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Message-ID: <32875asstr$1002622203@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Part 22) by Sharmila Sanyal
Date: Tue,  9 Oct 2001 06:10:03 -0400
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<1st attachment, "Mystor22.txt" begin>

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 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 recounted 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?" I my brain still had 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,"

"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. 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 body 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 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. 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).





<1st attachment end>


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