Memory Fragments of An Affair

I knew that I was going to have what could be delicately called "a jolly good time" when she caught me sizing us her ass and expressed her disapproval with only a lopsided twitch of her mouth. It was only a almost-a-smile, yet it had so much of sin in it that it stung my conscience.

Of what good is coveting another man's wife if it doesn't fill you with joy at having broken a life time's worth of virtue?

I still remember the the intensity of our affair, even after all these years- and the emptiness that came after it too.

******

I was then a hardened bachelor of 25 summers. I had never touched a woman with a purpose to possess her. Come to think of it, I had hardly spoken to an unrelated woman until then beyond to exchange merest pleasantries. This was not unusual in India. It didn't mean that we are a land of losers who arranged marriages; just that we thought of losing virginity as indicative of having completed our _brahmachari_ and beginning our life as a _grihasta_. It all worked out in the end.

Except when it didn't. There is a whole list of reasons why it does not work out, everyone of which has been explored at great length in movies. Deep down it comes to this: Most humans are born with a reservoir of lust and this must be filled, so to speak, and yet not allowed to break its banks. Lust is complex, with roots in evolutionary urges, but for our purposes here (smut) we'll take it as a desire to fuck.

The Indian system's error was that it was so comprehensive and grammatically perfect that it failed to account for individuals and often failed to propagate the _purpose_ of it all.

I was a pretty good _brahmachari_. I enjoyed the whole thing so much that I had a mind to remain one all my life. I read a lot and widely, all of it to slake sheer thirst for knowledge. I didn't socialize much, didn't talk much, and for all intents and purposes, shunned the Human Warmth. I was happy, or perhaps, in retrospect, just buried my sadness in an overdose of books.

I never knew I had been unhappy until the affair was all over and the emptiness came in again.

It was not just fulfillment of lust, but of a long overdue one. In the beginning, we did it so hard and hurriedly that our goal appeared to be to murder the very thing that was driving us. Our later sessions were less hurried, but still were pretty intense.

******

We fucked for the first time not long after she caught me gaping at her derriere. Actually it was within the hour of it.

I am not an expert in picking up cues from people, but even I could not have missed the meaning of that particular twist of the lips. It was subtle, yet it screamed "come tither" into my brain.

I was standing amongst the crowd waiting for the chariot or 'ther' bearing the God to pass through the street. I wasn't very comfortable in the company of people, but I had exhausted my supply of reading and watchables. My balls protested through pain and my Cowpers Glands had simply gone on a full strike after the inhuman workload I had put them through. So bored out mind that I finally decided to take a bath, put on my last set of clean clothes and take a stroll.

It was the last day in a long weekend of puja holidays. Like a fool, I had forgotten to stock up for the 4 day winter, so now I had to actually move my ass on a holiday, which to a man like me was an unpardonable sin. Contemplating damnation that surely lay at the end of this, I walked to train street.

The chariot with the God was taking a stroll through the street so that his subjects could shower benefactions on him. It was an occasion of great bullshit, but a well attended one. I took my position in a corner of the kind preferred by wallflowers and settled my unseeing eyes on Nothing.

She was a neighbor, but at that time, I was was pretty much completely unstimulated by people. They had stopped making sense to me, and in return, they saw me as weird. Things were so bad that I could no longer get my spank on with a highlight reel of a real woman. It was a pretty bad place to be, medically speaking, but with lots of what I had, I was numb to it. I had only vague recollection of where she lived or whether I had met her before.

One woman looked like any another, that is to say, an object that was blocking my view of whatever lay beyond it. Tits, ass, trunk, something mysterious in there somewhere, face smile, whatever. I did have a dull evolutionary sense of attractiveness, but I hadn't honed it into a scale of 1-10.

A cold splash of water hit me hard and hit me again. The chariot had arrived, and the idiotic head priest was being overenthusiastic with his water dispenser. It was cold as a corpse, and it kinda shook me out of my stupor. I wiped my face and there she was.

The sight of her tits in their profile was what hit me first. I later got them to see them in their full glory, feel them out I my hearts content. Almost perfectly Semicircular, hanging down with only the lightest of sags and they just about exceeded my palm. Well, my palms were big enough to pick a basketball, so their size was nothing to be sniffed at. But what drew me to them was their devotion to their other evolutionary duty of attracting men. They just had a way of filling whatever clothes she wore in a way that made everyone take a second look. Naked, they were poets of her raw sexuality, and almost always twitched with need to be touched, squeezed and bitten.

She had her arms above her head her palms pressed together in a prayer at the passing deity, screaming out a prayer, in chorus with the crowd. Something about her fervour, the way she let her feelings loose, the way she put it all out, made her stand out from other women.

Her face was round, almost a perfect circle, which would have been bland if not for the carefully sculpted chin. Physically, she was as if drawn by many repositionings of compass, but with with enough spacing to put her in "statuesque" rather than "petite". I recalled hazily of having been briefly captivated by her instant, genuine smile once before, when i saw her in the department store. He cheeks would have been chubby, but she was a homemaker with teenage children, thus they were merely full and complemented her easy smile.

My eyes then slid down to her shapely rear, still in proportion with the rest of her body despite her two childbirths. Her eldest was almost as old as me, I recalled. I last saw them, covered with sweat, forming a perfect heartin as she bent down to slip on her panties. I loved the way they bunched up when she rode me reverse cowgirl, or the geometrically perfect cleavage they formed when she stood up.

She caught me staring at her ass at a moment when she was vulnerable, as she told me later. The family finances were a bit rocky due to recession and the cost of her son's education. Her eldest had secured only management quota seat, which kinda put the family in a social and financial funk. He husband was increasingly distracted by his business,and he wouldn't allow her to comfort him. He no longer melted into her embrace and drown his worries at her breast, and that kinda had made her feel impotent, since she was a career housewife who couldn't contribute financially. Her full throated roar at God was one of the few times she got a chance to let it all out, and I had just struck lucky.

She later told me many times, that she wasn't the type to cheat and that she felt guilty. But some how, in my own pseudo-autistic way, I was able to comfort her, and she kept at it, until that incident where her husband almost walked in on us.

There was a second, smaller chariot expected, to dispense the Prasad, but it would take time to show up, having been delayed at the head of the line. She turned just once, to confirm that I had understood her come tither and then started walking towards her temple. I waited until she turned a corner and then follwed.

The temple was now blanketed in darkness, with all the attention in the streets now. It would take another hour for the place to come alive. I once asked her if she didn't feel guilty about doing it near a temple, to which she replied that who better than God to protect me from being exposed? Anyway, the other illicit lovers/ lovers had kept away, and she selected a nice, dark nook for ourselves.

I sure felt very exposed, as if a million eyes were watching me, as I followed her at a corner's distance in the full moon light. It was only in the open square that surrounded the temple that I finally took my first (of many later) drink of her fabulous rear in a unrestrained movement.

She caught my hand from the darkness of the nook, the full moon casting a sharp shadow of the gopuram. There was just enough light to catch each other's face.

She later told me that she knew that I was a lonely young man who lived on her street, valiantly tried cooking and felt sorry. I replied to the last part with a near violent doggy style fuck with her face pressed hard into the pillow throughout, and painted her face at the end, something she hated. We almost broke up then, but her anger lasted only a week.

She handed her panties, which she had evidently removed seconds before. Not knowing anything better, I sniffed them. She put her hand on my slowly bulging zipper section and massaged there. She never took her eyes off mine. Her panties smelled of still damp sweat mixed with what I later discovered to be her vaginal juices.

Putting her panties on my shoulder, I freed up my hands and pulled her into a clumsy embrace. I had no right to know how to do that; she was the one with experience. But I later realized that something as dark as an affair cannot survive without male initiative. I tried to kiss her in the French manner, but both of us were closed clumsy at it and we gave up soon.

She untied my running pants and pushed them down along with my underwear. Then without any hesitation, she grabbed my cock and assisted it to the peak of its erection. I grunted a bit more from surprise, then realized that it was all real, and would be to the end.

She had begun to slowly massage my foreskin, staring down at it, though I was sure she didn't see anything in the darkness. I could feel some precum, but it was probably imaginary, because of how I had bled it out only hours before. I decided to do something with my hands, which were simply and pointlessly holding her around her midsection.

I autopiloted to executing what I had seen in porn, namely starting her off with a blow job. I suggestively pushed her down at the shoulder, but she resisted, nodding my arms away. I prepared to go down on her, but she gripped my cock tighter, as though she didn't want me to do that either. There was only one other option left, and she chose it herself.

Our nook was to small to kneel or lay down, so she turned and matter of factly began pulling up her saree and petticoat. She supported herself against the wall and looked at me expecting me to do what must have been obvious to her.

I admit that I don't have very clear memories of all my feelings during that first time. Most of it was the rush of adrenaline and the other hormones. I remember being sweaty, and disbelieving senses too keyed up to pin down the finer aspects of the situation. But I do remember my exact feelings when I entered her for the first time.

She was in the perfect standing doggy style position, her trunk angled exactly and her legs spread comfortably so that her cunt was at its most exposed. I caught my cock and entered her smoothly like it was the easiest thing in the world.

She was wet, and she later told me that I was at least an inch than her husband, but she was just tight enough that I felt it well. There was that pleasant neutron star dense feeling arising from my cock to my brain familiar to me from my masturbating sessions, only more visceral and wetter. I remember grunting involuntarily and her low long moan that went on until our pudenda met. She involuntarily adjusted a bit and breathed in short gasps.

I tentatively gripped her waist, for it felt the right thing to do, and she didn't disapprove, so I levered my cock out and put it back in. The neutron star hitting my brain became a black hole.

They tell me that you don't last long the first time. But they hadn't emptied themselves as thoroughly as me. And as I discovered later, my refractory period was only for the production of sperm. I could get it up within minutes and go at it just a bit longer than the last time.

I took my kerchief like a gentleman and put it in her mouth, because despite her best efforts, she had to at the least let out audible gasps between every thrust. She accepted it gratefully. I just mechanically kept at it otherwise, my feeling of pleasure somewhat adulterated by my adrenaline.

She later told me that she considers the first session her best. For her she was breaking a taboo and in public at that. For me it was the first time and a rebellion against the self doubt in my head. She had reached every physical and emotional peak long ago with her husband, so it was all about finding and giving refuge so to speak, an act which involved a risk to her way of life until then. For me, it was a journey into the unknown. I'd probably rate our 6th time the Best. By a good combination of time place, physical and mental condition, we managed to do everything in the manual and invented some new variations. She was delirious from her multiple orgasms while my final explosion was the wildest ever because the constant backstopping of my previous ones. It also made her a bit wobbly for a day or two, so she had me promise never to push her to such a condition again.

I exploded about 10 minutes later, and I think I moaned a bit loud through the final throes that would have alarmed somebody if they were nearby. I don't think she orgasmed at that time, although her gasps went in and out a bit faster than before. I leaned against her and nibbled at her earlobe as we caught our breath. She spit the handkerchief down.

I didn't get to see her dress up again, because she told me to go out and keep watch. I pulled up my pants immediately and obeyed. She whispered in my ear to not publicly talk to her again and walked around the temple the other way. I half ran to my room taking a route perpendicular to her departure.

I didn't have to jerk off for another one year, until our affair ended.