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Message-ID: <27673asstr$975813011@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Part 12) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Sat,  2 Dec 2000 22:10:11 -0500
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<1st attachment, "Mystor12.txt" begin>

I was away during the holidays. I had to take a
trip after that. So, I have not been able to
stick to my original schedule of finishing the
touches on this one. I had intended to post the
entire part 12, but could only finish half of
it. So the next part will appear soon as 'Part
13'. I promise. I have about fifty letters that
I must reply to, and I hope you will bear with
me if I did not respond to all of them at once.
Those that sent me a letters of reproach, I urge
you to please refrain from reading 'My Story' or
any subsequent one that I may post. Nobody held
a gun to your head and asked you to read this.
Obviously the "Female and Indian" part befuddled
those that never imagined that "sex" is not an
exclusively male urge among Indians!
BTW, no, I believe none of us make money writing
here. I, like many others, write erotica (not
"smuts") for pleasure. Appreciation from the
reader is our reward.


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 have missed the recent re-post of the Parts
1-11.



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 (narrated by an "Indian
Woman")!

******************************************


My Story ( Part 12) by Sharmila Sanyal.

	We were to stay at my aunt's for four more
days.  Sanjay was acting a little different
since that night's self-gratification. The next
morning,  when he woke me up, he seemed more up-
beat than usual. I had smiled at him and he
seemed to have looked at my eyes a little longer
than necessary. I took it as an attempt at
finding out if I knew. Although I played along
and behaved quite normally with him, I was
feeling rather lightheaded whenever the previous
night's incident surfaced in my mind. In spite
of myself, I was helplessly in a state of mild
arousal all day. What -- one may wonder -- is a
'mild arousal'! I am finding it rather
impossible to describe the state. I walked
around with a constant wetness between my legs
and with a very sensitive feeling all over my
body that translated into goose bumps at the
slightest breeze. I smiled when smiled to, I
talked when needed ... but my mind was filled
with the sensation of Sanju's hardness against
my knee.

	Chhordi's mother-in-law wouldn't let us
leave without having lunch and so we basically
stayed till the sun went down. I was exhausted
from all the talking and socializing that whole
day. I liked Subhash-da's family. They were very
unpretentious educated people that didn't have
to stand on any ceremonies. They were the kind
of people that made a you feel as if you knew
them your entire life. The brother, Sudeep, and
the sister, Mithu, were in their early twenties
and were very intelligent and witty. So, we
became quite friendly and Mithu took extra care
to make all of us feel at home as long as we
were there. We bid good-bye with the customary
promises to see each other at the earliest
opportunity.

	That night, I excused myself from supper
and went to bed very early. I was exhausted from
the unresolved excitement I had been carrying
around. I could have relieved that while taking
the shower, but some weird sense of morality, at
fantasizing about Sanju's privates, kept me from
seeking the gratification I so urgently needed.
Unbelievable as it might sound, I fell asleep as
soon as I hit the bed and slept like a log till
the next morning.

	Almost everybody left the following
morning. My two brothers also had to get back to
Calcutta for something and they took off right
after lunch. I found myself wandering down the
verandah on the upper floor and towards the room
in the  corner. I knew it was Sanjay's. My
brothers had been sharing it with him. I swear
there was absolutely no forethought to it. I was
feeling lazy after a heavy lunch and wanted to
find a quiet room to try and lie down for a
while. My room was on the same floor but the
guests that stayed with me were preparing to
leave and were packing their luggage. I did not
find the thought of hanging around them and
making conversation very appealing. The sky was
overcast and it was drizzling; otherwise, it
would have been a perfect afternoon to be
lounging by the pond. It was messy downstairs.
The servants, cooks and the ladies were still
running around in an apparent attempt at
bringing things back in order. So, I sought a
logical refuge upstairs.

	It was rather unmindfully, I must say,
that I entered Sanjay's room. The door  was open
and there was nobody in there. His bed, neatly
made up, was against the wall to my right. His
study desk, with a pile of books, stood against
the far wall under the window. A clothes-rack
and a bookshelf took up most of the left wall.
In comparison to the other rooms in that house,
his was of rather modest dimensions. Although he
definitely had help from the house maids, I
could tell that he was quite a tidy lad for his
age -- especially when I mentally compared his
den with that of my two brothers! I was
impressed.

	The window was open and the moist air
filled the room. I felt rather relaxed as I sat
down on his bed and grabbed one of his books
from his study table. It was Rabindranath
Tagore's 'Shesher Kobita'. I have read it a
number of times before and it is still one of my
most favorites from his writings. I was again
impressed by Sanjay's taste in literature, when
I looked at his bookshelf and found it stacked
with literary works from Shakespeare to Henry
Miller and from Bankim Chatterjee to such
contemporary Bengali writers as Samaresh Basu
and Muztaba Ali.

	I walked over to the shelf and started
looking at the titles. I was picking some out at
random and putting them back when, on the bottom
shelf, sandwiched between the complete works of
Shakespeare and the unabridged Chamber's, I
chanced upon a small stack of smaller books that
didn't quite fit the bill. They stood out by
their size and in their appearance. Unlike the
other books on the shelves, they had newspaper
covers. Hands shaking, I took the bunch out, my
sixth sense already having made me aware of
their subject. I had started to breathe heavy
even as I glanced back at the door and opened
one of them!

	It was a Bengali book, and my sixth sense
was right on the money. I glanced through the
pages and opened the next one. It was a similar
one, describing, in rather raw details, the
encounter between the master of the house and
the maid. My head had started to reel already. I
think it had more to do with the knowledge that
the books were for Sanjay's pleasure than with
their contents. The tension in my body, held
over from the day before, returned with double
the intensity. I felt the surge down below ...
between my legs. Assuredly, it wasn't a mild
arousal! I was skimming through the raunchy
stories and imagining the adolescent owner of
the books engaged in masturbation while reading
the very same ones ...

	It was most certainly not a mild arousal!
Thinking about Sanjay reading those books and
masturbating, mixed with my experience a couple
of nights ago, had really fired up my
imagination. In my sexual fantasyland, where the
concept of inhibition is non-existent, I was
playing with myself as he looked on.

I am not sure how long I had been just standing
there flipping through them -- and dripping --
when a figure appeared at the doorway.  I was
standing slightly at an angle with my back
toward the door, but I sensed the presence and
froze.

"Shona-di!" It was Sanjay!

	 So, I froze, rudely brought back to the
real world by that "Shona-di". Once the initial
stupor passed, I turned and faced the doorway --
the collection of books still in hand, of
course.

"Oh ... Sanju ... I was just ..." I stammered
out a few words.

"What?  Which are ... ? O Shona-di ... you
should not be looking at those books!" Sanjay,
clad only in a towel across his loin that
covered him from his waist to the knees, looked
quite embarrassed as he spoke and stepped into
his room. He had just had a shower. I did not
see him around during lunch and thought he might
have gone somewhere. He had; and was in the
bathroom when we were having lunch.

"No? Why?" I asked in a detached voice ... I had
to buy some time to get my bearing back.

"Those are ... those are ... " Sanjay stepped
closer and tried to grab them from me. "Please,"
he said, "give them back to me."

	I could smell the soap on him. I had, of
course, seen his bare torso before; that is not
something a girl gets excited about in India ...
I think. It is not against any social etiquette
for boys his age to go around sans shirt. But,
predictably enough, I was feeling a familiar
tingling in my brain seeing him like that.

"Why can't I see them?" I swung my hand with the
books behind me and asked in a demanding tone.

	He stood about and inch from me as his
right hand reached around in an attempt to grab
the books again. It was too close. My chest
touched his ... and a spark shot through my
already vulnerable body. I held my breath for an
instant and pushed him away with my free hand.
He stumbled back a few steps towards the bed,
his legs hitting the edge of his cot, making him
sit down.

	The towel parted somewhat, exposing the
fare skin of one of his thighs. I tried to
reason with myself that what I was experiencing
was wrong ... totally wrong. Not only was he my
first cousin, he was three years younger.

	He was looking at me with quite a
perplexed expression. I guess he was trying to
gauge the situation. Here I was -- the object of
his lust -- standing a few feet from him with a
bunch of books that he used for his own private
pleasure, and I wasn't looking distressed at
all. I am not sure if he sensed my excitement,
but, as my gaze quite involuntarily drifted
towards the parted towel, I had to look away
immediately. He was showing an obvious sign of
arousal ...  the towel was not laying flat
across his lap! In spite of myself, I had to
chance another quick glance in that general
direction and I swear I saw the towel heave a
few times.

'What's next? What should I be doing now? Should
I leave and pretend that I didn't become a part
of this, or should I surrender to my prurient
impulse?' I was debating in my head -- a head,
by then rather hypoxic.

"Have you seen inside those books?" Sanjay broke
the few seconds of silence.

"Eh ... ?" again I bought some time to compose
my thoughts with that monosyllabic response.

"Did you ... read them?" He asked.

"Well ... a little bit." I tried to sound
matter-of-fact as I struggled to look away from
his lap.

"OK ... you don't have to read any more." Sanjay
said as he stood up from the bed. He shouldn't
have. Strange how a very simple action --
somebody standing up -- can be so fateful!

+++++++++++++ End Part 12

(To be Continued)



<1st attachment end>


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