Far in the East

(a story in three parts)

"Get up Sanjay ... wake up Tisha ... your tea is ready ..."

I wake up from the dream with a start. Tisha, beside me, is still asleep. A smiling face. A crumpled cover. Nightshirt rolled up to expose her deep navel. A white skirt. Wheat coloured polished skin of her thighs. But it is really the navel which lies between the skirt and the nightshirt that attracts admiration. It is fresh .... like a pool just formed by the rains in a grassland ... with sloping boundaries... with fresh grasses.

Early morning sunlight filters through the leaves of the banyan tree adjacent to the first floor window, painting vibrant designs on the floor and the white bedcover.

Tisha moves again.

"Come on ... your tea will get cold" there was another knock on the bedroom door from my step-mother.

Tisha rises ... rubs her eyes. "Open the door" she commands.

Tisha and I had got married in Delhi about a year back. This is Tisha's first visit to our place in the country. Everyone had warned her before the marriage. "Your husband is aged. It's true that you will not have to stay with your in laws, but life will be difficult with a mother in law looming somewhere in the background." But Tisha still took the chance.

We had arrived to our place in the East the night before - very late and completely exhausted. Flight. Train. Bus. More than 8 hours of arduous journey. Sweat, grime and stink. Dirt and dust. Cigarette smoke from fellow passengers. We were greeted by my step-mother and Amit, my young brother. My father had died two years back.

We washed and immediately after a quick dinner, flopped on to the bed for a merciful sleep.

At this moment, in the verdant country side, everything seems surreal.

Tisha is 25 years old and a journalist. I am 52. More than double her age. Trisha started her career with page 3 staff but soon her skills received due attention and she was handling politics. She moved from page 3 to page 1. Tisha is pretty in a non-conventional way. Muscular with a flat belly. An upturned nose. A cynical smile. Husky voice and piercing eyes – usually highlighted with kohl. She is somewhat wayward. I knew that. Two successive disastrous love affairs almost destroyed her. The first one was with a business person who had suppressed the fact that he had a family already and the second one was with an immigrant who finally settled for an American lady and flew off after a pleasurable afternoon.

I am a lecturer in a college. Tisha was in my class. I am a timid person with no significant attribute – physical or otherwise - the most unlikely candidate as Tisha's husband. Tisha was in my class and usually depressed. But I never paid any heed to that. Like I do to everyone I used to egg her on for better performance. I took my work seriously and expected my students to follow suit. Tisha was arrogant and one day I turned her out of the class. I said that I would still mark her as present even if she did not attend. But I did not want a disobedient student in my class. For some strange reason, she started obeying me. And after she graduated, she sought my help for editing her copies.

Our marriage was a timid affair. We soon found that we were not physically compatible. Tisha had energy to rock the night. I had little left at my age. But we love each other. And I think that I became more of a father (whom Tisha had lost) more than a husband.

Moreover, Tisha had gelled into my family. She is friendly with my step mother and my brother. All three of them regularly communicate over facebook. I knew that she was particularly friendly with my brother, who was an engineer, 23 and had just received a job offer.

It is summer. I am sleeping in the nude. In order to open the door for my step mother, I have to at least put on my shorts. But they are nowhere in sight. The only other way is to wrap the bed sheet around my waist. But before I can do that, Tisha opens the door, oblivious of the fact that I am on the bed stark naked – groping for my spectacles and the bed sheet.

My step-mom is 50. She used to teach yoga (she still does) and got married to my father when I was 20. Amit is my step-mom's son. Her name is Rani and I call her Ranima.

Mom is dark. A typical yoga instructor. Not skinny and neither plump. 5 feet 3 inches. Dark. Hair coming up to her waist. Has an infectious smile. She is wearing a white cotton sari and a cotton blouse of the same colour. A sari is a convenient cloth in summer. And can be extremely attractive if one knows how to wear it right. In her case, it exposes her midriff. She carries two cups of tea in her hands and there are biscuits on the saucers. Ranima smells of jasmine. There is a brown mole on her left abdomen. Her belly is curved. The waist is narrow at her navel and then it broadens again. My dick does not listen to my command. It rises ... involuntary movement ...

My step mom's attention is drawn immediately to the rising stuff. She keeps the cups on the table and puts her hand on her mouth. Her eyes widen. She is staring at me. Not at me really. I have nothing to hide myself with. I cover myself with my palms but I know that it is useless.

Ranima controls herself. "I see ... you don't wear clothes at night ..." she leaves the sentence it unfinished. I have never been in such a situation. It rises and falls. Appreciation increases excitement. I hate myself for such uncontrolled behaviour. "Oh ... sorry ... " Tisha says "I didn't notice ...". Ranima smiles. "Nothing wrong. It's really hot here". She says.

"Do you also sleep like that?" Tisha asks. How can she ask such a question? "You will find out" Mom replies. She leaves the question hanging and leaves. I am extremely embarrassed and irritated. "You should check before you open the door" I say. Tisha is laughing. She comes closer and hugs me. "You are embarrassed, but your dirty mind is excited." She says.

"What rubbish!" I say.

"Look, it's come to life."Tisha says. I know it is rare. At my age and with my kind of work, it is uncommon. Happens once a week and needs coaxing. This time, it is spontaneous.

I say that this is not my idea of fun at all.

I get dressed. We have to join others for breakfast. I wait for Tisha to dress ... but she does not. She washes, brushes, gurgles, applies cream on her face, moisturiser on skin but does not change the shirt and the skirt. "Won't you change?" I ask. "What's wrong with it?" she asks. "It's short", I tell her "and transparent". It is a short plain white cotton skirt made of thin cotton that comes barely down to the middle of her thighs. She straightens the shirt and stands up. "We are family. Aren't we?" I cannot confront such simplicity. I give up and open the door.

There is no reason for me to be prude. Delhi morality is unheard of in this part of the country. There is no one in the dining room. But we can hear chatter. Where are they? I look around. Rooms are deserted. The staircase is dark. Trisha shouts "where are all of you?" Amit, my brother, shouts back. "Here, in the backyard".

It is autumn ... the best time at our place. The crop is cut. The monsoon dries out. The sky is clear blue with plumes of cotton-white clouds drifting without purpose. The sun shines bright and there are festivities all around. We have a large backyard strewn with trees ... no one has ever bothered to attend to it ... except for a small patch of lawn around a well just in front of the door at the back. It is like a retreat. Amit has put up a thatched shelter lined with potted plants. There is a table with some chairs and a bench.

My half brother, Amit, sits on the bench scooping what looks like crumbs of bread soaked in milk from a bowl. He is everything that I am not. About 6 ft tall. Dark, lean but muscular and a pleasant smile. Lookwise - he takes after my step mom. Amit is wearing a brief pair of shorts.

Tisha settles beside Amit. I sit on chair opposite to them. I follow Amit's eyes. He cannot help looking down. Sideways. I know where the white skirt ends. Tisha puts her hand on Amit's shoulder. I know that they are friendly. They exchange glances and smile. They share jokes. They feed each other. Ranima notices me. She winks. We are a happy family but I have a feeling that that some of us are happier than others.

"What's happening between you two?" I ask Tisha when we return to our room.

"What's happening?" she asks back.

"You are acting too friendly."

"We are friends".

"Amit was watching you."

"So?"

"He was looking at your legs."

"I know. I enjoyed that."

"Tisha..." I almost scream.

"Sanjay," Tisha is calm. "I love you. But I am physically attracted to Amit. He is so sexy! If I find happiness in the family, it is much better than finding something outside." She is calm. She places her hand around me. Draws me close. Kisses me. It is not a perfunctory kiss. She comforts me. Runs her hand through my hair. Jealousy builds in me.

Tisha's story

I love Sanjay. He cares for me. He has given me security. Sanjay is everything that my father was. But he is really not up to it when it comes to pleasure. I have tried to tell him about romance, its mystery, about long waiting period, about candle lights ... about the build up ... he tries but at the end, I am never satisfied. But I am not willing to leave him.

Our marriage, because of my past and owing to our age difference, was a low key affair. A few friends and our families. Amit had just graduated and he and Rani stayed back at our place for some time. Both of them were good fun. Rani taught me yoga and helped me with daily chores. Soon everyone found out that I could not cook. Amit told me that I should contribute a larger sum to the home kitty on account of purchase of food from outside. He was pulling my leg by saying that even he was a better cook than me. Otherwise, he was a nice guy. While Sanjay was out, he helped me a lot with setting up the home. He went with me to the markets to buy sundry stuff – all that one needs to set up a house. He would not allow me to carry anything and really worked hard. Four of us went together for a short tour to the Taj and Fatehpur Sikri. It was monsoon. These places were not crowded. In Delhi too we spent wonderful evenings watching movies, visiting various places of interest, or just chatting at home sipping wine. There is a small balcony in our flat overlooking a road and a park, lined with trees. The day before they were to leave, Amit set up some potted orchids in the balcony. He also got a lovely rocking chair and a side table and said that I could remember him while sitting there in the evenings reading a book and a glass of wine. His eyes were moist. We had grown close. I would miss him. I hugged him. It was raining. Scattered drops of water were hitting us. The wind played with our skin and hair. We remained tightly hugged. Amit was bare chest ... and I felt his sweat. He was emanating a manly smell. I pushed my cheek against his and my lips swelled. I wanted to kiss him. When we disengaged, I was burning with desire.

Amit patted my cheek and turned around. He could not stand facing me any longer. He was wearing a pair of cut offs and nothing underneath to suppress his excitement. He went to the bathroom and closed the door.

I ran. This was my chance. There was a small gap where the door was hinged. It had to be mended. I bent down – only a little and placed my eyes. Amit was nude. In the confines of the bathroom under the lamp. A firm male body and a slender and upright penis. He was holding it with two hands. Resting against the wash basin. The trough of his buttocks rippling. His head was turned towards the roof. Eyes closed. He had pulled his foreskin and was thrusting forward and back with all his might. A lovely pointed penis. Not a thick one like Robin's. Not a sculpted beauty like Astor's. But a youthful slender smaller version of Amit himself ... but he came too soon. He doubled up and sat on the ground after the thick white liquid ejected out of him ... lost from the line of my sight. It was too fast. I wanted to observe his balls, all his muscles, his face, but I was lost in motion.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I had forgotten the existence of Rani. She was smiling. I turned red. I didn't know where to run. I was scared that this was the end of my relationship. But Rani was smiling "he is lovely, isn't he?"

"Well... I... er..."

"He is my son, after all." She said and touched my hand. "Come – let's make some tea." She never raised the subject again. That night I pestered Sanjay till he masturbated me and while having climax I closed my eyes and could see Amit throwing thick white streaks of milky gel on the floor.

But Amit and I became great friends. We regularly exchanged messages through facebook and whatsapp. I sent him pdf copies of books and emails. Amit sent me songs. Occasionally he would send me a dirty joke and I would send a smiley. I longed to see him. The one year wait stoked the desire in me.

Last night I was really tired. I had to go to sleep. But even then I had not failed to notice that Amit's face glowed when we arrived. He was wearing after shave so late in the night. That too, was unusual.

Breakfast time – I am fired up. Normally I would not wear a short white slip outside ... but I want him to see me. I sit beside him, before Sanjay chooses his seat. The way I sit, our legs are not visible to Sanjay but Rani can see them. I want her to see. I let my thigh touch Sanjay's thigh – bristles of hair rub against my waxed leg. We eat. We laugh. I put my bare foot on Sanjay's foot and rub. Sanjay puts a spoon of his horrible dough of bread and milk into my mouth. I watch that his dick has risen. I am on his left side. I take his hand, which is hesitant and put it in between my legs and push it a little under my skirt. He is lightly brushing the inner of my thighs. I take a scoop of my khichdi and put it in his mouth as I clutch his hesitating hand and move it upwards. Barring a few days in a month, I never wear a panty at home. Amit raises his eyebrows to find the silky shaven slit – which is moist. Ranima is watching it all from the corner of her eyes. She has an encouraging smile. She forwards her leg a little and rubs my other foot. Amit cannot massage me, it will show. Instead he lightly rubs his forefinger and middle finger on my labia. I have spread my legs to facilitate him. My own smell rises like a vapour from below the table and mingles with the spicy vapour of my khichdi.

Sanjay rises. Time to go. I put my hand on Amit's thigh and tell him "see you later." I follow Sanjay to our room where Sanjay confronts me. I do not know what to say – his allegations are correct. So I agree. I have to tell him that I love both the brothers but differently and I do not know how to put it. Also, I will be here for a week only. If I do not finalise the arrangements, if I cannot sleep with Amit, I will languish in Delhi. I must do something ...

Amit's story

I am jealous and angry. I am angry with Amit and Tisha. I am angry with myself. I am mostly angry with Tisha. She did not have to do it to me. I get out of the room as Tisha gazes and go to Ranima's room. It is in the old quarters with a red cement floor, a bedstead, large windows opening on the garden and an almirah. Everything else – some suitcases, books, a reading stand, a laptop, a mattress – are on the floor. Ranima is sitting on the floor grinding a piece of sandalwood on a stone slab to make sandal paste. She is wearing the same white saree but has taken off her blouse. The fragrance of freshly ground sandal engulfs me. And I, for the first time, get to see the firm ball of brown flesh topped with an erect dark brown nipple which freely sways as she continues to rub the wood. The sari has her left boob uncovered ... I have never imagined that a lady of her age can have such a well formed boob ... she does not make any attempt to cover it. Instead, she raises her hand to put back tufts of hair, allows the uncovered boob to rise and beckons me to sit beside her. I do so. I cannot take my eyes off. She smiles. The pure loving smile flashing the bright white teeth, which only she has got. I am settled beside her stretched leg. The other leg is tucked under her. She is now erect. Years of yoga gives her a perfect body. She puts her hand below by chin and asks me

"You are unhappy – aren't you?"

I cannot resist any more. The frustration and anger surfaces and I break into tears. Ranima comes closer. Puts her leg on mine and embraces me. She then kisses my cheek and wipes my tears. She holds my face with her hands and says "Sanjay, there is no feeling worse than jealousy. Even the saints and Gods cannot get over it. Calm yourself. One who manages to overcome jealousy, is truly happy. Also, what is wrong with love if you also get enough of it?" She pulls my head and puts it on her breast. The uncovered one. She lightly pats my head. Her earthy smell, her touch, the lovely flesh ... comfort me. The nipple is on my lips. I can feel it with my eyes closed. The hard tip on my lips. I put it in my mouth and suck it. Ranima tightens her embrace and removes her pallu completely. "Suck my son, it is all for you" she tells me as she cradles me with her strong hands.

To be continued