My Indian Sex Adventure

It has rained every day for the first two weeks I've been here. Most of the people seem to revel in it, walking around without an umbrella or making any attempt to run to a shelter when the rain started. As a matter of fact, they seem to go out of their way to GET in the rain, as if they were soaking it up after being parched in the desert. And I guess that was the sensation they felt. It was the monsoon in India and it provided most of the rain they would get for the year. It gives life and that's the way people see it, not as something to avoid, but rather to embrace like a long lost love. Besides that, it's useless to try to stay dry, unless one just stays inside all day, and even then, things get damp even with an air conditioner running to pull out the moisture. So, after the first week, I simply got wet, knowing the rain would end later in the day and I would dry out then or get as close as I could get to being dry.

I've just completed my third year of college and I'm on a year abroad. I know it'll sound strange to you but I'd chosen to split it between India and Scotland. India because I was always intrigued about it and my college roommate is Indian and he and I used to talk about it while we were sitting around the dorm drinking cheap beer, the only kind we could afford actually. I chose Scotland, which I'll go to later this year because my ancestors originally came from the Hebrides. Either of them would work for my major, which was in International Business. In India, I was going to study the outsourcing business that India was such a big recipient of. And in Scotland, I'd be studying the effect of the U. S. economy on Scottish economic prospects.

It India, I'd chosen to live in Mumbai, for two reasons. One is that it is rapidly becoming a focus for outsourcing and the larger reason is that it is where my friend Vikram is from and I could live with his parents. Finding a place to live in India is not particularly easy for a Westerner, particularly one that didn't speak Hindi very well, and that may be an understatement. In fact, I only spoke a few words of Hindi. Additionally, while I'd talked endlessly with Vik about India and Mumbai in particular, I knew it would be so alien that having a familiar host family would be hugely beneficial.

Even with all the research I'd done, I was not prepared for Mumbai. It is a city of over 15 million, but what makes it confusing but intriguing, is that it is probably the most diverse significant city in India and probably in Asia. And while it is a thriving, bustling city, it is still one of great poverty and a relatively poor infrastructure in most of the city at least by U. S. standards. Just operating in the city can be a chore, but it has some of the kindest, most hospitable people in the world.

Vik's whole family picked me up at the airport. I'd met Mr. and Mrs. Dalal before, when they visited Vik in college. And Vik's older sister, Sarrita had also visited with her husband and two children. But, I'd never met his older brother and his family or his grandmother. I've never been met anywhere by so many people that I was somewhat embarrassed, but they are so delightful that they wanted to make sure I felt like part of the family.

The extended Dalal family lived in an area known as Colaba, which ranges from middle class to upper class. Mr. Dalal was in the commercial construction business so it seemed they were pretty prosperous. The house consisted of five bedrooms, with a wing out back for the servants. Everyone that is middle class and above in India has servants and the Dalals had a driver, gardener, housekeeper, cook, and a few more that seemed primarily to serve as a relief force for the others when they were away. The only people currently living in the house was Mr. and Mrs. Dalal, the grandmother and of course the servants. Vik's brother, Rajeev and his wife Sujata lived a few miles away and his sister, Sarrita (she insisted I call her Sara) and her husband Atesh and their son and daughter live next door. In traditional Indian fashion, the Dalal house and Sara's house were both enclosed with a high fence, so the area seemed like a compound in many ways.

I was assigned a bedroom that also had an outside entrance, and a small room next to it that I could use as an office. This was more that I could have expected, particularly when one takes into account the fact that I really had to do nothing domestically - cook, clean my room, do my laundry, shop. As a matter of fact, everyone, including the servants, seemed to be offended when I did do something for myself. All I had to do was concentrate on my work and see India.

Nevertheless, it was all still somewhat alien to me and frankly I missed the U. S. I liked the food, loved the people, and the Dalal family couldn't have been more welcoming, and since I have been away from my family for three years, I didn't really miss them that much. What I did miss though were the little things - ordering pizza, going to the movies (I hadn't gotten used to the Bollywood fare), hanging out with my friends, just getting in my car and driving. In Mumbai, one would have been crazy to try driving. Besides, the Dalal family cars and their chauffeur were available and the public transportation was excellent and inexpensive, albeit crowded and sometimes uncomfortable in the extreme heat.

I visited a lot of companies, both U. S. and Indian, that were involved in outsourcing but when I wasn't doing that, I was typically either in my room working or reading. That was often punctuated by visits with Mr. or Mrs. Dalal, and when they dropped in, some of the extended family. I didn't see much of Sara and her family; the day after I got there they left for a visit with his family who lived in Delhi. I was looking forward to their return because both Sara and Atesh were very nice and interesting and their children, 12 and 14, seemed to be great kids. They were probably nearer my age than Sara was, and I know they were closer than Atesh, who looked to be in his 50s or so. Vik was 16 years younger than his brother Rajeev and nearly 20 years younger than Sara.

I was returning from a meeting with a U. S. company that was one of the first outsourcers for technology development in India when I saw Sara and Atesh's children kicking around a soccer ball in the side yard.

"Hi kids, looks like fun. How was your trip?" They spoke English fluently as did the entire family.

They both replied at the same time, but then Sanjay finished it, "it was ok, but we're glad to be home. It gets sooooo borrrr-ing. And there's nothing to do there."

I chatted with them awhile and then Sara came out to call them in to lunch. She asked me in to join them. I demurred, replying, "no, I know you just got back from a trip and you're tired. I don't want to bother you."

"Don't be silly," she replied, "it's just a simple lunch for the children and me. Atesh is at work. We got home late last night. Please come in. I'll call over and tell them that you'll have lunch here."

So, I joined them for lunch, chatting with all of them about their trip. They were all curious about the U. S. and the kids seemed to know about the latest U. S. fashion, movies and TV, so they asked a hundred questions. After lunch, the kids ran to their rooms, presumably to play video games and watch TV. It had started to rain so they couldn't go outside anymore.

Sara asked me all about my early impressions of India, and about my work. She'd gotten a degree in business and worked for some period of time in IT before deciding to become a full-time stay-at-home mom several years ago. She has terrific insights into what was going on in India. Her husband, Atesh is a member of the Mumbai city administration even though I don't really know what he does.

After a little while I prepared to leave. "Sara, it has been great talking to you. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed visiting with you and the kids. It's good to find someone that is interested in what I'm doing here."

She smiled brightly, "Ben, I loved talking to you. It gets me excited to talk about business and your project sounds so interesting. Keep me informed about how it is going, will you? And I appreciate your kindness in thanking me. Have you met any girls here yet? I know they'd love to become interested in what a handsome young guy like you is doing?"

I felt myself blushing a bit even though I didn't quite know why. "No, not girls yet. And anyway, I didn't find too many girls in the U. S. that was very interested in international business anyway. Or maybe they just weren't interested in me," I laughed.

"Don't give me that. You're a very interesting and attractive guy. If I were just twenty years younger, you'd have to fight me off. I'm just an old married woman so I know you'd rather find someone your age to talk to, but I do want you to come over as much as you can. Atesh travels so much it gets lonely. So indulge a middle aged housewife when you can."

I replied, "come on Sara, no one would mistaken you for an old housewife. A young pretty one maybe but not an old one." And in fact, as I sat there, I had been marveling at how attractive she is. She had black hair, very pretty smooth skin, dark eyes, and a beautiful face. She was wearing an outfit that's called a salwar-kameez or Punjabi as it's known by its popular name. The bottom, on salwar, is a pajama like garment that is tight at the waist and ankles but generally loose and billowing otherwise. The top, or kameez, is a tunic like garment that hangs below the waist and typically to mid-calf and below. Sara's was a gold color with various designs and it was clingy, almost like silk and perhaps it was. Even though the Punjabi fit loosely, when she sat, the silk draped to her shape. While she obviously had on a bra, the silk of her kameez permitted a good view of the shape and curves of her apparently firm, medium-sized breasts. And while the outfit pretty much obscured the rest of her body, she had slim hips and what looked like nice well-shaped buttocks. It shows you the condition I was in that I was lusting after my best friend's forty-year-old sister, wondering what it would be like to...well, that only leads to frustration.

And frustration with women wasn't something I needed right now. I'd had my fill of that over the last few years. During high school, I wasn't one of the more popular kids so - well, let's just say I wasn't a habitue of the dating scene. And in college I dated a few girls but only once with any seriousness and it turned out that she was much more interested in herself than me. It wasn't that I was bad-looking; as a matter of fact, I was often complimented on my looks and at 6'2" and 190, I was fit and stayed in shape by regular exercise. I guess the problem was that I was pretty shy with girls my age and I felt more comfortable and confident in the library than in the student union. So, I was not long on sexual experience; as a matter of fact, I hesitate to say that I'm still a virgin. But, over time, I've gotten a Ph.D in masturbation, and if they'd offered them, I would have had have been able to get tenure at any Ivy League school as a jack-off instructor. I can see it now, all the kids coming to learn from the latest techniques of the esteemed professor, Dr. Dick Whacker, perhaps, Dr. Peter Puller. With that little snippet of self-revelation, I don't need to tell you what I did after I left Sara that day.

Over the next few days, I only saw Sara a couple of times, and even then, just to speak to as I was coming or going and she happened to see her as she was doing the same. In the meantime, I'd met some of Vik's friends and started hanging out with them. As I said earlier, Mumbai is an amazingly diverse place so I was able to meet people from all over the world.

As I arrived home after a day of work and a little sightseeing, I noted a folded paper under my door as I arrived at my room. It was an invitation to dinner a few days later with Sara and her family. I gave her a call the next morning to tell her I'd love it. So, on the evening of the dinner, not knowing exactly what was appropriate to take as a gift when one is invited out to dinner, I picked up a bottle of wine. Even if they were non-drinkers, as many Indians are, they would probably know I meant well anyway.

I knocked on the door and was answered by one of their servants. I was slowly learning names but for the life of me, I couldn't quite figure out who did what. In either case, Sara and the kids came out to greet me.

"Ben, so lovely to see you. I'm glad you could make it. And thanks so much for the wine. I'll open it and we can have some with dinner. I'm sorry to say that Atesh can't make it tonight. As usual he is working late. I should have anticipated that this would be the case on Thursday night but I figured you wouldn't mind having dinner with me and the kids."

This time Sara was dressed very elegantly but simply in another version of the outfit she had on before. Later I learned this one was called a churidar-kameez, the only difference being in the pajama-like bottoms. A churidar is tighter around the hips and legs than a salwar. The kameez, or tunic-like top, she wore tonight was also tighter, both across the chest and at the waist and hips. It was silk and very soft and a deep vermilion color.

"Sara, I don't mind having dinner with you and the kids at all. It would be an honor. And you look lovely. I love the outfits you wear here. There is such variety in style, color and fabric. Is that silk?"

"Thanks, Ben. Yes, it is silk. Want to see how soft it is? I love silk." With that she took my hand and, since the kameez had short sleeves, the only place she could put it was the area around he waist. So she put my hand just above her waist and I felt the soft material. But what I was really noticing was how firm and supple she felt for her age. I suppose I make her sound ancient but in fact, she is almost twice as old as I am. As I again complimented her on it, she replied, "thanks. My mom thinks I should wear saris all the time like she does but to me, saris are so uncomfortable. I always think something is about to fall out. While sometimes, one doesn't mind something falling out, in most cases it would be unfortunate, wouldn't it?"

The extended family were all vegetarians so Sara, or more correctly I guess, their cook, had prepared a wonderful vegetarian meal for us. We opened the wine and Sara and I had a glass during the meal. The kids were all excited about some new video game they had just bought and after dinner, they took me to their rooms to show me. After playing with them for awhile, their mother made them get to bed so they could get up early the next day for school. I prepared to leave but Sara asked me to stay awhile and chat, so I went back to the family room and poured myself another glass of wine. In a bit, Sara joined me and also got another glass.

We talked about the differences in growing up in the U. S. and India. Of course, I'd gotten some of this from Vik, but it was interesting to hear it from a woman's point of view. The childhood and adolescence she described was one that was more regimented and disciplined than my own. And we both agreed that this offered both advantages and disadvantages.

We finished the bottle of wine and Sara suggested opening another. I frankly had had enough but she seemed to want to talk so I agreed to have one more glass. As she sat back down, she pulled the kameez, which reached mid thigh, up so it was bunched around her waist. The churidar was white and being very soft and fine silk, it conformed to her body contours. She'd put her legs on a hassock and spread them a bit so that the silk material draped between her legs provocatively. She looked very fit for a woman that had bore two children.

She resumed talking, "you know, Ben, when I was growing up, it was unthinkable for me to just date on my own. Of course, we found ways to meet boys and a group of us would visit at each other's house. But, we could never be too explicit about dating a specific boy. And I know you've heard about arranged marriages. That still goes on much more in modern India than people often think, even among well-educated, urbane families. And in some ways, it's good."

"Er...maybe you don't want to answer this, but was your marriage arranged?" I inquired.

She laughed, "no, I don't mind you asking. My parents wouldn't call it an arranged marriage but I think most people would. Basically, they picked out suitable candidates, we were permitted to visit and talk - like a chaperoned date - and let our parents know who was suitable or who we preferred. In some ways, it took some pressure off. But, one really doesn't have that many to choose from in some ways and by the third or fourth one there is terrific pressure to accept somebody - ANYBODY. So, Atesh was the second one I met and he seemed the least objectional," Sara laughed, "so he was the one."

She looked at me and the smile faded a bit, "I'm sure you noticed that Atesh is several years older than me. When I was 19, he was in his early 30s, already had a good position, and he came from the right family, and from the right caste, and for a young girl, it was a little scary, but still pretty exciting. So, that's the way it worked."

"Well, Sara, it seemed to work fine didn't it? Atesh is a really nice guy and you have a beautiful house and two great kids, so everyone wins don't they? Maybe I should let my parents find a wife for me when the time comes."

She laughed again, "your time will come, Ben. And yes, it has worked out well. I came to love Atesh. But I was so inexperienced. One could maybe wish for having the freedom to try other things and other people. Sometimes it seems like I was always married. Sometimes I just want to break free - but that's silly isn't it? I have everything a woman could want."

I replied, "yes, and in the little bit of time I've spent with Atesh, he seems to be very content with his life too. So, there may be more to this arranged marriage thing than one would think."

Sara sighed, "you may be right. And I think Atesh is content. For him, as long as he has his job and the enjoyment and prestige that offers, and the kids and a comfortable house when he gets home, then he is very content. Atesh is not a very adventurous man, so the thoughts of wanting something else probably never crosses his mind. In some ways, I think the Indian way is easier for men than women. Men have their jobs and their hobbies. Rejeev's wife, Sujata is a good example. Have you met Rajeev's wife?"

I replied that I'd just met her briefly a couple of times.

"Sujata is probably my best friend. We talk all the time. She's a little bit younger than Rajeev and she was even more sheltered than I was when she married, if that's possible. She'd never even held a boy's hand, much less kissed one, so she had no idea what she was doing. And Raj is a nice guy but he didn't know what he was doing either, and even if he did, he is sometimes so timid that he wouldn't be able to teach her anything, so that poor woman has been frustrated to his day, even though in may ways, she and Raj are very compatible."

Sara seemed to want to keep on talking - she'd poured us each more wine - but I didn't know if I should offer to leave or not. It was getting late, so I figured I should at least offer to leave, out of politeness.

As soon as I did so, she protested, and sat down next to me on the sofa "no, no Ben, please stay. While you were with the children, Atesh called and he is staying over in the city. He does that a night or so a week so please stay and let's talk a little while longer. I'll get you home in plenty of time and if my parents want to know why you were staying out so late, I'll tell them you were keeping an old lady company," she said smilingly.