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Message-ID: <32012asstr$997953001@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Part 21) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Thu, 16 Aug 2001 05:10:01 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Mysto21.txt" begin>

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 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 Debi 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 queue 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 queue -- 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 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 that is
traditionally used to cut and chop everything from vegetables
(smaller bonti) to meat (large bonti). Pronounced with a
nasal 'o' and hence transcibed 'bonti'.







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