getting all 
twisted up inside for such a long-distance relationship.  Then, out of the 
blue, I found myself drawn to Bidyut.

***

	That day the whole country was in the grip of panic.  Our colleges shut 
down early for the day and we scrambled out into the streets hoping to catch 
whatever transportation we could find back home.  Debi and Ajit had left 
just a few days earlier for their trip.  There was an eerie silence on the 
streets, save the occasional privately owned bus, its horn blaring, speeding 
off empty at an obscene speed, trying to get back to its depot before the 
'riot' broke.  Almost everybody had a confused and lost look about her/him.  
The Sikh taxi drivers were almost flying through the streets with their 
meters wrapped away and out of sight.

"Fifty," said the rickshaw-puller, "you will not find anything cheaper now, 
Didimoni." He announced with a 'take-it-or-leave-it' attitude.

"He is right .  .  .  we could split the fare." I heard a voice behind me.  
I turned my head and looked at him.  It was Bidyut.  He was then a couple of 
years my senior, in his fifth, to be precise.  "I heard you ask him," he 
added with a gentle smile, "I didn't know you lived there.  I live in that 
area too."

"Really, where?" I asked.  It was strange that I had never seen him around 
there, but from what he told me he lived a street over from ours.  "Sure, 
Bidyut- da, I don't mind."

	And that was it!  He had an aura of gentleness about him that I found very 
comforting ..  especially during that crazy morning's confusion.  I had 
talked with him before and also had an occasional cup of tea in his company 
-- albeit not in any exclusivity.  I never really noticed him beyond the 
usual exchanges of niceties.

	As we talked, sitting in the rickshaw  uncomfortably small even for the 
closest of friends, a warm, if not romantic, feeling swept across me.  I 
don't remember what we -- make it 'he' -- talked about during that 
twenty-five-minute ride, all I now remember is that I had suddenly found 
myself rather interested in the man sitting beside me.  I remember having 
looked at his face and feeling the warmth.  It was that morning that I 
actually noticed his features for the  first time.  Before that, I could 
have had easily passed him on the street and not recognize him as 
"Bidyut-da" with whom I had occasionally shared a bench at the tea stall.

	With voice a very romantic baritone, he had a strikingly typical Bengali 
face -- a very Bengali mix of Mongolian and Caucasian features in just the 
right proportions.  He had large eyes with a straight nose set between a 
pair of rounded cheek bones.  His wide forehead, above the almost perfect 
set of eyebrows, looked even wider with his hair brushed back.  His clean 
shaven face was just too flawless to be remembered.

	With my mind suddenly racing towards a very unknown expanse, the trip home 
had ended with him getting off at his house and paying off the full fare.  I 
had objected and then had dreamily given up with a very sheepish promise of 
returning the favor in kind at some undetermined future date.

***

	They returned from their honeymoon, perfectly radiant, with extremely 
satisfied looks.  When I looked at her eyes, winked and asked the obvious 
question, she said, with a hint of bashfulness, "Oh .  .  .  marvelous .  .  
.  just wonderful .  .  .." or some such nondescript phrases.  I thought I 
saw a familiar sign of her arousal just as she mentally recollected her 
conjugal bliss.  It was obvious that the recent turmoil that the country was 
facing did little to dampen her excitement.

	The Prime Minister assassinated, and the entire country in the throes of 
intense communal passion, our college remained closed for the next several 
days.  Despite the political odium he engendered among the followers of the 
Prime Minister,  the Chief Minister of our province drew admiration from all 
political parties for having averted a communal massacre the like of which 
had gripped New Delhi.  It was a strange time indeed.  Prior to that day, 
the political fallout from the very insolent action on the Sikh holy shrine 
was confined to that part of the country.  Now, every Indian was feeling the 
pinch.  The late Prime Minister had never been the darling of every Indian, 
but she had an enigma about her that kept friends and foes equally in awe.  
The entire body politic was at a loss.  I had never been too political, but 
something in the air had permeated my apathy.  Maybe it was the fact that it 
was the first assassination and the first communal unrest in India during my 
existence.  We were not reading about these things in the history books, we 
were living through it.  For several days, my libido seemed to have taken a 
well deserved vacation.

"Did you guys go out and see things?" I asked.

"We did .  .  .  went on a trip to Konark," she said with a wink and a 
naughty glitter in her eyes, "and after that you can imagine .  .  .  "

"Sure I can," I said, "knowing you and Ajit, you guys probably never left 
your hotel rooms after that." I wasn't really too much interested in 
learning the details.  It surprised even me.

"Why don't you come to our place?" Debi suggested, "and I will tell you all 
about IT!" There definitely was a pregnant stress on that last word.  I 
would have died to know all about "IT".  I would have asked her over to our 
place.  I wanted to talk to her about Bidyut-da.  Then I decided against it. 
  I wasn't sure myself about what was happening,  so I thought I  would keep 
this newest twist to myself .  .  .  at least for a while.

	I did go to 'her' place, and I think I did listen to the very detailed 
description of intimacy between her and Ajit.

	After the wedding, they were allocated a separate room in the house.  The 
room was on the third floor, which was essentially the roof except for this 
one room that Ajit and his younger brother used to share.  It was of a 
modest size and very airy.  Ajit's brother, about six years his younger, 
ended up having to sleep in the drawing room since the second room belonged 
to their sister.

	Debi locked the doors to their room and proceeded to give me a 'blow- 
by-blow' account of their honeymoon in Orissa.  Not much about Orissa.  She 
described to me in details the numerous erotic sculptures that adorn the 
many temples, and promised me to show the pictures they took of them.  I 
recollected, even as I listened to her, the very physical effect I had 
experienced several years earlier when we went to Puri, and then from there, 
to see the Sun temple of Konark.  That, in all probability, would have been 
my first experience of arousal.  I had little knowledge of much more then.  
(I don't remember the exact year, but I could not have been more than 
twelve, and I had absolutely no idea what a sexual excitement should feel 
like).

	As I listened to her describing how they tried to emulate the very 
difficult positions depicted on the temples, and how, she banged her head on 
the floor while trying to accommodate a standing Ajit with a modified 
head-stand, I found my mind drifting.  My disinterested state didn't go 
undetected for too long and Debi was all over me trying to see if I wasn't 
coming down with something.

"You should, maybe, stay here tonight, Sharmi," Debi said with concern in 
her voice, "I will make you a bed on the floor."

	If I were in my usual elements, my response,  to that proposal, would have 
been predictable.  When I failed to respond with the usual racy suggestions, 
Debi looked at me intently and said, "I know something is wrong, what is 
it?"

"Nothing, Debi, I am just preoccupied with the things going on in the 
country, I guess," I said as I stood up from the bed and looked at her.  It 
might not have been the whole truth but it did comprise a part of it.

"I see," she was not convinced, "but I have never known  you to be very 
political."

"You don't have to be political, Debi," I snapped back before I could 
control myself, "you think everything is about you?"

"Sharmi!"

"I'm sorry, Debi, I am really not in the mood," I kissed her and tried to 
make up for the damage.  "I want to listen to your honeymoon stories, maybe 
I can come and spend the night when Ajit is not here?" I knew -- even as I 
was saying it -- that Debi was not buying it.

"I'm sorry too, Sharmi," she said, "I know how you feel.  Dipu should have 
come in June .  .  .  even if for a week."

"Never mind him," I thought I should tell her that she was way off-base on 
that one, but I couldn't; I wasn't entirely convinced myself of that either. 
  Besides, I didn't want to give her another reason to worry.  However, both 
politics and Bidyut were to be blamed that evening.

	For the first time I kept something from Debi.  The urge to protect my 
newfound romantic interest from others was inexplicably dominant.  Another 
year would pass before I could tell her about him.

***

	We met regularly in the hospital and, before long, started going out to 
have dinner at the local restaurants.  Things were made simple by the fact 
that Dipankar failed to show up the following year too, and our regular 
correspondence had slowed to a trickle.  Events during that period are 
somewhat fuzzy and there are temporal overlaps in my mind; but I believe, by 
the year-end, Bidyut was a general practitioner, assisting his father in his 
already established clinic.  He had wanted to go into surgery, but his 
father's failing health forced him to pick up the practice.  Although he 
didn't seem to mind, I had felt sorry for him.

++++

	When I finally broached Bidyut to her, she had expressed uneasiness.  "But, 
aren't you corresponding with Dipu, too?" Debi had said.

"I am .  .  .  but don't you think it would be rather selfish of him to 
expect that I will keep my life on hold for a person I had basically talked 
to once about thirty months ago?" I became aware of the acerbity in my 
delivery.

"I suppose," and she had looked at me quizzically.  "You sure you have 
absolutely no feeling for Dipu, then?" she had always been very direct and 
this one actually caught me off-guard.

"I .  .  .  I .  .  .  don't know," I had said, "But Bidyut is here and 
now!" I had always known that there was something about Dipankar that was 
hard for me to ignore; but let me stick to the timeline for now.  Other 
things warrant documentation meanwhile.

***

	After Ajit had left for his job again, Debi was feeling very alone.  
Especially so since she was in  different surroundings.  Although she was no 
stranger to that household, it was, after all, not hers .  .  .  not yet, 
anyway.  Not where she grew up and not the room she was used to falling 
asleep at night.

The two weeks following their wedding that she and Ajit were together, had 
passed in a blink.  She had had little time to brood.  There is an age old 
Bengali aphorism -- "ghharete parabaashi" -- that could aptly describe her 
state of mind.  She was a stranger in her 'own' house.

	As for myself, I was feeling relieved that Ajit had left the week before.  
Now that he was Debi's husband, I felt uneasy being my old self in his 
presence.

	Ajit's parents were wonderful and they made every effort to make their 
'daughter-in-law' comfortable, but it wasn't something they could fix.  Debi 
was missing Ajit like she had never imagined.  It was probably compounded by 
the short week of honeymoon.

	It was not the same as before their marriage.  She described to me how the 
physical union had felt like the ultimate melding of their two souls.  It 
was something I could not comprehend then.  I wondered how she could be so 
miserable all of a sudden when she knew all along that they were to live 
apart for a while.  Indeed, not accompanying him was her decision all along. 
  After my initial sympathy wore off, I felt irritated at her whining about 
it every time we met.  Part of my vex (I am sure now)  was due to the sudden 
cognizance of Ajit's eminence in her life.

Strangely I had half expected that, but never saw it coming.

	Debi somehow sensed my dejection and came to the rescue.  "Sharmi," she 
tenderly said that afternoon as we lay side by side in their bed, "you are 
upset, aren't you?"

"No!" I was looking at the ceiling, "why?"

"I know you," she sounded contemplative, "I think you are jealous." After a 
short pause, she whispered out loud, "My God, Sharmi .  .  .  you ARE 
jealous .  .  .  of Ajit .  .  .  aren't you!" she sat up straight beside 
me.  I looked at her and marveled  at her beauty.  She looked so damn 
beautiful, the vermilion along the thin parting of her dense black hair 
showing like a line of fire!  I wanted to hug her, and kiss her, and become 
her as Ajit obviously had.  But for my bruised ego, I would have pulled her 
down on top of me and be naughty.  Instead, all I did was turn over on my 
stomach and break out in a bawl, thankfully muffled by the pillow.

"Great!" Debi jumped out of the bed and quickly closed the door.  "What on 
earth .  .  .  !  Why .  .  .  why are you crying like that? If anybody 
should cry it should be I !  Sharmi .  .  .?"

"See .  .  .  you don't even think about me anymore, Debi," the words 
escaped muffled.

"What?" Debi stood beside the bed and turned me over, "what are you talking 
about? You are being childish, Sharmi.  You know better than to say that."

"You have not stopped talking about Ajit since I came," I was being 
childish.

"Now!  Upon my word, Sharmi!  I thought you wanted to know about Ajit and 
me!" she said, "and whom should I talk to about these things but you, 
anyway? Oh, Sharmi .  .  .  you know I love you both .  .  .  equally" she 
added, "well almost .  .  ." and broke out in a giggle.

	In the deep recesses of my head somewhere there still was a sane voice that 
poked me and alerted me to my juvenile behavior.  I just wanted to hear it 
from Debi.  I was certainly mature enough to know the meaning of "almost" in 
that context.  I also knew rather well that I was really not jealous of Ajit 
(indeed, I was, at that moment, feeling a kinship with him).  I could not 
myself fathom my own emotions; I felt stupid.

"Damn .  .  .  I know .  .  .  I feel stupid, Debi," I murmured.

"Never mind now," she said, "I have not had any release for over a week now, 
are you in a mood to .  .  .?"

"God, yessss," I said with a naughty hiss, grabbed her hand and pulled.  She 
lost her balance and fell on the bed.  The next moment she was all over me.  
"Do you think you'll like me after doing Ajit?" I said, trying to sound 
despondent.

"We'll see .  .  ." Debi answered as she unbuttoned my blouse, "if not, 
we'll surgically fit you with something." We both giggled at that very crass 
quip.

"I should get out of my clothes, Debi," I said and stood up from the bed, "I 
will have to go back home, you know."

"OK .  .  .  hurry up," Debi was evidently starving.  She was looking at me 
with a fiery lust in her eyes.  I took my time as I undressed.  I watched 
her breathing getting irregular and her eyes glazing over as I teased.

"Sharmi!" she hissed as I gently gathered my sari up and started pleating it 
for properly putting it away.

"You don't want me to go home in a crumpled up sari, do you?" I said with a 
nonchalant smile and that drove her mad.

"I have a million saris you could wear, you imp!" she got up and from the 
bed and grabbed the half- done thing from me.  She had already divested 
herself of her own and was in her blouse and petticoat.  I could see the 
outlines of her nipples from above the fine material of her sleeveless 
blouse.  She seemed to have added some to those beautiful orbs since I last 
saw her in a state of undress.

"Wow .  .  .  Debi .  .  .  Ajit certainly has applied his touch there, 
hasn't he!" I said as I felt the contour of one of her breasts with my hand, 
"Ahem .  .  .  I wonder if he will be willing to oblige me too .  .  ."

"Sure .  .  ." She said while unbuttoning her blouse, "but I don't think you 
really need any in that department, you look just fine."

	We were most certainly in our comfortably racy frame of mind.  The allusion 
to 'Ajit's touch' is traceable to the widely held contention among Indians 
that the lover's massage serves to augment female breasts (a concept that 
surely would save a lot of money for a lot of misdirected souls, and, of 
course, push back the retirement age of a certain group of professionals by 
about twenty years).

	I stared at her full, proud breasts with envy and affection.  As she bared 
them, I lunged forward and stooped to plant a kiss on one.  A strange scent 
greeted me.  Debi even smelled different!  It was in no way a turn off, but, 
in a flash, I became aware of her mutation from being just 'Debi' to being 
somebody's wife,  somebody's daughter-in-law and somebody's sister-in-law.

I might have froze in that posture, for I heard Debi's low voice, "Sharmi?"

"You smell different," I looked up at her eyes and declared, "maybe it's the 
house."

"Bad?" she asked naively.  There was a slight hint of embarrassment in her 
voice.

"You never smell bad," I said, and licked at one of her already swollen 
nipples still under the thin fabric of her blouse, "just a little 
different."

Debi moaned and took her blouse off.

'C'mon .  .  .  Sharmi .  .  ." she said as she pulled me towards her and we 
both crashed on the bed.

	It was a big bed and it felt different not to have to maneuver our bodies 
within the confines of a narrow cot that we were used to.  I still had my 
blouse and my petticoat on, but I think I forgot about them.  I was hungry 
for her, and for her sex.  I had not even masturbated for a few weeks.  The 
pent up tension -- and my frustration at not being able to connect with Debi 
and Ajit following their union -- made me frantic.  I wanted to make love to 
Debi like the very first night we explored each other.

"Mmmmmm .  .  ." I buried my face between her breasts and let myself go on 
her body.  She held me tightly with her arms across my back and rocked.

"Ohhhhh .  .  .  sweet .  .  .  my sweet Sharmi .  .  ." she moaned and she 
rocked as if cradling a baby, "yessss .  .  .  suck .  .  .  suck on my tits 
.  .  .  ohhhh .  .  .  nnnnngghhhh .  .  .  missed you .  .  ."

	I soon forgot my anguish and had the most exhilarating afternoon in months. 
  Debi let me relax on my back while she feasted.  She definitely appeared 
more hungry than I was.  I wasn't complaining, however.

"You look more beautiful now," I said as she unbuttoned my blouse.

"Really?" she looked at my eyes "why?"  Even as she said that I could tell 
she knew already.  Her eyes betrayed her.  There was a knowing contentment 
in those beautiful eyes that was hard to miss.

"You tell me," I reached with my hands and caressed her breasts, "Could it 
be Ajit?"

"I don't see how," she was in a very playful mood, "except that I eat .  .  
.  ate .  .  .  a little different," she added and threw me a naughty grin.  
She reached around my back to unhook my bra and I let her fumble for a few 
seconds before pointing out that I was wearing one with a clasp in the 
front.  "I should get one of these," she said, "he should have less of a 
trouble then."

"You shouldn't make everything that easy for him, Debi .  .  .  or else 
you'll spoil him," I said,  very seriously, as I lazily played with her 
nipples.

"OK .  .  .  boss .  .  ." she said with a mock salute and a smile.  She 
bent down on me, taking my already sensitive nipples between her teeth -- 
one by one.  Arching my back,  I bit down hard on my lower lip trying to 
stifle a moan.

	We savored each other  without bothering to get rid of all our clothes.  
She still had her petticoat on; and I my blouse, my bra and the rest.  
Soaking my panties through, I let Debi rub her closely trimmed cunt on my 
upper thigh, while, hunched over my torso, she licked me and kissed me and 
caressed me, her fingertips tracing abstract patterns on my skin.

	Considering the extent of our want, we behaved with utmost civility, I must 
say.  Whether that was a subconscious decision on our part -- given that it 
was Debi's 'Shashurbaari' -- or it just happened that way, I couldn't tell, 
but we enjoyed what we did that afternoon.

	We played with each other, despite the urgency, and spent the entire 
afternoon slowly satisfying our bodies.  I don't remember having ever done 
it that way till that day.  We had had taken our time before -- ascending to 
feverish heights of passion and then letting go with volcanic raptures -- 
but that afternoon was very different.  Time waited in deference to our 
mutual homage at the alter of Pleasure.  It was an extended autumn that year 
in early October and its indolence  -- in that room -- had us in its grip.  
We licked each other in a sixty-nine and the heady aroma between her thighs 
made me tipsy.  I don 't have any other word to describe my state.

	When we knew that we were close, we faced each other and we held ourselves 
in a soft embrace, our thighs entwined and the petals of our womanhood 
softly but surely against the other's thigh, grinding in a deliberate 
rhythm.  Our tongues mingled, our eyes locked, and we moaned and we groaned 
into each other's mouths as we started a slow ascension to the peak .  .  .  
the peak I had not visited in the longest time .  .  .  the peak from where 
I would let myself go .  .  .  the peak where Debi pushed me up to, in a 
gentle, sustained fervor.  I dug into the smooth skin of her thigh with my 
wetness and my senses reeled, my lightness soaking up every sensation that 
permeated from between my legs.  Our resolution washed over our perspiring 
bodies like tiny, yet unbroken,  waves that break at a  lake's shore in a 
calm afternoon.

	We could have easily drifted off to an afternoon siesta, only that it was 
not quite afternoon anymore.  The late autumn's Sun had already undertaken 
his hasty retreat.  We looked into each other's eyes and smiled.  I thought 
I detected a shyness in her eyes.  I put my lips on hers.

"Ki bhaabchhish?" I whispered my  question, my lips barely moving on hers.

"Kichhunaa .  .  ." she replied with her eyes closed.

"You ARE thinking something, Debi," I moved my face away and asked with some 
emphasis.  Her eyes were still closed.

"Well .  .  ." she looked at my eyes and said, "I was wondering if this 
could be considered adultery!"

"Because you are married now?" I found myself wondering at the same time.  
Never did I consider that possibility.

"Yeah!" she said out loud and sat up.  She looked ravishing in her 
disheveled hair and her state of undress.

"Good question," still mulling the idea, I responded unmindfully.  I had no 
idea either.  The scenario never played itself out in my imagination.

"Maybe I should actually ask Ajit," Debi chuckled and ran one of her hand 
across my breasts, lightly touching the taut nipples with her fingertips, 
"if he doesn't think it is .  .  ."

"And if he does?" I put my hand on hers over my chest and asked.  I knew 
that Debi wasn't going to ask him anything and our occasional afternoons or 
nights together would remain the presumed play, as it were, between us.  
But, again, just that thought of Ajit's confidence amused me.

"Well, I guess I'll have to make sure he doesn't. Won't I?" she replied with 
the same naughty smile and a feigned sigh.

	We lazily dressed and made ourselves civil before joining the family 
downstairs.  Debi's in-laws were sitting in front of the TV in their small 
drawing room.  They looked up at us and smiled approvingly.

"Byash ghum dili tora!" Ajit's Mom said with an affectionate nod and in an 
accent reminiscent of her ancestral home.  I was glad for her inference.

"Not really .  .  .  I was just dozing," I laughed, "I usually don't sleep 
in the afternoons."

"I did .  .  ." Debi said in a very low voice.  I detected a hint of guilt 
in her voice.  She never could lie very well.

"Stay for dinner, Sharmi," Ajit's mom insisted, her sense of hospitality a 
reflection of her unmistakable roots in the erstwhile 'East Bengal'.

"No, no, it'll be too late then," I said.  "I will come back and maybe stay 
the night one of these days," I added with a fleeting glance at Debi.  She 
was looking straight ahead through the window.

	I felt a nip in the air as I stepped outside.  Debi was going to see me off 
at the bus stop.  I gathered the thin shawl around me and looked at her.  
"Toke jete hobe na .  .  ." I said tentatively.  I wanted her company as 
long as I could, but I said that anyway!

"No, I want to .  .  ." Debi started walking.  "It feels good to be out," 
she added, "Can't go out on a whim anymore."

"Why do you say that?" I was a little puzzled.

"Oh Sharmi .  .  ." she made a gesture of exasperation with her shoulders, 
"It's not the same when you are married!  You'll see .  .  ."

"I still don't get it," I said, "They are so nice .  .  .  you are lucky!" I 
was referring to her in-laws.  They were indeed nice.

"Sharmi, Sharmi .  .  ." she said, "They are nice, but no matter what, I am 
now a 'married woman' and 'married women' don't go out for evening strolls."

	Not that I was not familiar with what Debi was saying, it was just that I 
could not picture her as a 'married woman' in the way she submitted herself 
to be one.

	I wanted to give a hug, but I knew that the way I would hug her would 
attract curious looks.  Not that it would essentially result in any 
inference at large, but I had become more aware of our relationship that 
went beyond the social prescription.  I had learnt to control my spontaneity 
in public.

Anyway , I was feeling much better knowing that marriage had not diminished 
her affection.

***

	It was getting a little too much for Debi.  The commute to the university, 
for her post- graduate classes, was not that difficult; and she was used to 
it.  However, what she was not used to was being a 'daughter-in-law' and a 
graduate student at the same time.  In an extended family - - no matter how 
moderately extended it is -- there are certain things that are expected of 
the new inductee.  A 'hyphenated daughter' is supposed to help in the 
general upkeep of the house, which a 'daughter' often may be excused from.  
That is not to say that, Jayeeta, her sister-in-law, didn't do her share.  
Being the youngest of the three siblings, and by virtue of the fact that she 
was only fifteen at the time, she was the darling of the household.  Debi 
was very fond of her.  Nonetheless, she increasingly found herself unable to 
cope with her dual role.

	When she talked to Ajit's mother about withdrawing from the University, his 
mother was very upset.  She suggested that Debi better set her priorities 
and forget about the household for the time being.  After another month or 
so, she wrote to her son to come to Calcutta and find a place for themselves 
closer to the University.  That was simply a way to have her out of the 
house so that she would not feel obligated to do things that are usually 
expected of the daughter-in-law.  Even after being told not to bother with 
the household, Debi was carrying on with her chores as usual.

	That worked out just fine.  I 'agreed' to live with Debi, and Ajit found a 
very decent place on CIT Road.  It was closer to the Sealdah train station 
than it was to Park Circus, and indeed was close to both our schools.  My 
parents agreed that, since I would be staying with Debi, it would be 
convenient for me too.

	So, by the next May, Debi and I were sharing this wonderful flat on the 
ground floor of a three-storied house.  It had two bedrooms, a drawing room, 
a kitchen and an extended dining space.  The neighborhood was good too.  My 
father wanted to pay half the rent, but Ajit declined.

"You must be joking, Meshomashai," he had said, "I am relieved that Debi 
doesn't have to live all by herself."  As a gesture, then, my father bought 
some furniture for the drawing room.

	Ajit had only a week's leave from his job, and so we finalized the rental 
deal and moved in within that short time.  He had arranged for the flat 
through a friend soon after his mother had contacted him.  So, it was ready 
when he arrived.  Needless to say, I allowed Debi and Ajit their privacy for 
the couple of nights they got to spend together in their "own home" -- 
albeit rented -- and stayed home.



"Now .  .  .  Sharmi .  .  .  behave yourself while I am away," Ajit 
whispered in my ears at the train station.

"Did you tell that to your wife too?" I responded sharply -- in an 
undertone.

"what are you two whispering about?" Debi asked.

"Tell her, Ajit .  .  ." I smiled.

"Tell me what?"

"He wants us to behave,"

"Yeah?" Debi looked at Ajit and then at me with a very coquettish grin, 
"What did you say?"

"I said to tell you," I hugged her from the side and said.

"I see that you are not going to," Ajit winked at us, and then added "At 
least I don't have to worry about anybody else getting into my bed."

"You are being rather presumptuous, aren't you Ajit?" I said with some 
defiance in my voice.

"Who do you have in mind?" he asked, "Sanju" and then followed it up by a 
quick "Oooops .  .  .  sorry."

"Debi!" I was genuinely shocked, "You .  .  .  you told him?"

"Ajit!" Debi was embarrassed, "you are useless, Ajit!"

"Don't worry, it is safe with me," Ajit grinned devilishly.

	I was not sure how to react.  I was a little embarrassed but that was about 
the whole extent of it.  I was shocked that Debi told him, but I wasn't mad. 
  Within a few moments it made every logical sense that Debi would share 
this with Ajit.  Fleetingly, I could visualize them in a passionate embrace 
on their bed .  .  .  he inside her and she murmuring the torrid details 
about me and Sanju, while he slid in and out in a slow rhythm .  .  .  
listening to her.  I must say, the scene, as I imagined it, made me humid.

"Who said I was worrying .  .  ." I found myself saying as I tightened my 
embrace of Debi, "but you never know .  .  .  really .  .  .  Ajit." I felt 
some satisfaction in giving some of his own medicine back.

Well .  .  .  neither did I!

+++++

End Part 20 (To be Contd.  .  .)
<2nd attachment end>


<3rd attachment, "MS21.TXT" begin>

The Repost Continues:
**************************

With due apology for my protracted postings of this long story, here is the 
twenty-first part.  As always, I look forward to feedback from the readers.  
Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR.  Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com> 
with comments and corrections.

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.



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 "fa�on 
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 realised 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 realisation 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 = 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'.
<3rd attachment end>


<4th attachment, "MS22.TXT" begin>

The Repost Continues:
**************************

Over the last couple of weeks, I have been receiving mails from some readers 
urging me to continue with "My Story".  I appreciate your eagerness, 
however, I must admit that the recent events have left me rather 
"de-eroticized" (a term suggested by one of the readers).  I had to force 
myself to finish this part as an attempt towards "normalization".  Nothing 
works better -- no matter what the conflict -- like love and sex.  I wish we 
could bring these deprived zealots and fanatics some of ASSTR.  I have a 
strong hunch that it would go a long way towards attaining lasting peace 
(and a lot more decisively) than a would gunpowder and missiles.

My thoughts are with all of humankind so precariously posited on the verge 
of extinction because of the falsehoods some people use to incite hatred in 
the name of their Creator.  How ironic, that the Creator should be the 
silent spectator while Her creatures annihilate each other shouting Her 
name!

Think loving thoughts.

Please visit my ftp site at ASSTR.  Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com> 
with comments and corrections.



My Story (Part 22) by Sharmila Sanyal.

"You mean to say .  .  ." Debi sounded incredulous.

"Well, yes .  .  .  I mean .  .  .  no .  .  .  yes," I didn't know how else 
to elaborate.

	Debi and I rarely talked about Bidyut.  I must say that I had been less 
than open about the relationship.  If it was out of a sense of privacy I 
couldn't say, but certainly there was a clear separation in my mind . . . an 
island that I liked to visit alone.  Even now I find it hard to articulate 
the senses and the feelings.  Debi used to ask me about him when it all 
started and after I announced Bidyut to them.  I never could say much.

"Tell me, tell me," she would eagerly ask, as I would walk in through the 
doors.  "What?" I would ask back and look away.  It was as if I never wanted 
to allow her a peek into this world of mine.  Then she would insist I 
recount every detail I could think of, and I would say something like, "Oh, 
we talked about his patients, really." In fact, we often did.

I suppose, albeit subconsciously, I knew that nothing about our 
conversations and nothing about us would sound interesting to Debi.  When 
they met him they did manage to carry on very nice and meaningful 
conversations, I must say.

"And he didn't .  .  .  I mean you didn't feel .  .  .  anything?" Debi's 
disbelief showed through again, "Did you touch him here?" she pressed on in 
more ways than one.

"I didn't press -- like you are doing now -- if that's what you mean!"

	We were lying on our backs, in our night-dresses, talking about 'things;' 
and Bidyut's visit -  while she was away - certainly qualified as a 'thing'. 
  Normally I would just have listened to Debi, but something within myself 
was yearning for an ear.  My first kiss it was not, but it was Kiss!  And it 
was Bidyut's first .  .  .  too painfully, and too obviously his First.  One 
has to concede that his nescience in kissing would be hardly unexpected, and 
I should admit to a certain sense of satisfaction thereof.  As I described 
that evening  to Debi, however, my perplexity grew with my own recollection.

"Maybe he was .  .  .  you know .  .  .  wearing .  .  ." Debi tried to find 
a loop-hole in my perception, "You know .  .  .  they have these tight 
things they wear .  .  .  Ajit does sometimes."

"Perhaps, but .  .  ." I knew I was grasping at straws there, "But, don't 
you suppose I could tell even then?"

"Not unless you groped like this" Debi demonstrated with passion, while 
planting a wet kiss on my lips.

"Right .  .  ." I laughed, "I am sure I would have scandalized him right out 
of Calcutta, if I did that!" Debi's laughter drowned out my feeble 
contemplative titter.

"He did return the kiss, though, didn't he?" Debi looked at me quizzically 
in the dull bluish-green night light.

"Well, yes," I said, "but almost as if he had to." The more I thought about 
it, the more restless I felt.

"You don't want to do it?" Debi  propped herself up on one elbow and asked 
with a very perturbed voice.

"Why .  .  .  yes .  .  .  sure.  .  ."

"But you are dry again," she pointed out.  I hadn't realised that she had 
pulled my night-dress up and that her hand had found its way between my 
legs.

"I am?" I didn't know what to say, "I suppose I am .  .  .  maybe not 
tonight."

"That's all right, Sharmi," Debi was quite understanding, "it is disturbing, 
what you just described."

"Hmmm," I concurred with the simple sound of equivocation.  I lay on my back 
and stared at the ceiling while Debi cuddled up against me, her wet lips 
nudging against the side of my neck.  I liked her warm, moist breath on my 
skin as her hand lay folded across my chest.  It was a peaceful night all 
around.  Soon, I felt Debi's breathing become regular as she drifted off to 
her deep slumber.  'Such uncomplicated life she has!' I thought, as I kept 
staring at the white-washed ceiling and kept worrying . . .

	I worried.  I worried that night and I worried for several days after that. 
  I had not really thought much about that evening when I let the woman in 
me get the better of me.  I hadn't planned anything, for I had little vision 
of the future.  With Promila gone, something inside of me had urged me to 
simply seize the moment that evening.

I had not paid much attention to his stupor following my kiss.  In other 
words, it made little impression on me.  Still seated on his lap, I had 
loosened his tie, unbuttoned his shirt buttons and slid my hand under his 
shirt.  I traced meaningless alphabets on his undershirt that covered his 
smooth chest as I looked into his eyes.

His eyes betrayed no emotion as he smiled back through his clenched jaws, 
finally.

"Sharmi .  .  .  what are you doing?" He sounded as calm as always.  At 
least, he tried to.

"What do you think I am doing?" I asked with my natural eagerness.

"I am not sure .  .  ." he was tentative, as if he didn't want to admit to 
himself the consciousness.

"Never mind then .  .  ." I had said, sealing off his apparent denial with 
another kiss.

"Sharmi!" this time he broke it off with some determination, "I don't think 
.  .  ."

"Don't think what!"

"We are not yet married.  Sharmi!" The tremor was audible in his voice.

"I know that!" comprehension was still eluding me.

"Then?" he held my shoulders with both hands at his arm's length and said, 
"I don't think we should be doing this, Sharmi .  .  .  it's not .  .  .  
ummmm .  .  .  right, you know!"

"What isn't right?" my brain still suffered from a paucity of blood, I 
suppose.

"You know, what you are doing?"

"Kissing you? What's so wrong in kissing you?" it was I who was stupefied 
now.

"We shouldn't be kissing before we are married!" Bidyut's voice sounded 
quite clinical as he pronounced his persuasion.

"Okay," I was completely at a loss for any more.  I got off his knees and 
sat down on my chair.  I looked at him as he buttoned his shirt and 
tightened his necktie up -- � sang-froid!

	Should I have been offended? I don't know, I didn't feel offended then, nor 
did I feel rejected.  A bit amazed was I .  .  .  and amused at the same 
time.  I marveled at Bidyut's apparent coolness and I admired his composure 
on the face of my 'assault'.  I have seen lust in Ajit's eyes and I have 
experienced passion with Sanju.  I have felt other men's desires against me 
in crowded transport, and have often enjoyed the surreptitious brushes.  I 
have -- on occasions -- encouraged a few past even that.  I suppose that 
Bidyut's nonchalance against my obvious advance was so unexpected that I did 
not know how to react.  I chalked that down to a separation of love and sex 
in my own mind until that night, when Debi sounded a note of sympathy and 
concern.

	I could not let it rest.  It has been against my nature to let a sleeping 
dog lie.  Well, I didn't intend any pun there, this was serious!  I owed it 
to myself, I thought, and what ensued did change things for me.

*******

"Why don't you come over for dinner next week?" I propositioned Bidyut one 
Saturday evening.

"Sure," he accepted, "What day?"

"How about next Friday?" I said.  I didn't elaborate any further on my 
choice of the day.

	So it was done.  When I let Debi know (for it was her idea to begin with) 
she struggled hard to contain her excitement.  Promila was in on it too.  
Being of similar ages, the three of us had become quite close over the past 
several months, and that camaraderie, later, had extended far.  Indeed, as 
Promila had revealed later, her trip to the store for eggs that evening was 
a very well considered gesture to allow Bidyut and me some privacy.

	When Bidyut arrived that evening around eight o'clock, Debi had already 
left for her in-laws and Promila, having finished her chores for that day, 
was about to leave.  As Debi was away for that night, she would have to stay 
over and would return around eleven.  She answered the door for him and as 
he entered past her, she threw me a meaningful look and winked 
mischievously.

I stood beside the dining table and smiled at Bidyut as he came up to me and 
asked, "Isn't Debi home?"

"She is at her in-laws for the weekend," I muttered, the conspiratorial 
underplot behind her absence eating through my conscience.

"Oh!" Bidyut was visibly taken aback.

"Do you have anything else for me to do?" Promila's redundant query was 
addressed to me.  I simply shook my head in response.  "I will be back later 
then, Sharmi-di," she said and barely concealed a giggle.  And I never 
thought, till that moment, that I could be nervous about anything.

"She is leaving too?" a perplexed Bidyut uttered.

"Why, am I not enough?" I couldn't pass up on that little coquetry.  Truth 
be told, I was as much at a loss as anybody in that room.

"He he he .  .  ." he made a nervous sound.

"Relax, I am not going to eat you up!" I said as I locked the front door 
behind Promila and I heard her through the door, saying, "It's not good to 
lie like that, Sharmi-di."



	We finished our dinner while talking about my courses and other un-romantic 
things, and he maintained his elements by going over the past week's patient 
charts.  We retired to my room.  Promila, in her usual levity, had decorated 
the room with a couple of bunches of tuberose.  The air in the room was 
heavy with their fragrance.  The unmistakable association of the flower with 
wedding nights didn't elude Bidyut for long.

"Whose idea was this?" he asked, not making any effort to conceal the 
unease.

"Ummm .  .  .  I don't know .  .  .  maybe Promila .  .  ."  I said, as I 
followed him into the room.  I was not a little disappointed in his 
response, and was beginning to feel rather stupid for having arranged for 
this evening of romance.

"Promila takes a little too much liberty with you two, doesn't she!"

"Liberty? No .  .  .  not at all .  .  ." I said with some emphasis, "She is 
a good girl and we have become friends." With that I simply swung around in 
front of him and, throwing my arms around his neck, drew his face down to 
mine.  Keeping my eyes on his, I planted my open mouth around his lips.  He 
stiffened and then let go with a surprised monosyllabic "Hey" that got 
muffled between my lips.  It was high time I took charge, I remember 
thinking.

	We stumbled onto my neatly done bed, with him on top of me.  I almost could 
feel his heart beat faster with every passing moment.  I held his head 
against my chest and ran my fingers through his wavy dense hair.

"Bidyut!" I muttered through my breath.

"Mmmm?" his response was muffled against my chest.

"Does it feel so bad?"

"Nnnaah" he uttered against my aanchal that covered my blouse that covered 
my breast.

"Why are you so tense then?" I whispered.  Bidyut tried to relax.  I could 
tell that he was still rather ill at ease.

"I am not sure if we should do this," he managed to blurt out in one breath 
after a few seconds.

"Do what?" I couldn't help but show my amusement at his undue apprehension.  
Undue it was; for although it was hardly a situation � l'improviste, I 
myself had absolutely no idea where it was leading to.

	Bidyut rolled off me and on his side.  He looked flushed, his wheaty 
complexion betraying his emotion.  "You know what I'm talking about," he 
said, "we ought not let the rein loose, Sharmi!"

"Eitukutei laagaam-chhaaraa habaar bhoy?" I giggled.  Indeed, it was amusing 
how he was so afraid of what might happen.

"Tomaar bhoy kore na?" he asked me, putting me rather in an awkward 
situation.  I have rarely considered physical intimacy with any trepidation 
.  .  .  especially when there is affection involved.

"Bhoy?" I bought time with that reiteration, for I was not considering 
anything past a little kissing and necking at that point.  Something inside 
me also cautioned me against making my superior experience in such matters 
obvious to him.

"Hyan"  His voice sounded tremulous.

"Why? What is there to be afraid of?" I said.

"Being taken advantage of .  .  ." Bidyut looked into my eyes with genuine 
concern.

"I want to be taken advantage of," I said, as I flung one of my arms around 
his neck and drew him down, adding, with the just the right degree of 
dramatic eagerness, "By you!"

I closed my eyes and opened my mouth and waited.  I waited for what seemed 
to be a very long time before I opened my eyes again!  "What?" I inquired.  
There was an utterly perplexed expression on his face.  He remained unsure 
of his next move for several more seconds, till I tugged, and his face came 
crashing down on mine!

For the first time in our eighteen-month acquaintance, he kissed me, albeit 
with a little encouragement from me.

	I moved my body to become somewhat more comfortable along the length of my 
bed and he rolled on top of me.  Still in his full formal wear, he kissed my 
cheek, my forehead and then his lips returned to mine.  I opened my mouth 
and he needed little lesson in kissing after that.  I felt his tongue moving 
gently against my teeth as he tentatively let one of his hands brush against 
the side of my chest.  His fingers tried to feel the softness, unsure .  .  
.  as if empirically determining the best spot and the most appropriate 
pressure to apply there.

	I took one of my hands between our bodies and, with deft fingers, 
unbuttoned the front of my blouse.  I left the bra up to him.  A girl should 
only exhibit so much cooperation, I remember thinking.

	Bidyut put one of his legs across my thighs and I felt his growing 
excitement through his trousers.  It wasn't the first time I felt a 
tumescent manhood, but it was a feeling that I had not experienced before.  
I waited with patience, like a teacher in a kindergarten class waiting for 
the little pupil to surprise her.

"Nnnnn.  .  ." I heard his whispered moan against my neck.

"Bidyut .  .  .  Oh .  .  .  Bidyut," I heard myself say, my consciousness 
floating.  Up it went in the humid coolness of the late autumn evening, and 
I could see myself entwined in his arms and his legs .  .  .  still fully 
clothed.

	I felt him move against me, his engorged proof of affection pressed firmly 
against the side of my thigh.  I felt the heat of his being and the warmth 
of his breath .  .  .  and I felt the throb!  I waited for his fingers to 
find their way to my breasts, but he was busy otherwise.  I arched my back 
slightly and unhooked my bra, making a mental note of wearing the 'front 
open' kind next time.  I gently lifted his forearm -- that lay passively 
across my chest -- and placed his hand on my breast.  He froze.  I felt the 
tremor in his body and, through the fabric, I sensed his fingers flex at the 
feel of my breast.

	By that time, my already illusive somatic interest had a backseat to a more 
intellectual exercise.

"Ohhhh .  .  .  nnnn" he let out another whispered groan and I felt his cock 
pulsate against my thigh.  Suddenly -- as if possessed -- he tore at my bra 
and climbed on top of my body.  I looked at his eyes and smiled.  A glabrous 
expression blanketed his face, his widely set eyes more shiny than ever.

	I could easily feel his hard cock against the inside of my thigh as he 
thrust his pelvis back and forth.  I held him tight and then moved my hands 
to his flexing buttocks.  I squeezed the mounds with both hands .  .  .

"Aaaaahhhhnnnnng," a very controlled, if not half-hearted, groan was allowed 
to escape from his throat as he came, panting, his hard cock held pressed 
against the inside of one of my thighs in a deliberate final squeeze.  Soon, 
his body was going limp on top of mine.

	I ran my hands over his back where his sweat had broken through his 
undershirt and through the thin fabric of his shirt.  He always wore 
undershirts.

	I stared at the stationary blades of the ceiling fan and wished I had a 
bed-switch for it.  It wasn't warm, but the humidity always hung in the air 
in this metropolis.

I wondered if I was the first for Bidyut.  I never asked him.

I wondered if it was as good as he would have felt in a crowded bus .  .  .  
sweat and all.

I wished Promila was back.

	There were very few words that were spoken.  As I  shifted under his 
weight, he came back to his senses and rolled off.  He buried his face in 
the pillow and stayed like that for a while.

"I have to go," he spoke as he slid off the bed and, without ever facing me, 
managed to drag himself off and out of the room.  I didn't say a word.  I 
was not paying attention to anything, really.  I was lying on my bed with 
somewhat of a blank mind, with disjointed thoughts flashing through like 
some poorly edited photo play.

	When Bidyut came back into the room and said, "I must go .  .  .  Sharmi .  
.  .  it's late," I was finally brought back to my surroundings by the sound 
of his voice -- a note lower than usual.  I sat up on my bed, oblivious of 
the state of undress I was in.  Then, following his eyes, I hurriedly drew 
my disheveled aanchal over my breasts.

"T-t-tumi jaamaa-kaapor thik kore naao," he said, the tremor in his voice 
betraying his discomfort.  I wanted to tell him that it was OK.  I could 
have reminded him that we two were alone in the house and that straightening 
out my clothes hardly seemed a priority, but I kept my thoughts  to myself.  
I was thinking of the intimacy that we experienced a short while back.  I 
was thinking of the intimacy .  .  .  and it suddenly bothered me.

"Tumi ekhon-i jaabe?" I asked.  The sound of my own voice frightened me!

"I should, really .  .  .  it's getting late," he looked at his watch.

"Porshu aashchho-to .  .  .  park-e?" It was a question that sounded very 
matter-of-fact to my own ears.  Impertinent and unapt? Why didn't it matter 
if he came to the park the day after? A host of sentiments flowed through in 
quick successions through my mind.  Despite a rather innocuous encounter of 
that evening, his demeanor had made me rather uneasy and I could not quite 
put my finger on it.  "Dekhi," his perfunctory response floated off through 
the door where he was standing, "I'll try .  .  .  a lot of work." He tried, 
in vain, to look at me while searching for words.

I got up from the bed and wrapped my saaree around to cover myself.

As I saw him off at the front door -- standing half hidden from the street 
-- I suddenly felt very naked; almost like a harlot seeing off his john.  I 
stood in the darkness of the drawing room and saw him hurriedly disappear 
around the block.

He never brought his car up to our street.

++++++++++++

End Part 22 (To be Continued).
<4th attachment end>


<5th attachment, "MS23.TXT" begin>


For those handful of loyal reader of this
narration, I am posting this long overdue part. For those who care, the 
previous parts are now back at the ftp site of ASSTR.

As always, I will look forward to emails pointing out mistakes and lapses in 
my writing.  But that surely does not mean that an occassional encouraging 
letter isn't welcome.

Wishing you all a very fruitful 2002.

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"
++++++++++++++++++++






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 throbbingly 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.

+++

"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 hob� 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, "K�no?" 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 raat� go." Her long urbanization loosing 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 mon� nilaam tomraa kaal khub �kchot mojaa koirl�," 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.

"Tob�?" 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, to one of the men in her village.  In their society, the 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 accomodation.  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!

++++

"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 j� ?"

"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 encountrered 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 occassion.

"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 realised that that 
was her way of making light of whatever Promila would have had fancied.  I 
followed her lead with my nervous titter.

++++++

End Part 23 (to be continued)
<5th attachment end>


<6th attachment, "MS24.TXT" begin>

The Repost Continues:
*******************

I had actually decided that I would not post any more of this story.  That, 
coupled with other preoccupation and some physical "downtime", had almost 
made me drop out of ASSTR and retire.  A few of the readers (three, to be 
precise) actually expressed much concern or have wondered about my intent 
regarding "My Story".  I decided eventually to continue and at least finish 
this narration before calling it quits.  After all, I write as much for my 
own pleasure as I do for the readers; and even if there are only these 
three.

Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com> with (sensible, not moral) comments 
and corrections.

NOTE: Please visit my 'ftp' site at asstr-mirror.org's Authors section to read the 
previous parts if.

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.




My Story (Part 24) by Sharmila Sanyal.

"We'll be right there," Debi managed to stutter through her giggle.

"I'll have to leave soon," Promila was looking down at the floor.

"What time is it?" It was my turn to put in my contribution towards 
normalizing the situation.

"Half past nine," I heard Promila say as she made an about turn and left for 
the kitchen.  The sheer curtain, that hung from the door frame, flew around 
like frail maiden trying to guard her charms from some unseen miscreant.

	As we silently had our supper, Promila sat at the kitchen door and looked 
away from us most of the time, unless she was being spoken to.  And then, 
when Debi suggested that she could easily stay the night if it was late to 
be walking back to her 'bustee', she looked up with a tormented expression 
in her face.  A sudden rush of blood made her face almost pink.

"I don't think it's very late," I found myself saying.  I tried not think 
about it too much.  I was afraid.

"No, no . . ." Promila grasped at my words, "I have walked back even at 
eleven sometimes!"

	Debi looked at me blankly and tried to fathom the depth, for she could also 
see the disturbance in Promila's eyes.  I returned the blank stare.  I 
didn't want to admit to myself that I was struggling hard to ignore the 
natural charm and sexuality that seemed to be gushing forth from our maid's 
flushed countenance.

	By the time Promila took our leave for the night and Debi locked our front 
door, I could feel the distinct trickle of my love juices down the inside of 
my thighs.  I was so horny that my legs shook.  I could hardly wait for the 
nightly rounds to the bathroom to be over.

	Debi was on the bed already when I entered her room and deposited my short 
night-gown on one corner near the foot of the bed.  The whitewashed walls 
reflected the funny green glow from the night lamp that Debi insisted remain 
on all night, and my white satin half-slip took on a weird color from it.  I 
turned it off.  The room was instantly plunged into a total darkness.

	Being against three other flats, Debi's room had no windows.  Indeed, in 
that flat, the only rooms that had windows were the bathroom, the kitchen 
and mine.  Debi actually liked it that way, especially since she preferred 
to have the lights on at nights that Ajit were in town.  She liked to enjoy 
her lovemaking to the fullest . . .  with all her senses.  As far as I know, 
she still does.

	As I climbed onto the bed, I wondered why she had not objected to my 
turning the night-light off, and then it became clear!  She was fast asleep 
already!  It wasn't going to dampen my spirits -- as damp as I was that 
night.

	I cuddled up to her and slid my hand under her nightdress and to her supple 
breasts.  The warmth of her skin sent tremors through my already tense body. 
  I wanted her warmth and I craved for her touch with all my being.  I could 
feel my freshly cleaned womanhood welling up inside with my slippery 
eagerness.

"Mmmmm . . .  naah . . ." I heard Debi murmur in her sleepy voice.

"Shhhhhh . . ." I breathed against her earlobes.  I wasn't about to give up.

"Oh!  Sharmi!" She tried to push me away in her sleep.

"Just lie there," I whispered, "I will do it all!" It was a suddenly 
discovered moment for me.  I had started enjoying my role as the late night 
seductress.

"Mmmmm . . ." Debi responded by relaxing her body.  Her verbal disinterest 
notwithstanding, she had -- in her languor -- already started to enjoy 
whatever I was doing.

	I sat up and slid my half-slip off my burning body.  I wanted to be 
completely naked with my beautiful cousin that night.  My nipples stood 
erect and taut in anticipation of her touch.  I reached for the bed-switch 
and turned the night-light back on.  I wanted to see my cousin's beautiful 
face.

	The single button that held the front of Debi's nightdress was already 
undone.  Eyes still closed, her face held a smile that begged me to "wake" 
her up.  She had her legs slightly apart and the thin material of her 
nightdress clung to the contours of her two shapely legs.  Since her 
marriage, she had put on a little weight just at the right places, and her 
legs got their optimal share.  She was quite conscious of her heavier legs 
and I took it upon myself to reassure her in every way that I could.

	I leaned over and started kissing the length of her legs starting at her 
ankle.  She shifted her weight and I knew she was awake.  It was not the 
first time that we played that game, but it was the first time that she had 
actually fallen asleep before I got to bed.  I couldn't ponder on that 
little detail.  I was burning up.  I was again feeling the trickle down my 
inner thighs already.

	As I slid my hand between her legs, drawing her nightie up as I went, Debi 
parted them slightly.  We knew each other's moves well and that was her way 
of urging my hand further up.  I obliged.

"Aaaaaaaahhhhhhhnnnnnghhhhh . . ." faint, almost inaudible a moan though it 
was, Debi could feign sleep no more than I could dam the flow between my 
legs.  Her hips lifted slightly off the bed as her flexed legs supported her 
lower back for a few seconds.

"Want me to eat?" I asked in a loud hoarse whisper, breaking the raunchy 
silence inside the room.  My voice sounded bawdy even to my own ears and I 
felt a spasm inside my wet recess.

"Yesssss!" I heard her hiss.

	In spite of myself, I wanted to take my time.  In spite of my own urgency, 
I wanted to make my lovely cousin scream in pleasure.  I wanted to make her 
drip with honey that I could have to my heart's content.  I touched the 
inside of her thighs lightly with a feathery touch of my fingers and she 
squirmed.  I could feel her buttocks flex as she inhaled noisily.  I looked 
down towards her feet and saw them curl.  As much as I had found it quite 
unappealing before that night, the garish green of her night-lamp reflecting 
off her almost perfect feet made it sinfully inviting.  I positioned myself 
on her outstretched legs and brought my dripping pussy down on her toes.

"Yesssss . . ." she said.  Her toes took on a life of their own in my 
wetness as I almost screamed out in delight.  She opened her eyes and I saw 
the lust in them.

"And I thought you were asleep!" I crouched low and towards her torso 
careful not to slip from her toes.

"Yeah . . . right!" she panted out her response, "Who could sleep after 
this?"

"I wanted to fuck you badly," I spoke my mind.

"Oh, boy!  You are rather heated, aren't you, naughty girl!" She wiggled her 
toes and sent my senses reeling.

	She knew exactly when and how much my vocabulary gained some extra edge.  
She was the one, though, that introduced me to the world of sexual slang 
through the fertile creations of the "anonymous" authors.  While she and her 
husband had, over the years, built up a formidable collection of these 
less-than-literary endeavors of frustrated souls, Debi rarely made use of 
the vocabulary that so crudely flowed through them.

"So, do you want it or not?" I teased her.  I had pulled her night-dress up 
to her navel and was drawing my fingers lightly across the short-clipped 
silken triangle of hers.  "Aren't you going to shave?" I asked.

"Maybe tomorrow," Debi said as she grabbed my hand and guided it to her 
cunt.  It was open and wet, waiting for my tender touch.  "Are you going to 
help me shave?"

	I always helped her shave.  That was a question that begged no response in 
words.  I inserted two of my fingers in her and my own cunt gripped her toes 
in spasms.  I wiggled on them and my distended seat of pleasure lightly 
rubbed her skin, sending sparks through my entire body.

"But now I want to eat you . . .  I want to lap up the last drop from you," 
my voice had grown louder.  I was caught in that strange tension when the 
body wants release but the mind begs to prolong.  My mind has always (well, 
almost always) won over my body.  That night was no exception.

	I lifted myself off her toes and crouched down toward her cunt as she 
spread her thighs apart to accommodate my hungry mouth . . .

"Diiiiing . . .  dong"

	I bolted up straight to a sitting position, straddling Debi's leg.

"This late?" I wondered aloud.  Debi looked at me through the green hue of 
her night light in as much puzzlement as could be expected. Instinctively, 
she had grabbed the bed sheet and covered her semi-nude form even as I 
reached for my night robe.

"Diiiiing . . .  dong, diiiiing . . .  dong," the door bell rang out through 
the relative quiet of our cozy little flat for a second time, relaying the 
urgency on the other side of our front door.

"Amazing!  Who could it be at this hour?" I repeated myself in utter 
surprise.  It wasn't really "late" -- not for any full-blooded Calcuttan, 
anyway.  Our neighbor, who had all the contempt for TV, was listening to his 
radio and I could hear Nilima Sanyal's unmistakable voice, on the news being 
broadcast from New Delhi, permeating through the walls that separated Debi's 
bedroom from his.  However, we rarely, if ever, had had to answer the door 
at that our.

"You are not going to answer the door like that, are you?" Debi giggled as 
she sat up on the bed in her own state of undress.  I looked at myself in 
the mirror and mused about the effect that I might have on the man standing 
outside our doors, should I present myself in that night gown.  Ending just 
above my knees, it seemed to reveal more than it concealed.  It was obvious, 
even in the subdued green, that I had little between my skin and my thin 
gown.  Although such an attire may fail to raise any eyebrows in the 
Occident, in India it would be beyond bold.  I suddenly felt bold.

"Why not?" I declared in a mock defiance, "If somebody can come knocking at 
this hour, I have the right to answer the door in my night dress, don't you 
think?" And with that, I tip-toed out of room and towards our front door.

	As I placed one of my eyes against the peephole to check, I was surprised 
again!  I really hadn't had anybody in mind, yet . . .

"You? what happened" I said even as I hurriedly opened the door.

+++++++++++++++++



End Part 24 (To be Continued)

+++++++++++++++

Bustee = slum
<6th attachment end>


<7th attachment, "MS25.TXT" begin>

The Repost Continues:
*******************


It would seem that there are at least twelve, and not just three.  Reason 
enough for me to continue with "My Story".  To those twelve, I express my 
gratitude for writing to me expressing their appreciation.  I have not been 
able to respond back to all twelve of you readers and for that I apologize.  
I have been busy with other things far removed from eroticism.



Please write at <anu_g42@hotmail.com> with (sensible, not moral) comments 
and corrections.

NOTE:  Please visit my 'ftp' site at asstr-mirror.org's  Authors section to read 
the previous parts if you care.

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.

Please also be aware of my copyright to this endeavor.






___________________________________

My Story (Part 25) by Sharmila Sanyal



"I waited and waited for a bus, and then gave up," she explained while 
closing the doors and bolting them from inside, "I will have to spend the 
night here." It was a very matter of fact way that she said it and it 
wouldn't -- not any other night -- cause much problem.  That night was 
certainly different.

"I thought you were going to walk back?" I couldn't help saying; and perhaps 
my disappointment at having to contend with a third person in the flat 
brought a sharpness to my voice, for she looked at me and paused.

"I . . .  I . . .  felt a little tired and . . ." she stuttered with 
apparent embarrassment as she tried to size up the situation.

"That's just all right, Promila," Debi was heard from her room, "Go take a 
shower and eat."

"I will warm up the food," I said while you shower.

"No, no, I am not very hungry," Promila tried to make us feel comfortable, 
"Perhaps I should get going, anyway."

"Nonsense, Promila," it was my turn to make light of the situation.  I tried 
to calm myself.  My throbbing cunt was still dripping and I wondered if the 
flow would be visible to Promila if she cared to look at my legs.  "Go, take 
a shower while I warm up your food," I repeated.

	I went into the kitchen and lit the Primus.  The rice, fresh from that 
evening, was still sitting on the dining table.  I opened the fridge and the 
cold air, mixed with a medley of smells from the food inside, swept over my 
face in a vain attempt to cool my body down.  As I took out the "daal" and 
the fish curry, I remembered again about that night when Promila found me 
masturbating in my sleep.  I felt my earlobes get warm as a tableau flashed 
through my mind.  My cunt throbbed again.

"You didn't have to do all that for me, Sharmi-di," I heard Promila's voice 
from behind me as I was stirring the "daal" on the stove.  I turned my head 
and saw her standing in the doorway to our kitchen.

	She was wearing her long "maxi" for the night.  Since she had had to spend 
some nights at our flat, some of her clothing and toiletries were there.  I 
couldn't help but notice her statuesque figure again.  The loose-fitting 
"maxi", that hung down to her ankles, did the job of hiding her very sexy 
figure much better than what my attire afforded mine.  Yet, the way the 
fabric draped her body, flowing down from her firm yet ample breasts like a 
casual waterfall, suggested an invitingly carnal mystery.

"No bother," I cleared my throat and said, "this way it will be faster; and, 
I have an early class tomorrow."

"I will do the rest," she stepped in and stood beside me by the stove, "you 
go to bed."

'God!  Only if she knew what she interrupted!' I thought to myself.  She 
smelled fresh, the mild scent of the soap still lingering about her.  My 
cunt throbbed.  I wondered if Debi had fallen asleep again.

"Yes . . .  I mean . . .  okay . . ." I glanced sideways at her.  She was 
looking at me quite intently.  Her eyes shifted from my face to my legs and 
then to my face again.  I thought I saw her look at my garb with some 
interest.  Perhaps she was trying to resolve the issue of seeing Debi and me 
together that evening and the fact that I was standing there in the kitchen 
not in the most modest of attires.

My cunt throbbed.

"I will go sleep in Debi's room and you can sleep in mine," I said with a 
very conscious effort on my part to sound casual.  It was not the most 
brilliant of plans to deflect her speculations about Debi's bed and me; for 
she would be sleeping on the floor no matter where she slept.  Furthermore, 
she knew that Debi and I shared the same bed from time to time, and, prior 
to that evening, I had absolutely no reason to be actively seeking to blunt 
her curiosity about it.  I was too aroused to feel stupid about all that.  I 
needed to get out of my gown and feel Debi's nakedness along the length of 
my burning body.

"You . . .? Okay" was all that Promila could manage out of her stupefaction. 
  I had never had the occasion to give up my room for her with such ado, for 
I don't remember ever spending the night with Debi while Promila stayed 
over.

She didn't say "Oh, no, you don't have to" or any such thing, but I wasn't 
paying attention to any logistics.  Instead all that she said was "You . . 
.? Okay".  Somewhere at the back of my mind I knew that she knew.

My cunt throbbed.

"Okay then, I am going to bed," I said as I headed towards the bathroom.  I 
struggled to keep my fingers from touching me between my legs where the 
little nub of flesh felt like it was about to burst.  As I washed myself in 
preparation for Debi's mouth, the cold water sent sparks up my torso and 
into my nipples.

My nipples!  I looked down at my breasts and realized then that Promila was 
actually looking at my breasts!  The outlines of my distended nipples were 
quite prominently displayed through the fabric.

My cunt throbbed.

	I dared not take a towel between my legs to wipe the water off down there.  
Carefully wiping the inside of my thighs, I came out of the bathroom.

"Okay then?" I looked at Promila sitting at the table and eating "daal" with 
rice.

"Hmmm," she looked up at me and nodded with her mouth full.  The clock at 
the nearby  Cathedral sounded eleven times as I went into Debi's room and 
closed the door behind me.

	As I climbed up on the bed I heard Debi mumble something in her sleep.  I 
got out of my robe and under the sheet that Debi had pulled over herself.  I 
felt my skin against her bare thighs as I put one of mine across hers.  Debi 
shifted and turned her face toward me as my wetness against her skin woke 
her up partially.  I kissed her.

"Where's Promila?" she murmured.

"Eating," I replied and started caressing her breasts.  My fingers lightly 
touched her soft nipples and she moaned as they grew and stiffened in no 
time.  I moved my buttocks back and detached my cunt from her skin.  I was 
afraid that her shifting would bring to end that which I had been so 
carefully saving for a long and gentle session of the most intense kind.

"You are not going to go to sleep on me now," I warned her, "I want us to do 
it tonight."

"I know," she responded by trying to push up against my cunt with her thigh, 
"I know you're terribly horny tonight."

"Aaaah . . .  don't" I sat up on the bed to avoid being touched by her 
between my legs, "I am just too damn hot there."

"Heheheh . . ." she giggled lightly and threw the sheet away.  
Spread-eagled, she presented her half-naked form, in its exquisite beauty, 
for my feast -- visual and oral.

"Let me eat you first," I said as I stooped down on her in all fours and 
planted my eager mouth on her mons.  I rubbed my nose against her closely 
cropped triangle and licked at the base of her clit.  She moaned and closed 
her thighs on my head.  I liked her aroma.  I liked it just too much to 
wait.  I wanted to drink her juices, and I wanted to suck on her clitty, and 
I wanted to immerse my face in her flow.  "Mmmmmm . . ..  slurp, slurp, 
slurp," I went right to work.

"Ahhhhhhnnnnng" I heard the faint groan from my cousin; her thighs were 
still pressed against my ears.  I couldn't care less at that moment.  I was 
beyond any modesty, as the muscles of my lower belly tightened up in 
excitement.  I didn't worry if Promila - sitting just on the other side of 
the door - heard us.  To be honest, I am not actually sure if I ever really 
gave any thought to her hearing us.

"Do you like it?" she asked as I licked my lips, "do you like eating my 
'nunu'?" That generic term from her indicated her level of excitement.  That 
was as far as she could go mostly; and rarely have I heard her using 
anything more.

	Debi had to use all her strength to push and shove in order to stop me from 
bringing herself to a climax already.  I was lying across her, nipples to 
nipples, thighs to thighs, after she had pulled me on top of her.  I could 
almost feel my juices flowing down and over her eager sex, her pussy lips 
folded apart invitingly for a tongue -- or something.

"I love it, Moni-di," I replied coyly, "Do you want to eat my cunt now?"

"My God, Sharmi!" Debi's voice betrayed her amusement at the intensity of my 
arousal, "what made you so hot tonight? But of course, I want to eat you 
too, and let's eat each other, what do you say?"

"Sure, Moni-di," I rolled off her and presented myself to her in all my 
natural glory, "take me now, please, fuck me with your tongue, Moni-di." 
Quite involuntarily, I am sure, I was not whispering anymore.  My voice was 
as loud as it would be any other night.  I have never been as loud as Debi 
during sex, but I hardly have been inaudible.  In the years to follow, long 
after we both had moved out of that flat, we wondered and joked about the 
effect that our undoubtedly obvious sounds of pleasure might have had on our 
erstwhile neighbor, who, despite having lived in that flat beside ours for 
several years, rarely exchanged even the most rudimentary of niceties with 
us.

"Before that, I have to go to the bathroom, you imp!" Debi said, "It's been 
too long already." I understood.  I waited patiently as Debi dressed back up 
in her nightdress, opened the door and exited.

I wiped my womanhood with the palm of my hand and gently inserted two 
fingers.  As they slid in and out in slow deliberate rhythm, I closed my 
eyes and lost myself in my own fantasy land.  In and out my fingers moved, 
taking extra care to avoid the clit that was almost bursting in 
anticipation.

I am not sure how long I was doing it, but after some time I had this 
feeling that I was being watched.  It reminded me of the voyeuristic 
pleasure that I had afforded our maid several nights ago.  The muscles in my 
abdomen tightened and my pussy gasped with threatening intensity.  I 
withdrew my hand from where it had been engaged and opened my eyes into the 
freakish green of Debi's  room.

"What!" I almost screamed in disbelief.  There, right beside the bed, stood 
Debi and Promila.

"We were enjoying," said Debi with a devilish glitter of her perfect teeth.

"But . . ." and that was all I could verbalize at that moment.  I was 
looking at Promila, who stood a little behind Debi in her maxi.  She 
clutched the front of her dress with both hands and seemed to have her gaze 
fixed at the floor.

"I found her doing it in your room," Debi elaborated, "I thought 'why not', 
and startled her by going in."

"I . . .  I . . .  I was very hot, Sharmi-di," Promila still couldn't look 
at my naked form on the bed as she spoke, "You know . . .  I was thinking of 
the other night . . .  and . . ."

"So, what now?" I asked.

"I thought it will be more fun if she joined us," Debi was already on the 
bed beside me as she invited Promila to climb aboard.  "Take the maxi off, 
Promi," she urged our maid.

++++++++++

End Part 25 (to be continued)
<7th attachment end>


----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------
Notice: This post has been modified from its original
format.  The post was sent as an email attachment and
has been converted by ASSTR ASSM moderation software.
----- ASSM Moderation System Notice------

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
| alt.sex.stories.moderated ------ send stories to: <ckought69@hotmail.com>|
| FAQ: <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org/faq.html> Moderators: <story-ckought69@hotmail.com> |
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+
|ASSM Archive at <http://assm.asstr-mirror.org>   Hosted by <http://www.asstr-mirror.org> |
|Discuss this story and others in alt.sex.stories.d; look for subject {ASSD}|
+---------------------------------------------------------------------------+


  index