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Message-ID: <51627asstr$1122765003@assm.asstr-mirror.org>
From: "Sharmila Sanyal" <anu_g42@hotmail.com>
Subject: {ASSM} My Story (Parts 27 and 28)
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Date: Sat, 30 Jul 2005 19:10:03 -0400
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Approved: <assm@asstr-mirror.org>
Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories
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<1st attachment, "MS27.TXT" begin>

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


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 27) by Sharmila Sanyal



	Bidyut and I drifted apart slowly but surely. In the next few months that 
followed, I found it increasingly difficult to keep up the appearance of 
being his "girl friend".  Had it not been for his singular interest in 
feeling me up and gratifying himself against my person, I might have 
continued to go out with him; but he had turned into this child who was 
suddenly allowed the taste of candy for the first time.

	What bothered me the most, as a person, was not the fact that he rarely 
brought up the subject of sex even while he did it on me. I was far more 
concerned by realizing that even while his hard manhood  rubbed against my 
inner thighs -- saree-clad as they might be -- I felt little sensation of 
arousal anywhere in my body. The very thought of maintaining a long-term 
relationship with a person who failed to arouse me physically scared me. So, 
my natural recourse was to withdraw myself slowly from him. And, while I was 
doing that, I was as much distraught as I was relieved to discover that it 
took very little effort on my part.

	Bidyut himself showed little despair, and I would be lying if I said that 
that didn't  trouble me a little. I was troubled not because he wasn't 
despondent over the ever-widening frequency of our rendezvous -- for we had 
pretty much understood each other without any word having been spoken to 
that effect -- I was troubled from the thought that maybe I was not good at 
judging people when it came to romantic relationships. I was quite grounded 
in my own sexuality, so, now I had to resolve my romantic self. But, that is 
not what this story is all about, is it?   However, I have never been able 
to divorce romance from sex, or vice versa.

	Debi became more friendly with our attractive maid over the days following 
that early morning discussion. I tried to follow Debi's lead, but, in the 
process, ended up feeling really strange about it. I discovered that the 
class-conscious bourgeoisie in me needed a lot of work -- even in matters 
primal.  Then it was time for Ajit's quarterly visit back,  when I was 
obliged to spend the week at my parents'.

	It was during that fateful week in summer, that I found myself, along with 
my parents, rushing to my aunt's house to console the family. Sanju's dad 
had suddenly passed away after suffering a massive heart attack.

	It was a terrible period for all of us. While we lived several miles apart 
and seldom saw each other, at that time I felt a closeness with that family 
that is hard to express.  It was difficult to imagine that it was only a 
couple of  years back that we were celebrating a wedding at that same house. 
As I arrived with my parents, I saw several people from around the small 
town teeming in and out of that old house. He was only sixty and was quite 
active in the political and cultural processes of that town. Being of the 
family that actually had owned most of the town at one time, he was revered 
too.

	I went in, leaving my parents outside. They were stopped by some other 
relatives that lived in that town. The overcast sky was, pronuncing an 
imminent shower, added to the glumness. The weather was the same the last 
time I was there during Chhordi's wedding.  As I crossed through their large 
dorway, I remember  thinking about Nature's bewildering ability to frame 
both romanticism and  mournfulness, rapture and dolor, by the same dark 
clouds of monsoon.  Perhaps, that's why  the great bard had equated Death 
with Krishna.

	I found my aunt and Chhordi sitting in the drawing room with Sanju standing 
in his 'dhoti', with the mat in his hand.* He looked so helpless! I believe 
he was about seventeen  then. His unshaven face looked even more juvenile. I 
had not known their family to be very ritualistic, especially not Sanju and 
Chhordi's dad.  Yet, like most other occassions, a death is always followed 
by the expected mourning marked by all the rites and rituals.  Even the 
staunchest of self-professed agnostics or aethists have been known to fall 
back on these traditions at such times.

"Oh! Shona-di!" he came over to me and held my hand, trying to suppress his 
tears. I put my arms around him and he broke down. He was, by then, already 
a good six inches taller than me. I felt his warm breath against the back of 
my neck as he sobbed uncontrollably. I cried too. My aunt and Chhordi looked 
on with immense pain in their eyes, and soon the room filled up with the 
sounds of sobbing.

	As far as I recall, that was my first experience of a death so close to the 
family. I was absolutely unsure of what to expect and I had no idea what my 
own reactions would be. I was utterly caught off-guard by my own sentiments 
and unchecked emotions. We held each other for a long time. His body felt 
cold and I wanted to transmit some of my warmth into him.

	As I held Sanju, I felt something beyond simple grief. I felt a connection 
with my cousin that I had not felt before -- not even during our most 
licentious times together. We slowly let each other go and I proceeded to 
sit with my aunt and my other cousin.

"Oh, Sharmi," wept my aunt, "he was so fond of you and always praised your 
academic achievements!" The words, as sincere as they were, sounded rather 
out of place to me. It was perhaps her way of trying to bring me into the 
fold of her grief, but I was feeling their sorrow regardless of my own sense 
of loss (or the lack thereof) at my uncle's passing. I was sad for my aunt 
and my cousins, and my tears were for their loss, not that of mine.

"Yes, I know," I had to concur.

"You have to be near your brother over there," my aunt gestered to where 
Sanju was sitting on the floor, eyes closed, his head leaning back against 
the wall, "he is lost, and he loves you so much."

"I will, Mashimoni, don't worry about him," I said with the utmost 
sincerity, "I will stay close to him."

"He is very fond of you, Sharmi," Chhordi spoke hoarsely, trying to hold 
back another wave of tears.

"I know," I hugged her and nodded. Any other time, such observations from my 
aunt and my cousin would have made me quite conscious of our indelicacy, and 
thence uncomfortable; but I knew that they could not have read anything into 
his fondness for his "Shona-di".

	That night we hardly slept as everybody stayed up late and into the early 
hours of morning reminiscing about Meshomoni, our uncle. I never had been 
very close to either my aunt or my uncle to feel his loss to the degree that 
a lot of the others were feeling; yet the sadness in that drawing room was 
so palpable that it permeated my senses. I sat beside Sanju, holding his 
hand, and grieved for him into the morning.  I think he  had  graduated from 
high school that year; and I  remember wondering how the passing of his 
father at such a time would be impacting his first year in college.

	The morning that followed, everybody was exhausted --  emotionally as well 
as physically. The maids and the servants, some of whom actually had grown 
up in that household, were running around trying to make us all comfortable. 
The old septagenerian gardner produced flowers in front of the large framed 
photograph of our uncle. The steady stream of people, that showed up to 
offer condolences, would gradually ebb into a trickle that afternoon.

"Sharmi, darling, please go upstairs and keep Sanju company," Chhordi said 
as she came up to me on the verandah.

	I was sitting on a low stool leaning against one of the huge pillars that 
formed the facade of the ancient house. I was perhaps lost in my own 
thoughts, of which I have no recollection now, and I was startled at her 
voice.

"Oh, Chhordi, come sit down, won't you?" I stood up and offered the small 
stool.

"No, Sharmi,  I need to go lie down," she smiled and said, "I am tired. You 
must be too, Sharmi! You didn't sleep all night either."

"That I am, I must say," I admitted, "Maybe I will  go upstairs and lie down 
too."

"Why don't you?" Chhordi insisted, "Sanju must be alone in his room; you 
could go and lie down beside him. He loves you so much. I am sure he will 
like it if you kept him company now.

"I am sure," I said. Nothing else really made any sense that day, except the 
feeling that we could all be there for each other.

	Now, I must warn the western audience not to read anything into Chhordi's 
suggestion of "lying down beside Sanju." It was a very ordinary and innocent 
thing to say.

	It was eleven, and we had had a very late breakfast that day. Having 
resolved that I needed no lunch any time soon, I headed up to Sanju's room 
to keep him company.

	The door to Sanju's room was closed, and as I pushed against the two panels 
gently, they opened inward. I moved the drape aside and peeked in.

	He was huddled close to the wall on his bed. Except for the presence of a 
new and larger book shelf, little inside the room had changed. I stepped in 
and looked around the room. There was a low dresser with a tall mirror that 
I hadn't seen before. It took up almost half  of the space between the door 
and the right wall at the foot of the bed. The only window was closed and 
there was a stale dampness inside the room.

	As I moved across the room to open the window, I found my cousin fast 
asleep. I could hear his steady breathing. Its sound seemed to blend in with 
that of the occassional wind gusts through the verandah. I looked at him and 
realised that he had the windows closed to keep out the moist draft. I 
grabbed the woolen shawl that lay on the chair and gently covered him. In 
that rather scanty clothing, Sanju seemed to need that. He didn't move.

	There was just enough space beside him on his bed, and I lay down there on 
my side. As I stared at the wall across the room, I wondered about Sanju and 
how distraught he must have been. In a flash, the thought of comforting him 
-- with what he had had wanted from me on our roof -- crossed my mind. 
Despite the impropriety of my thought, it seemed to be the most humane thing 
to do for someone you cared about. Yet,  I immediately brushed it aside and 
chided myself for thinking of such things at such a moment. It wasn't long 
before my weary body begged out for some sleep and I gladly obliged.

	Sanju's warm breath on my soulders woke me up, it was getting dark outside 
already. I realised that I slept for a very long time. My back was still 
towards Sanju and he had an arm across me. I didn't move, trying to figure 
out if he was still asleep. I felt a warm hardness against my buttocks and 
it was pressed against me ever so gently. I knew that men sometimes get 
hard-ons during their sleep, but I wasn't sure if Sanju was indeed asleep. 
There was little between his hardness and my saree except a thin layer the 
dhoti he was wearing, and I could feel its heat. He didn't move, but his 
member did. It throbbed against me and I could feel it swell up some more 
even as I lay still, motionless, trying to wake up my brain and compose 
myself at the same time. After several minutes, I decided that Sanju was 
still asleep and it was time for me to slip away. His libido was already 
affecting mine.

	I gently lifted his arm from over me and slipped out from under it. As I 
slid off the bed, I almost rolled onto the floor. I managed to sit up 
straight on the bed instead, and, in that last light of the day, looked at 
my cousin with the same tenderness that I had felt before falling asleep 
beside him. I looked down where his erection peeked out from under his dhoti 
and I could see the redish head trying to free itself from the confines of 
the prepuce. I was amused to see the suggestion of the dense curly darkness 
at its base, covered by the dhoti. The last time I saw  Sanju, he had barely 
had started to sprout down there.  I remembered the silky feel not without 
fondness.

I pulled the woollen blanket over him to cover his very intimate reaction.

	I didn't feel awkward that he might have had a stirring of some intimate 
memories, for I knew that it mattered little in his time of grief. I was 
there, body and soul, to comfort him. I remember that I had felt like 
obliging him, and maybe I would have right then; but it was getting to be 
evening, and soon there would be people coming to look for him.

	So, I took control of my feelings and quietly left the room. I went to the 
bathroom and freshened up before heading downstairs.

	Chhordi was talking to some people that had come to express their 
condolences. She looked up at me approvingly and smiled.

"I see you slept as well," she said.

"Yes, I barely could keep my eyes open," I acknowledged, and then added, "I 
didn't wake him up. Should I have?"

"Don't bother, I will send Jyotsnaa," Chhordi tried to say.

"Never mind, I will go," I interjected quickly, "They must be busy doing 
other things." I didn't want the maidservant to find Sanju with his enormous 
hard-on. At that moment I felt rather protective of Sanju's privacy and the 
thought of another person seeing him in an aroused state seemed like an 
usurping of a  privilege that was supposed to be exclusively mine. So, I 
rushed upstairs to wake up the rest of my cousin.

"Oh ... Oh ... " he sounded embarrased, especially since he was supposed to 
be in mourning.  He looked even more handsome.

"Don't worry, it is natural," I tried to sound casual about it, but the 
sight of the "tent" had started a reaction in my body. I chided myself again 
and left the room.

	I didn't want to wonder about Sanju, his predicament, and how he would hide 
it without the privilege of any underwear. I was not a little bewildered 
about my feelings at that very moment. I tried to figure this out -- this 
incongruity of my emotions. It was hard, it was terribly hard.

	As I descended the stairs, I could think of nothing other than Sanju's 
warmth against me, and of the sight of that erection in the semidarkness of 
his room.

I was too preoccupied even to notice that it had started to rain again.

"I was looking for you, Sharmi," I was brought back to reality by my 
mother's voice, "Where were you all afternoon?"  The sound of her gentle 
voice blended into the sound of the rain drops that hit the edge of the 
verandah in a  steady rhythm of their own.

"Oh ..." I took a few seconds to compose myself, "I was sleeping ... in 
Sanju's room."

"Oh, did you sleep well?" She asked quite naturally, "His bed isn't big 
enough for two!"

"Well, we managed," I answered, "I just went there to lie down beside him 
and fell asleep."

"Good," she said, "I suppose you needed it. Listen, I will have to go back 
to Calcutta with your father tonight and will be back the day after 
tomorrow. Do you you want to stay here and keep Sanju and Anju (that would 
be Anjana, my Chhordi) company?"

"Okay," I had no idea what else to say. My college was closed, so I had no 
need to rush back to Calcutta, and Debi was in her husband's arms. So, there 
was no reason why I would not feel obliged to stay back and keep my two 
cousins company.

"Stay back, Sharmi," my aunt almost pleaded, "Sanju will have somebody to 
talk to then."

"I will," I said calmly.

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


End Part 27 (to be contd.)
_________

**In Hindu tradition, the sons of the deceased have to maintain a austere 
mourning period of eleven days to a month. During this time, the sons are 
not supposed to wear any sewn clothings, and are supposed to sit only on 
mats made out of pure wool or out of a tall grassy plant called "Kush". A 
homage ceremony marks the end of that mourning period, when the sons must 
shave off their heads and any other facial hair.
<1st attachment end>


<2nd attachment, "MS28.TXT" begin>


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 28) by Sharmila Sanyal

	The week that followed drained me emotionally. I tried to stay with Sanju 
all the time, for the ritual of grieving among the rest in that household 
was too intense for me to be around.

	I felt a peculiar sense of guilt at not being able to feel anything 
remotely as devastating at my uncle's passing. No matter how much I tried to 
rationalize to myself, I couldn't step away from the simple truth that my 
uncle had meant little to me and that his final absence from amongst us left 
no mark on my mind.

	While Shona-di - perhaps by virtue of having a husband now - seemed to be 
fairing much better, Sanju's sense of loss was quite manifest. Her period of 
mourning was over a day after we had arrived, and there was a small ceremony 
to mark it. After that she had taken charge of everything around the house, 
leaving little for Sanju to do, except going around and inviting people for 
the "shraaddha" ceremony -- the final homage ritual.  I accompanied him 
wherever he went and it felt good to be close to him to comfort him. I was 
quite obvious that he also seemed to like being close to me. Of course, that 
afternoon's little intimacy, inadvertent and surreptitious, was not 
repeated; but, he clearly wanted to be around me and away from the rest. 
Thinking back, I believe that I was like an oasis for him during those ten 
days, where he could escape the constancy of his grief. Just being there, 
detached from the mournful ambiance of the cloudy days, I helped Sanju 
through his first loss. And, a day after he was allowed to break his 
mourning, finally it happened.

"Will you stay for a few more days?" Sanju asked while we were sitting in 
the drawing room.

	It was dark outside and most of the guests had left. The servants were busy 
taking care of the aftermath of the late-afternoon feast that had marked the 
"Niyambhanga". Translated, that means "breaking of the discipline", 
referring to the discipline to be maintained during the mourning period. On 
that day, friends and families are invited and those who would be in 
mourning for several days, are allowed to break that mourning period in the 
presence of the elders. In Bengal, this is marked by the son (or the sons) 
of the deceased being served fish, which, besides being the non-vegetarian 
dish, is also the symbol of prosperity and luck.

"I need to get back, Sanju," I said, "My college will reopen on Monday"

"Oh, Sharmi, a couple more days won't make your college go to the dogs," my 
mother said out rather loudly and laughed, "Besides, tomorrow is Friday."

"I suppose ..." I said, trying to sound unsure.

	Truth be told, a part of me wanted to stay back, while the rest kept 
flashing a warning sign in my head. Sanju, after having shaved his head and 
his stubble, looked even more handsome; and I felt a surge in my arteries 
every time I saw him. His big eyes, with a forlorn expression, looked even 
bigger.  In his soft dhoti and the shawl, I pictured a young Siddhaartha in 
his appearance.

	We had stayed close to each other most of the times and had even shared his 
bed in his room most afternoons. I know that sounded rather suspicious, but 
while I could not vouch for my complete innocence in so doing, nothing -- 
beyond lying at close proximity -- had transpired between us.  We had talked 
about his friends and his studies, among other things, and about what he 
would be doing now that he was the de facto man of the house.

	Admittedly, between all our conversations, there always seemed to have been 
some unspoken acknowledgment of that evening's misdeed on the roof of our 
house; as if we both knew that its mention was not to be made -- at least 
not while he was in mourning. But, the way he looked at me, I knew he wanted 
my comfort in a more intimate way. Slowly but surely, I was losing my own 
restraint.

So, it happened!

	It was a very dark and rainy Friday afternoon . . . the day following the 
"Niyambhanga".   The house had gone back to its routine in as much of a 
normalcy as was possible. Sanju, after his lunch, had retired to his room 
for a siesta. I helped Chhordi serve the servants and the maids their lunch 
and then, after a much needed and deliberate trip to the bathroom, headed 
upstairs.

It was about half past two, I think.

	I looked up at the sky above the courtyard. A darker sky I had not seen. 
The laden clouds threatened to touch the ground below, their moisture 
rushing into my lungs as I breathed in deep at the  top of the stairs. I 
looked around the covered verandah and at the closed door of my room. This 
time I had stayed in that room all by myself. I didn't want to spend the 
afternoon alone in that room. It was a depressing room. My feet carried me 
to Sanju's instead. When I found myself standing outside the room, I 
desperately tried to convince myself that it would be just like the other 
afternoons -- keeping Sanju company.

	The door was wide open and I saw Sanju on the bed, lying on his side facing 
the wall. I couldn't tell if he was sleeping. I distinctly remember that I 
felt my own heart thumping against my sternum as I stepped inside the room 
almost on tip-toes, as if afraid to wake him up. As I closed the panels of 
the door softly and locked them shut from inside, I could feel the tremor in 
my body. Then I breathed again.

	It was such an odd moment in my life that I have not stopped musing over 
it.  Nothing needed to happen. That afternoon was no different from those 
that preceded it, except for the very simple fact that it was the fourteenth 
day since Sanju's father passed away; and that realisation alone was enough 
to fill my head with the thoughts of possibilities. I had no way of knowing 
the future, nor was I intent on influencing it in any manner, yet there was 
a foreboding of something naughty, some indiscretion that was about to 
happen.

	I softly crossed the floor to his bed and sat down without making a sound, 
and then I lay my body down,  facing away from him. The bare, white-washed 
wall across from the bed did little to steer my mind away from the warm 
feelings I was experiencing all over my body.

	I knew that all I had to  do was to wake Sanju up and propose sex! But, in 
spite of all the indications, I wasn't absolutely sure about the propriety 
of engaging in such libidinous liaison so soon.

	I tried to convince myself that I would be doing it simply out of my 
'sisterly' affection for Sanju and that he needed all the comforting in 
whatever manner I could offer him, but those rationalizations sounded as 
ridiculous then as they do right now even as I recollect those memories.  
What was more disquieting was the fact that more prurient my thoughts seemed 
under the circumstance, the more stimulated I felt. I could feel the liquid 
building up inside me.

I still pondered and I still waited . . . waited for some sign  . . .

	And the sign came in the form of a warm breath on the nape of my neck. In 
spite of myself, I froze and closed my eyes. I needed to feign sleep ... 
desperately!

	I clenched my teeth and held my breath and waited . . . I waited for Sanju 
to make the first move  . . . I waited for an eternity . . . I waited for 
the feel of his warm flesh aginst me . . .

	Then, just as I was running out of breath, I felt Sanju's arm on mine. His 
warm skin against my bare upper arm sent currents through my already charged 
being. I let my breath out slowly, attempting to conceal both my trepidation 
and impatience. I had no way of knowing if Sanju was awake or still alseep. 
I wondered if his touch was inadvertent; and I was about to stop breathing 
again when I felt the sure sign of his interest in this matter.

"I closed the door," my eyes shut, I whispered loudly.

	In response, Sanju simply pressed himself closer to my back -- a silent 
acknowledgement of the unspoken.

	I reached  behind with my left hand and lightly placed my fingers on his 
hip, to which he put his left arm around me, bringing the fingertips to 
similarly rest against my right breast. Through the thick fabric of my 
kaameez, my otherwise unencumbered breast felt the touch . . . and my 
nipples responded in consent.

	I let my hand behind me drop past his hip . . . and to where his manhood 
announced his state of stimulation. I even felt the warmth of his member 
reaching up to my fingertips. As he closed the gap between our bodies, I 
felt it twitch and jump, touching the round of one of my buttocks 
momentarily. I knew then, through my own state of mind, that we had reached 
the point of no return. From then on, I let my libido take over my brain 
function. Passion had, by then, beome dominant in my compassion.

"Shona-di" He whispered in a soft voice.

"Mmm?" I had my eyes closed. I felt his breath on my ear.

"You alright?"

"Hmmm ..." I answered his redundant query. He was unsure, I could sense, and 
he was simply getting used to the idea of what was about to happen.

	I turned and faced him. He looked into my eyes and I saw the flame of 
craving there too. I sat up on the bed and placed one hand squarly on his 
erection. There was just the thin fabric of the "dhoti" between my palm and 
him. It was quite hot to the touch, and I remember the jolt that passed from 
it through my hand and up my arm, radiating to every pore of my already 
tingling body.

	I had not forgotten the feel of the satiny skin, yet it seemed new to me. 
It wasn't the the first time I had such close contact with his manhood, but 
that afternoon I discovered that, in the last year and a half, he had grown 
-- in more ways than one.

"Shona-di!" Sanju expressed his disbelief in what I was doing, and his young 
cock responded accordingly by twitching under my touch.

"What?" I whispered.

"Should we ... are you okay ... I mean ...?" He let the doubt just hang in 
the air.

	I didn't say anything; instead, I simply held his dhoti-wrapped cock in my 
fist. It throbbed, with every pulse transmitting its heat to me. I looked at 
him and found him staring down to where the center of his passion was held 
captive. He momentarily closed his eyes and clenched his teeth, his manhood 
transmitting his state of mind into my palm. I let go.

"What?"  Sanju opened his eyes in a panic and sat up on the bed. That motion 
of his torso completely freed his cock from the inadequete confine of the 
dhoti. It stood up in all its youthful glory straight from between his legs 
as he sat himself up in a crosslegged position.

"What "what"?" I smiled impishly and repeated.

	 I stood up from the bed and  looked at his erection again and took in its 
beauty. It had definitely grown in size since our last encounter. It was a 
lot darker, as were the curls at its base. I could only see a few strands 
peeking out from under the fabric. The rudy head, moist from his passion, 
peeked out partially from the under the stretched-out foreskin. My cunt 
muscles acknowledged the sight rather violently.

	Without any further ado, Sanju too got off the cot, and standing directly 
facing me craned his neck forward to land a kiss on my lips. I shuddered. I 
don't remember Bidyut ever being able to elicit a similar response. I closed 
my eyes and waited for more.

	Sanju obliged and, at the same time, started unbuttoning my kaameez. He was 
still standing a little away from me, as if wary of his cock touching my 
body. I let my hands drop and placed the palm of my left under it; and  I 
felt his kiss falter on my lips for a moment. He pulled his head away and 
looked into my eyes, his erect manhood twitching on my palm.

	The dampness of the afternoon, the smell of the wet grass drifting up from 
the field right outside Sanju's room, and the sound of the raindrops hitting 
against the the outside walls . . . they all seemed to conspire together to 
contribute to the dissolute mood that I found myself in.  Could I use the 
word "romantic" in describing such a forbidden afternoon? I wonder about it 
even today; but the moist warmth of that overcast afternoon did something 
that I had not felt before! It is best, therefore, to refrain from trying to 
confer any kind of legitimacy to it. I leave the readers to their own 
devices, and imaginations.

	I closed my fist lightly on him again, and slowly started to move it, 
sliding the satin skin  back and forth ever so gently. He opened his mouth 
to breathe and closed his eyes. His youthful face could not hide the 
delectation.

	I remember tugging slightly down, and I remember that we found ourselves on 
the hard cement floor. Sanju was almost naked anyway, his dhoti having come 
unraveled from his waist. I think I was the one that finally managed to 
unbutton my dress. As he slipped both his hands inside and placed them on my 
chest, the distending nipples sent jolts through my nerves ... and my cunt 
throbbed . . . my thighs quivered . . .

"Oh ... Shonadi ..." Sanju mumbled against one of my breasts.

"Sanju ..." I tried to respond, but no sound came out of my mouth. I parted 
my thighs in invitation, forgetting that I still had my saalwaar on.
	While my torso was essentially bare for all practical purposes, I was still 
rather modest from waist down.

	I felt his rod poking me where I wanted him to, but the entrance was 
blocked. He was pushing against me, nonetheless.

	In a panic, I shoved him off my body, and hurriedly sat  up. I panicked 
from the sudden apprehension that he might spend too soon even while he 
massaged himself against me as a matter of foreplay. I wanted his youthful 
enormity all inside me. My throbbing cunt was screaming out for something 
that I had never experienced. I had no idea how a warm hard cock would feel 
inside me, but I knew that I my cunt needed it, and urgently.

"What ... why?" Sanju looked up at me with bewildered expression in his 
face, and then he looked at the door, "It is locked from inside, Shonadi!"

"Of course it is!" I panted out in a whisper, "I locked it myself."

"Then?" He wasn't sure why I wanted to stop at that point. The utter 
dejection in his eyes at the prospect of being left "high and dry" was 
obvious.

"What? Can I do anything with my saalwaar on?" I chuckled at him through my 
breathlessness.

	I wanted to convince myself that what was about to happen was just fine; 
and as I slipped out of my pajamas in a haste, I looked at his bold erection 
proudly standing up straight in the air. I could see the bead of glistening 
pre-cum on it increase in size rapidly, and dribble down the side of the 
half-exposed glans already quite slippery from his height of excitement.

	I reached out and squeezed the base of  the head, and more of that clear 
fluid spilled out on my fingers. I couldn't remember if I felt this much 
pre-cum from his cock the last time. There wasn't sufficient illumination up 
on our roof that evening and we were feeling our way through most of our 
prurient affair.  I felt  the inside of my cunt spasmodically beg for what I 
held between my fingers and, as if perfectly in phase, I felt Sanju's cock 
twitch in unison.

"Nnnnnnggghhh," escaped the unmistakable sound of pleasure from his mouth as 
he reached down to remove my hand from his organ. HIs eyes were shut tight 
and his teeth clenched, "Don't . . . " he pleaded, "I may cum . . ."

"So soon!" I didn't try to hide the panic in my voice; not that I was 
mindful of what or how I spoke. My body screamed out for sex and that's all 
I thought about.

"You are too much, Shona-di," Sanju opened his eyes and breathed a sigh of 
relief as I let go of his engorged member. It stood straight, its purplish 
red bulbous head shining through the barely folded-back foreskin. The rest 
of his loin was still covered with his dhoti.

"You wanted it,  didn't you?" Coquettishly, I looked into his eyes squarly 
as I pulled the crotch of my coton panties to one side and straddled him, 
"Now you will have to show me what all you have learned from your book."  At 
the back of my mind, I knew that he was not disposed to show me much of 
anything that afternoon.

"I need to go to the bathroom," he said.

"Not now!" I almost screamed, but it reminded me of the predilection of my 
own renal aparatus in working overtime during heightened activities of this 
kind.

"I do need to go," he pleaded, "Otherwise it will be . . ."

"Oh, all right ..." I liftted myself up reluctantly. He put on a pair of 
"jaangiaa" from his chest of drawers, fixed his dhoti, and exited.

	When Sanju was gone, I could have taken stock of what was about to happen, 
but I didn't . . . I couldn't find anything wrong with what my body was 
telling me to do.

	The more my sense of propriety tried to rein in my libido, the more my mind 
dwelt on the taboo, and more excited I got. My cunt throbbed uncontrolably 
and my nipples ached in their tautness. I closed my eyes and rubbed my palm 
across my clit ever so gently, sending shivers through my senses. Now that I 
think back, it was quite dangerous - what with the state I was in and the 
door being unlocked. Anybody could have just walked in on my almost bare 
form engaged in slow masturbation. But, nothing "untowardly" happened, 
before Sanju returned with a partially flaccid yet enlarged cock.

As he closed the door and locked it behind him, I sat up and asked, "You 
washed it well I hope?"

"Of course," he grinned impishly and stood in front of me. By the time I 
even thought of reaching  for his underwear, he already had simply pulled 
down the elastic of of his "jaangia"  to free his cock out. It got turgid 
fast right in front of my eyes, as if enjoying the freedom by inhaling the 
air outside of the confined sapce. The curly black pubic hair spilled over 
at its base.

	I didn't wait for it to gain its full glory.  I sat up, hunched forward and 
took the head in between my lips. Both my hands were still busy betwen my 
legs.

"Ahhhhhhhnnnnng," I heard Sanju moan as I breathed in deep the aroma of his 
youthful sex.

	I didn't continue with that long. I don't remember exactly how that 
particular afternoon actually progressed and how it actually ended, but I 
remember the urgency that we both exhibited. I was aware of the acuteness of 
my own exitement and, in turn, of his.

	So, in no time, I was straddling Sanju -- his dhoti and "jaangiaa" still in 
place -- lowering myself on his majestically upright rod of warm flesh.

"Ohhhhh ..." I sighed as I engulfed him to the hilt. I had not bothered to 
divest myself of my panties. I looked down and all I could see were our dark 
curls mingled together, nestled in the soft cotton fabrics of our clothes. I 
held my breath as I felt a surge of my own fluid bathe his massively erect 
manhood inside my "virgin" cave. I remember I was afraid to move, the sheer 
voluptuousness of the moment making me apprehensive of precipitating Sanju's 
climax too early.

"Shona-di," I heard him softly whisper, "Do you like it?"

	I nodded, for it would have been futile to express anything in spoken 
words. My body was a dollop of butter excruciatingly melting on my cousin 
three years my younger!  As I felt his member twitch inside me, I remembered 
the first time we touched each other in that very room. It was not as urgent 
an act as it was now.  I was in a more of a playful mood then and that 
exploration was almost solely a product of curiosity on my part.

	This was different. This union might not have had an element of romance, 
but a feeling of togethernes, combined with the lusciousness that I was 
experiencing for the first time, made me rather tender towards him.  There 
was nothing tentative about it.  In my mind, this was the natural 
culmination of the passion that had had built up between Sanju and me over 
the couple of years.

	As I said before, I don't remember the details of that afternoon, but I 
remember the feeling that even today lingers in my body, and in my mind. And 
I remember the look of embarrassment that had come over Sanju's face when he 
filled me up with copious amount of ejaculate -  a full thirteen-day worth 
of it, I am sure.

	After a rather prolonged session of carressing each other with our teeth 
clenched and our hips cautioned at the slightest provocation towards 
undulation, I rolled over with him and invited him to take charge of the 
action according to his needs.

"Do it ... slowly," I looked up at his eyes, folded my legs at my knees, 
spreading them far apart, and whispered. He was completely engulfed, our 
tummies tightly pressed with each other's.

"Yesssss ..." he hissed and he moaned. Then, he moved gently, rocking back 
and forth with his whole body, while his cock remained almost stationary, 
deeply impaled, inside my cunt, "Nnnnnnnnggggghhh, aaaaaah . . ."

"Yessssss, Sanju ... my naughty Sanju, do it ... yesss ... slow ... no ... 
no ... slow ..." I had had to caution him with every wave that declared my 
own inevitable precipice. I remember how his cock barely moved inside me, 
yet my entire body received his heat through every pore, not the the least 
of which were at the tips of my aching nipples rubbing against his, as we 
looked into each other's lustful eyes.

"Yessss ... Oh ... Nnnnnnggggg ... Shona-di," he would whisper back in 
complimentary tone,  "It's so hot inside ... inside you ... so good ... I 
feel so good ..."

"My sweet Sanju ..."

"Shona-di ... I am ... oh ... oh ... Aaaaaaaaahhhhhngggg ... nnnnnnnggghhh 
... ngh ... ngh ... nghhh ... ahhh ..." his eyes widened and his face went 
red, as I felt the warm fluid being poured inside of me, hitting the very 
core of my womanhood in repeated gushes ...

"Yesss ... yess ... yesss ... do it .. do it ... do it ... do it ..." I had 
urged him on,  trying to match the rythm of his climax.

	I tried to climax myself at the same time but I was - at that time - more 
mindful of Sanju's. So I waited, while my cunt took on a life of its own 
trying to pump his organ dry for the last bit of his hot semen.

	To be honest, I don't remember ever practicing anything of the sort.  I 
used the muscles deep inside my cunt for the first time and came out a 
winner.

"Ohhh ... Sorry, Shona-di!" Sanju's whispered against my ear an ernest 
apology in English, and announced the end of his return back to the ground 
state! His steel-hard cock inside me was still convulsing and my cunt 
muscles were still trying to squeeze out his last drop.

"Never mind that," I carressed his still "dhoti"-covered buttocks and 
started to move against him for my own release, "You stay as you are . . ."

"Ahhhh . . . nnnnnggg ...yes" I heard him moan his assent.

	I moved against him and held his buttocks to keep his cock inside, as I 
felt it slowly starting to lose its resolve.  My swollen clit barely got any 
contact and I needed that extra stimulation. As I tried to get one hand in 
between our bodies, Sanju understood and whispered, "Let me ..." and, in no 
time, one of his hands was gently massaging my mons with wonderful 
expertise.

"Ohhhhh ... God! Sanju .... my ..." I mumbled under my breath, as the touch 
of his soft youthful fingers outside more than made up for his flaccidity 
inside me. It wasn't long before I was struggling to keep my senses together 
in an attempt not to bring down the whole household at the door in the 
middle of the afternoon.

"Like it ... Shona-di?" he murmered against my ears and I let him know how 
much by simply increasing the tempo of my hips. I was in no condition to 
speak, and all I could vocalize was my imminent climax.

It was so near yet so far!

	I could only think of myself, and of my urgent need at the junction of our 
bodies, where the deft fingers of my cousin was delightfully engaged.

	He barely touched my clit, yet I could feel it receiving tiny packets of 
current everytime his fingers made a gentle pass on top. The stickyness of 
our mutual flow was making a slight smacking sound as I ground my cunt 
against him.

"Oh ... Oh ... Oh ... Yesssssss!" I let him know and he started to move 
again inside me. A slow yet deliberate piston journeying back and forth 
inside my filled and slippery cunt . . . and ...

"No ... No ... Wait ... Aaaaaaaahhhh ... No ...  No ... Don't ..." By the 
time I realized that he was again hard inside me, and  before I could stop 
myself, his fingers had pushed me up, and over the very intense climax I was 
wanting to have. "Oh my ... Sanju ... You ... Naughty ..." I wanted to let 
him know that I would have very much liked to wait for his second one if 
only I had been conscious enough to detect his rejuvenation.

	But I was so totally exhausted from that prolonged, and mind-blowing orgasm 
that I could not speak coherently for several minutes.

"It's alright, Shonadi," Sanju moaned against my neck even as he moved his 
cock in and out and continued to massage the area around my clit. I couldn't 
help wonder about the source of his expertise. The way he did what he did 
around my cunt, it helped me prolong my climax and tapered its intensity 
gradually. I have had occassion to enjoy multiples, but they have been few 
and far between. While it wasn't a multiple that afternoon, it was close to 
being one.  My clit was terribly sensitive then, yet I didn't want to force 
his hand away from there.

"It's hard again, Sanju!" I mangaed to speak after a while, "I would have 
waited for you ..." I heaved my buttocks up at him, as very slowly he glided 
his cock in and out. With my two free hands, I caressed his hips, and his 
buttocks as they barely moved. They were still covered with his dhoti.

"That's okay, Shonadi," he propped himself up on his elbow without breaking 
his rhythm, and looked into my eyes, "I like it this way." It impressed upon 
my mind so much that I remember it till this day the exact words he said as 
he rocked back and forth atop me: "I wanted to see your face when it 
happened to you."

	Well, that wasn't a very good translation of what he had said but there 
isn't any expression close enough in the English language. Despite my state 
of exhaustion, his words surprised me.  I would not have known that a "boy" 
of his age could even think along those lines. It was the "Kamasutra", he 
said, when later that evening I had asked him about his aptitude.

"I want to see the book!" I said, "I have never read it, and I am amazed at 
what it has taught you!"

"But I don't have it now, Shonadi," he had suddenly seemed a bit flustered 
at my request, "A friend had lent it to me and I returned it long ago."

"Oh ... Darn!" I said in a mock frustration. I  didn't really care to see 
what "Kamasutra" had to do with Sanju's proficiency in handling a female 
body.  The fact that he had it in him was enough to make me want more of it 
in spite of myself.

	 We were standing in front of the house in the dark and almost whispering 
to each other. There was absolutely no reason for us to be whispering, but 
we whispered, nonetheless. I was torn between the sense of taboo, and the 
wonderful feeling of having had sex with Sanju, and I was definitely feeling 
guilty for having "seduced" my youthful cousin. By the end of the evening, 
however, I had once agiain pushed all that aside and accepted it for what it 
was: pleasure, pure pleasure!

"Do you have to leave tomorrow?" Sanju had asked.

"I need to, Sanju, I have already missed a few classes" I had to convince 
him first before I found the strength in me to contemplate leaving for 
Calcutta.

"I know, it's just that ..." he looked at me with a pair of animal eyes, and 
I almost decided to stay back for another month.

"Just what?" I asked.

"I thought we could . . . you know . . . do it again . . ."

"Imp!" That was all I could say. To be showing any kind of indignation at 
that would have been an utter falsehood. Besides, I noted the sexual tension 
in his voice and acknowledged in my mind that he had not spent the second 
time that afternoon.

"I like it this way," he had said again as I wanted him to continue and seek 
release, after I had had the most delightful orgasm with him inside of me. 
He simply moved slowly back and forth and I enjoyed my post-orgasmic languor 
till my vagina started to lose its lubrication.

	I had pushed him away and out of me and said, "Let me jack you off." I 
didn't mind using the very profane term, for I was by then completely 
liberated and I felt rather bawdy. I felt much at ease as I would if it were 
Debi lying on top of me. He, however, declined my generous offer and said 
that he prefered a climb together rather than alone.

"I like the feeling of being horny," Sanju said, "And, besides, I won't 
enjoy it as much if you don't come too . . . with me again."

"It's too soon for me yet," I kissed him on his forehead and said, 
"Especially after such a big one, anyway!" And I laughed in a low giggle.  
Indeed, it had left me utterly satisfied as never before.

	Were I then as knowledgable about the opposite sex and as worldly as I am 
today, Sanju's hebetude surely would have astonished me. That afternoon, 
however, it didn't seem any different than what I would have done in his 
place. I have often spent  whole days moist in anticipatory moods.

So, I didn't ... I couldn't . . . stand in opposition when my shaved-headed 
cousin expressed his wish! I decided to offer myself up that night, as I 
surely had to leave for Calcutta the next day.

"We'll see," I said and looked at him, "but I do have to leave tomorrow."

"Oh ... okay," he had muttered.

"Don't look so dejected, silly," I put some extra softness in my tone, "We 
still have a whole night!"

"Oh ... Shona-di!" was all he could say. The anticipation in his voice was 
almost palpable.

	That night, after midnight -- long after the exhausted household had gone 
to sleep -- I heard the knock at my door. I let Sanju in quietly,  and we 
wasted little time in idle talk.

	His cock was already swollen and as he slipped out of his pajamas, slowly 
but steadily it rose up under his 'kurtaa'. The long traditional shirt he 
wore was pushed up in the front like a tent and I grabbed it as I sat down 
on the cot, facing him.  He reached out and put one of his hands inside the 
shirt-like nightdress I was wearing.

	Holding onto his steel-hard manhood with one hand, I unbuttoned my shirt, 
and he slid it off my body. I was naked except my panties.  The lights in my 
room were turned off and the windows were shut. It was a very moist and 
relatively cold night. We quickly got under the thin blanket and held each 
other tightly like long-starved lovers.

	I don't remember when or how, but sometime between him ridding me of my 
nightshirt, and us cuddling up together under the blanket, we had divested 
ourselves of the remaining civil hindrances.  The combined warmth of our 
bodies under the thin, traditional blanket felt wonderful. I felt the entire 
length of his youthful body against mine.  The hardness from between his 
legs, pressing against my lower belly, transmitted his heat in continuous 
waves, like the uneven -- yet rhythmic -- ocean waves that hit the sandy 
shores.

	We caressed each other with slow deliberate strokes of our fingers and our 
palms. My nipples ached against his bare chest as his soft fingers found 
their mark between my legs.  I needed him to suck on them but I dared not 
break the continuity of what he was doing.  My mind fantasized of Debi 
attending to my breasts as Sanju lapped at my pussy with his eager tongue.  
Soon there was Promila, her supple form entwined like a vine through our 
warm bodies.

	I remember the subjects, and the outline of my fantasies (like some story 
that you had read a long time ago), but I don't remember the details of that 
night's lovemaking with Sanju.  I remember the intensity but not the 
motions.

	Even as I try to recollect the moment that we melted into each other, I 
become moist, and I feel dizzy with the memory of that carnal fever I had 
experienced that night.

	I can remember that he had dipped his mouth in my nectar, and I had 
returned the favor by taking him in my mouth.

	I remember the heady aroma of his manhood, and I can still taste his 
lightly astringent pre-cum in my mouth, but the actions seem a blur when I 
look back to that night of unbridled passion.

	Even as I try to recount my feelings, I am overwhelmed by the entangled 
memories of that night.   It was a night of slow exploration of a kind I 
could only re-live in my head.  I want to describe every touch, every 
friction, every thrust; but I am afraid I will come up short.  that I cannot 
recall the details is even more frustrating, even though I remember the 
pleasure!

	Yes! Sanju was a man no doubt!  His youthful appearance notwithstanding, 
his virility that day is something I still reminisce about with utter 
fondness.


	I later learned that while it was my first real encounter with someone of 
the oppsite sex, it wasn't so for Sanju!  He had described to me in every 
titillating detail how he enjoyed his first real intercourse with his 
"girlfriend" -- now his wife -- and I must admit that I had felt a slight 
pang of jealousy. It wasn't so much for him having sex with his girlfriend, 
but the revelation that I wasn't his first.  At the same time, my frail 
conscience was unburdened for being absolved of the slight guilt I had had 
felt as a "seducer" and "corruptor" of my cousin.  It turned out that, prior 
to that night, the young (or should I say, almost adolescent) couple had 
left no page of the famous "Kamasutra" unturned.  Well, as it turns out, 
Sukanya (his girlfriend, now wife) is also a couple of years older than him.

	Much later, when I met Sukanya, I had to admit to myself that it really 
would have been impossible for any boy to resist her.  After three children, 
she is still as irreristably sexy and attractive as she was when I first saw 
her.  She and I had gown to be quite good friends and from our conversations 
it was clear to me that Sanju had not kept much from her.  But that's 
another story.

	That night we enjoyed each other's body with such urgency that it had left 
me completely exhausted.  I slept till about nine the following morning. 
After the third (I think) and the final time, Sanju simply got up from the 
bed, got dressed and left the room.  The final orgasm was a much fainter one 
for me, and Sanju was basically dry.  I had no idea what the time was as I 
pulled the blanket over my head and fell asleep almost instantly.

	When I woke up, I found Sanju sitting on the low stool aginst the far wall.
"What time is it?" I asked, without trying to get up.  I remembered that I 
was naked under the blanket.

"Nine," Sanju answerd and smiled, "I wanted to make sure that no one else 
comes knocking at the door for you."

"Thanks," I said in English, "Very thoughtful, indeed!"

"Well, it would have been rather embarassing," he said, "I didn't want to 
take the chance."

	That was the quintessential Sanju!  Always the gentleman. He got up, went 
outside the room to stand guard at the door as I got dressed.  When I 
openend the door, he was leaning against the banister and looking out at the 
large pond in their backyard.

	That afternoon, I returned to Calcutta and Sanju made me promise that I 
would be back soon.  Except for a very faint sense of guilt that I was 
feeling, things were rather natural and easy between us from that morning.  
It was Sanju who visited Calcutta before I had the chance to return to their 
house.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++
End Part 28 (to be contd.)
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