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I would like to tell my readers that those looking for quick, fast and furious action will probably be better off looking elsewhere but I hope that those who want to read a good story will find this one rewarding.
I hope that my Marathi speaking readers will appreciate conversations that took place in Marathi. These are recorded in italics. For the benefit of others, these are immediately followed by English translations.
Please do vote and send me your constructive feedback.
All characters are above 18 years of age.
It was the late Nineteen Hundred Sixties. I was a young guy just out of management school. I had recently moved to Bombay (Mumbai now) to join a big multinational company as a management trainee. The pay was decent. Life was good. Apart from immersing myself in challenging and interesting assignments at work, I was having a great time exploring the sights, sounds and smells of the great metropolis, things I had only dreamt about while growing up in a small town in the interior of Maharashtra. The world lay at my feet!
I lived as a paying guest in a bachelor pad – an independent room with an attached toilet, part of a large apartment owned by an old Sindhi lady. My room had a separate entrance, so I could come and go as I wished, without disturbing my landlady. She was very friendly, and took a keen maternal interest in my health and wellbeing, insisting on feeding me hearty breakfasts, although that wasn’t part of our agreement. The apartment was situated in a cosmopolitan, middle class neighbourhood in one of Mumbai’s western suburbs. Most of our neighbours were young professionals or business people. There were lots of little children and many senior citizens too.
Gargi lived in a neighbouring building and we struck up an acquaintance soon after I had moved into the neighbourhood. After all we were both Maharashtrians and it was nice to have someone to speak to in Marathi, in a mixed multilingual neighbourhood. She was perhaps in her late twenties, several years older than me. She was a typical Mumbai girl; smart, lively, energetic and outgoing. She was of medium height and had a trim but full figure. She had sharp features and bright, expressive eyes that flashed merrily when she laughed and joked.
Gargi was always well groomed and dressed in smart clothes. Her clothes were chosen to accentuate her natural sensuality, but were never loud. Although she was very sensuous, she wasn’t at all slutty. She did own a few daringly cut and revealing blouses or cholis but she took care to wrap her pallu securely around her shoulders whenever she wore them, keeping her treasures hidden from prying eyes. She specially liked saris and wore them at home, more often than not. She didn’t wear a lot of makeup. And frankly, she didn’t need to.
She worked as an air hostess (nowadays they’re called flight attendants) with a foreign airline. Her kid brother was a bit younger than me and was an aspiring musician. Their parents had passed away, leaving the little apartment to their children. Her parents had also left behind a 1955 Fiat Millecento car. This model had an abbreviated trunk and used to be known as Dukker Gadi (Pig Mobile in Marathi). Although the car was old and temperamental, Gargi was inordinately proud of it and lavished a lot of care and attention on it.
Gargi and I often exchanged greetings when I was on my way to or from my office while she was either waiting for or alighting from the pick-up van of her airline. She was always a sight to behold: her natural good looks were further accentuated by the smart western style uniform of an air-hostess that she wore. She didn’t look wilted even when she returned from long, tiring flights. Her natural born sensuality made her irresistible to young Lotharios like me, although the engagement ring she wore was a bit of a dampener. Even though I was rather shy around girls, I didn’t want to miss any opportunity to get close to her. Soon after we met, I started to help her get her car serviced and repaired. In return she began to invite me to her apartment and offered delicious home-made snacks – she was an excellent cook and knew dozens of recipes she’d learnt from her mother and grandmother. Her community is well known for the excellence of their cuisine, the erudition of their men and the beauty of their women. I eagerly looked forward to talk to her or to just be with her. She too enjoyed having me around. She perhaps looked upon me as a substitute younger sibling, since her brother frequently travelled to different cities along with his band, and was often away for weeks at a stretch.
A few months after our acquaintance began, Gargi met with a small mishap – she sprained her back and had to be grounded. The doctor said that she wouldn’t be able to fly for around a month. She was admonished not to lift heavy stuff, not to bend, take plenty of rest, take painkillers and exercise taksim elit escort regularly under the supervision of a physiotherapist. Being used to an active lifestyle, she found these restrictions rather galling. Her brother not being around to support her also affected her badly.
I made it a point to try and spend some time with her in the evenings. She took comfort in my company and found a good listener in me. I regaled her with interesting titbits about the happenings in my office, funny incidents of my childhood and so forth. While I was very attracted to her, I was too bashful to flirt with her or show my feelings. I was in fact on my guard all the time to hide my attraction. Although she was worldly and experienced enough to know that I was attracted to her, she perhaps just dismissed it as a passing crush. After all, I was at least five years younger than her. She perhaps just couldn’t see a potential mate in me, at least in the beginning.
During our long conversations, she gradually opened up to reveal some of her private thoughts and feelings. She told me about her on again – off again relationship with a purser (as male flight attendants were known those days) working for another airline. At one point they had been engaged. She had however broken it off when she got a confirmation that he was sleeping with a colleague of his. I was a bit shocked when Gargi told me that it wasn’t the sleeping itself that bothered her – it appeared that it was not unusual for airline flight crew to have casual flings on layovers. She considered that to be almost natural, given that young, attractive people worked in close proximity for long hours and then had an opportunity to let their hair down in the privacy of anonymous hotel rooms away from home base. No, what she found objectionable was that he was sleeping with the same girl repeatedly. Apparently, he had inveigled the scheduling staff into getting them assigned on the same flights. Somebody in the scheduling department knew Gargi and had tipped her off…
So, did Gargi too have casual flings on layovers? The question arose in my mind but I quickly bit it back before it reached my lips. She perhaps read it in my eyes, judging by the long, appraising look she gave me before lowering her eyes. My heart fluttered and I felt a stirring in my loins…
“Oh, I still wear that. It helps to avoid unwanted male attention.” She said, catching my look at the engagement ring that she wore. She then twisted the ring off and rubbed the welt on her finger. Was that a hidden invitation? I wondered. The ring stayed off her finger for the next several months…
As the days wore on, Gargi got better. Her back pain abated considerably and she was able to move about in her apartment and do household chores. She avoided going out, except for her visits to the physiotherapist. However, I did notice that she wasn’t back to her normal bubbly, cheerful self. She had also put on some weight and wasn’t taking as much care of her appearance as she normally did. In spite of that, she still looked devastatingly attractive. In fact, the added weight around her bust and hips made her even sexier…
I also noticed a subtle change in her attitude towards me. Many times I caught her appraising, sidelong glances at me, an intriguing little smile playing on her lips. She would immediately look away when she was caught. She also started teasing me and pulling my leg.
“Office madhlya pori tujhyawar ekdum fida astil na?”
“Girls in your office must be having the hots for you, haven’t they?”
“Nahi buwa. Tula asse ka watate? Amchya office madhil koni tula bhetle kaay?”
“No… Why do you think so? Have you met someone from my office?” I responded innocently.
“Ugich banu nakos hunh! Swatahala arshyat pahile nahis ka? Ekdum chikna ani rubabdar distos!”
“C’mon, don’t try to act so innocent! Haven’t you seen yourself in the mirror lately? What a handsome hunk!” She responded with a mischievous twinkle in her eye. But behind her light hearted teasing, I could sense her growing awareness that I was a man, not just a substitute sibling. My ears went red and my cock lurched into wakefulness.
“Tula kharech asse watate?”
“Do you really think so?” I stammered, my insecurity painfully obvious.
She burst into peals of laughter, reached out and ruffled my hair. That was the first time we actually touched. Although it was a totally non-sexual gesture, it had an electrifying effect on me. I became breathless and my cock became painfully hard in the confines of my underwear.
“Tu agdi bhola ahes hunh! Tujhyasathi lawkarach ek chhanshi porgi shodhun tujhe lagna lawayala pahije! Nahitar koni tari bhalti salti mulgi tula gatwel!”
“Oh! You are such an innocent! I’ll have look for a nice girl for you and get you married soon. Otherwise some tramp might snare you!”
“Nako, taksim escort nako! Majha yewdhyat lagnacha vichar nahi.”
“No, no! I am not planning to get married yet.”
Still, the idea of getting married surrounded me in a warm glow.
“Theek ahe, theek ahe! Pan tula kashi mulgi awadte te tar sang?”
“OK, OK! But tell me what kind of a girl do you like?”
“Kashi mhanje? Ek chhanshi…”
“What do you mean? Just a nice…” I stammered.
“Hey chalnar nahi hunh! Sagle neet sang: Unch ka thengni, kali ki gori, barik ki jaad? Disayala sundar?”
“This won’t do! Tell me properly: Tall or short, dark or fair, thin or fat? Good looking?” She was thoroughly enjoying herself now.
“Agdi tujhya saarkhi!”
“Someone just like you!” I blurted out after a few more minutes of torment. She was rendered momentarily speechless!
“Chal. Tujhyasathi sode ghatlele pohe kelet. Khaun ghe.”
“I’ve made a special snack for you. Come, eat!” She changed the subject after a long moment of silence.
She kept looking at me speculatively while I enjoyed the delicious snack. No more was said on the subject of hitching me up with a girl…
As she got better, Gargi started going out to shop for groceries and vegetables. She wouldn’t be flying for a few more weeks, though. Her brother was back in town for a few days, between two tours. I treated them to a movie. It was a light romantic comedy with a sexy Italian actress in the lead. Gargi sat between her brother and me. She wore a fashionable but modestly cut short sleeved top and a pair of jeans. I was acutely aware of her light floral perfume with an undertone of her natural feminine scent. Other than the occasional inadvertent brushing of our shoulders, there was no touching. Even so, her mere proximity was enough to drive my hormones wild. The film was not overburdened with sex. By today’s standards it was rather tame. There were lots of laughs interspersed with just a few kisses between the lead pair and a couple of flashes of the heroine’s plump décolletage. That, coupled with Gargi’s presence by my side kept my cock half hard all the time. I caught Gargi stealing glances at me a couple of times, a half smile playing on her lips. I noticed goose bumps on her arm when the lights came on. Was that because of the cold air or something else, I wondered…
One evening Gargi requested me to change a flat tyre on her car. Right away, I agreed to do it the next morning, which was a Sunday. She promised me a good breakfast thereafter.
It was around 9 O’clock in the morning. I had worked up a good appetite after changing the tyre and checking the oil and water levels in the engine. I was sweating slightly and my hands were dirty and greasy as I rang the bell. Gargi welcomed me and asked me to wash up and come for breakfast. She was dressed in a workaday cotton sari and blouse. Her hair was tied in a juda (loose knot) from which many recalcitrant little wisps of hair had escaped. Her face glowed with a thin sheen of sweat. Apparently she had been up since early morning, doing household chores. Her well-worn, homely clothes and unkempt appearance did nothing to tone down her sexiness.
“Kaay chhan waas yetoy!”
“What a delicious aroma!” I sniffed appreciatively as the wonderful smell of something that she had whipped up wafted from the kitchen. There was a small wash basin located in a little alcove off to one side of a passage leading to the bedroom. An incongruously large mirror was fixed on the wall behind the wash basin. I soaped my hands and arms up to my elbows and scrubbed them vigorously to get rid of all the dirt and grease. I was about halfway through rinsing off when the tap went dry with a gurgle.
“Gargi! Pani gelele distay!”
“Gargi! The water has run dry!”
“Arre deva! Aaj itke lavkar kasse gele? Thamb, mi tula pani anun dete!”
“Oh god! How did it run dry so early today? Wait, I’ll fetch some water for you!”
Shortage of water was (and is) a fact of life in Mumbai. To cope, housing societies store water as and when it is received from the municipal corporation and release it to the residents for regulated periods in the mornings and evenings. The system runs reasonably well most times. Sometimes, the water runs dry unexpectedly, as it happened that day. Residents usually store some water in their apartments using drums and buckets, just to meet such contingencies.
Gargi fetched a mug and half a bucket of water from the bathroom. She had to pour it out, since both my hands were messy. We were rather cramped in the little alcove and I stood a bit to one side to make space for her. I scrubbed my arms and rinsed them as she poured a thin stream of water. In the confined space, I could smell the heady scent of her unwashed body. My cock hardened as she lightly brushed against me while going about the business taksim eve gelen escort of refilling the mug and pouring water. I kept my attention totally focussed on rinsing my hands, prolonging it as much as possible, savouring every moment of her proximity. In a while, I realized that the water had stopped flowing, while her soft bosom pressed lightly against my elbow. I looked up to see her staring intently at me through the mirror. I reflexively moved my upper arm and elbow to rub against her sari clad bosom, which she let me do without moving away.
A dam broke. I turned towards her and she crashed against me as I pulled roughly. The half full mug flew out of her hand and splashed water all over us. Her soft breasts flattened against my chest as I held her tight.
“Arre thamb thamb! Hey kaay kartoys?”
“Stop, stop! What are you doing?” She whispered hoarsely before I raised her face and swooped to cover her lips with mine.
“Mmm… mmm…” She struggled to speak through her covered lips and wriggled helplessly against my hard body. Slowly, she stopped struggling, her hands crept around me and her lips opened against my mouth. I sucked on her full lower lip and ran my tongue over it.
“Mmmrrrrr…” She purred deep down in her chest as her arousal rose. She started pecking little kisses on my mouth and her tongue darted out and duelled with mine. I didn’t realize how hard I was embracing her until she started struggling for breath and started hitting my back with her small fists. She took a couple of deep breaths and coughed a bit as soon as I released her.
“Mala gudmarun takayache ahe kaay?”
“Do you want to smother me?” She panted to regain her breath, red faced. She looked sexy as hell, her teeth and the tip of her tongue peeped through her parted lips. Her eyelids were inflamed and her face was a mask of lust. I thrust my hips forward to trap her against the wash basin. Her soft, warm belly felt wonderful against me and I knew that she could feel my hard cock through the layers of our clothing. She leaned back a little to make space between our upper bodies. Her pallu was dislodged from her shoulder and the expanse of her beautiful, plump, partly covered bosom was revealed for my eyes to feast on. My hands slowly caressed her breasts over her blouse while her eyes were locked into mine. With trembling hands, I undid the hooks of her front opening blouse and fondled her breasts again before reaching behind her to unclasp her bra. I was trembling so hard that I just couldn’t do it. So she did it herself, her breasts thrusting forward as she reached behind her back. She shrugged her shoulders to slide the straps off and released her confined breasts. She then straightened and paused, offering them for my pleasure.
“Uhh… unhh…” She moaned, her head thrown back, eyes half closed as I fondled her breasts to my heart’s content.
“Kuskarun taak tyanna…”
I happily obliged.
“Harder!” She encouraged me. She winced when I squeezed them really hard but didn’t stop me. I rolled her nipples between my thumb and finger and bent to lick them. She held my head and pushed her breast into my mouth…
“Ding dong! Ding dong!” The bell chimed loudly.
“Paaplet! Paaplet!!” The plangent call of a fisherwoman followed closely.
“Baap re! Aaj kolinicha waar ahe hey mi visarlech hote.”
“My god! I’d completely forgotten that it’s the fisherwoman’s day today!” Gargi muttered as she pushed me away and quickly hooked up her blouse. The two halves of her blouse misaligned since she couldn’t match the hooks with the right loops in her hurry. She didn’t even bother to fasten her bra strap. She quickly wrapped the sari pallu around her shoulders, glanced cursorily at the mirror and then rushed to open the door. I could see the lower edge of her blouse and the loose end of her bra strap peeping out from under the hurriedly wrapped pallu, like a rabbit’s ear. I could also see dark stains on her pallu, her blouse and on her neck, left by my half washed hands.
The middle aged fisherwoman came every Sunday morning to sell her wares. She wore a tight blouse and 9 yard sari in typical fisherwoman attire. She was slim, active, garrulous and loud and could be aggressive when the need arose. Gargi was one of her regular customers. They both enjoyed haggling and gossiping and looked forward to their weekly meetings. The fisherwoman’s sharp eye didn’t miss Gargi’s dishevelled clothes, heavy breathing and inflamed eyelids and wondered what the matter was. She knew that some hanky-panky was afoot when she found Gargi trying to cut their conversation short. Gargi didn’t even haggle properly, agreeing to pay an outrageous price for a jodi (pair) of Paaplet (also known as Pomfret or Saranga) a fish renowned for its flavour.
“Koni pahune alyet ka?”
“Do you have guests?” It was a shot in the dark.
“Nahi, nahi! Pan dupari jewayla yenar ahet!”
“No, no! But I’m expecting guests for lunch.” Gargi lied, flustered.
“Mag kolambi pan ghya. Agdi taaji ahe. Hi bagha!”
“Then buy some prawns too! See how fresh they are!” The fisherwoman sensed an opportunity.
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