My Teacher - My Angel

The old lady opened the door and had a big smile for me.

"Your teacher is much better now."

I smiled back and walked in. Madame was resting on the bed. She did look a lot better, though extremely weak. She smiled at me affectionately. I sat on a folding chair next to her bed.

"How are you feeling now, Madame?" I asked.

"Much better thanks to all the care you took," she smiled weakly. I blushed.

"Doctor Sharma asked me to check the fever and report back." I handed over the thermometer that I brought with me to her after ensuring that it was reading below normal.

She still had a mild fever at 99.2F.

I went to the doctor and informed him. He said it was okay and Madame would be normal by next morning and we could give her bread with milk. I bought some fresh bread from a nearby bakery and went back to Madame. As she ate bread with warm milk, I told her how everybody at college was missing her. Her mother gave me hot coffee in a small glass.

"Sekhar, mother told me how you helped with doctor, medicines, everything. We just do not know how to thank you," she said with lots of affection.

"It was nothing much, Madame," I mumbled, at a loss for words.

Neither of us was able to carry the conversation forward; nor did we really try to do that!

Soon it was time for me to leave and I was desperate. I very much wanted to spend another night at Madame's house.

"I will come back after dinner and sleep here tonight, Madame," I said ,my voice low and shaking a little.

She was quiet for a long while and looked at me. I lowered my eyes and burned with a little shame. Did I make a fool of myself? Was she upset by my statement?

"I would very much like that Sekhar, though I am getting better," she said with that nice smile.

I went home and told my mother that Madame still had fever and I better spend another night there to take care. After a quick dinner, I went back to Madame's house, carrying some more sweet lime that my mother gave me. Around ten pm she sweated a lot and we took the temperature and it was normal at 98.4F.

While I sat in the front room for a while, Madame washed and cleaned up with her mother's help and changed her dress and the bed sheets. In about half an hour she was tucked in. All the activities took their toll and she lay back on the bed without much energy. Her mother left the room after giving me the mat and pillow and saying the usual wake me up if you need bit.

Even today I do not know how I got the courage to do it or why I did it. It was neither an accident or by design. It was just the impulse of a young teen.

I got up from the chair, walked to the bed and sat next to Madame. I gently put my palm on her forehead. At my touch she opened her eyes, gave me a little smile and closed her eyes again. What did that smile say, I asked myself? I wasn't sure. I started massaging her forehead and temples very lightly. Her eyes remained shut.

After a few minutes, I got a little more adventurous. I had this strong urge to touch her cheeks. I was old enough to know that touching cheeks of a woman was considered an expression of love and more intimate. I was scared but very much wanted to do it. I had to touch those cheeks and let her feel my love for her. I let my finger tips just brush her left cheek which was closest to me.

Madame was one of those women who had nice healthy cheeks, may be a trifle chubby. They felt soft and heavenly to my touch. I let my tips caress them with a lot of love in the act – first one cheek and then another and finally both. At some point my forefinger drifted and made a tentative contact with the corner of her mouth and the lower lip.

I marveled at my own audacity. Here I was, sitting next to Kamala Madame on her bed and touching her lip! I withdrew my hand with a jerk. Oh God! What would I say if she woke up and asked me what the hell I was doing? I kept looking at her mouth and lips and after a few minutes of dithering, my finger returned to her lower lip. It caressed her lower lip very gently. It was slightly moist and was reddish pink.

I was at an age where I knew the basics about kissing. I knew lovers kissed and I knew husband and wife kissed. A thought occurred to me. Kamala Madame's lips were perhaps never kissed! I felt so bad for her and my heart was heavy.

"It must be quite late, go to sleep, Sekhar," her soft voice gave me a shock.

I pulled off my hand as if slapped.

"Madame, when ever my mother or sister have fever they ask me to rub and massage their feet and legs. They say that it feels very good and puts them to sound sleep. Shall I do it?" I asked sincerely.

"But you don't mind doing that to your teacher?" she asked, smiling.

"No Madame, you are as important as them," I answered, rather cleverly, I thought.

"Okay. But as soon as I sleep, you should stop and go to sleep."

I nodded in the affirmative and Madame shut her eyes again.

Madame lay in the middle of her bed, flat on her back. I was on her left side. I now sat on the left corner of the bed and facing her with my feet down and dangling from the bed. I gently lifted her left foot, held it reverently in both hands and then allowed the heel to rest on my right thigh. I started massaging her tender foot.

I first rubbed the foot gently with my fingers to get the feel of it. Her skin was smooth and cool and felt nice to touch. I worked on the sole and the ankle, then on the toes. I rolled each toe between my fingers and also the tender joints between toes. I heard a sigh from Madame and when I looked at her, the eyes were still shut. I didn't know if I imagined, but it sounded like a sigh of content.

I repeated the process with her right foot. And, as I played with her toes, they appeared to respond to my touch and tease. Her feet were average size, neither small nor big and they were without any cracks or blemishes and shapely. I liked touching them. After a while I felt the urge to fondle them – press and squeeze and role the toes between my fingers. There was no reaction – audible or visual from her.

Massaging the legs of the older people was a part and parcel of the duties of the younger ones, those days. My parents, uncles and aunts all called upon me at times to do it for them. I was therefore quite good and adept at doing that. I started massaging her legs – first the right and then the left – in quick succession.

I started at the heel and slowly made my way up, all the way to just below her knee and then retracing my path back to the heel. As I did this, I gently pushed her sari and the petticoat away so that I could see them myself.

Kamala Madame's legs were nice. They were neither thick nor too thin. What I liked best about them was they were hairless and smooth and shapely. Yes, they were nicely shaped and long with the right taper over their length.

It occurred to me that Madame had hidden such beautiful legs from everyone under drab saris and I was perhaps the first one to see them thus exposed in their bare state. Not just see them but touch them and run my hands over them, as I was presently doing.

Her shins were very smooth and healthy looking. As my palm rested on her calf muscle and gently squeezed it, I felt a heavenly pleasure. It felt so good that i started fondling it. I delighted in playing with her calves for long.

"Stop it, Sekhar," she said softly. There was no anger or rebuke in her voice. It was more a plea, a request.

I quickly took my hands off her legs and pulled her sari back into its original position. As I got up from the bed she said, "Come here." As I stood by her side she took both my hands in hers, brought them close to her lips and kissed them softly, looking at me all the while.

"Now be a good boy, go to sleep and let me sleep," she said, smiling.

I was already flying on the high clouds as lay down to sleep on the mat.

Kamala's narrative

Sekhar woke up at six in the morning and rushed home. The fever was gone but I was still feeling weak. I decided to continue my sick leave for one more day. That gave me ample time to think about the events of the past few days.

What exactly was happening with this boy Sekhar, I wondered!

For over ten years, I had taught hundreds of boys, some of them very good and bright, most of them average. But they were all her 'boys'. They all respected her as their teacher and she loved them as her students. But not one of them ever behaved like this boy!

Kamala, the respected teacher, the respected colleague and the spinster! I stopped being a woman more than five years ago. I had even stopped thinking of myself as a woman. I had tried hard and succeeded in forgetting the sexual wants and needs of a healthy woman of my age.

Everyone respects me – seniors, peers and students. All relatives respect me for sacrificing myself for the family...the quintessential Indian woman! People have sympathy for me because I am a spinster. Poor Kamala; they say behind my back. I know all that and stopped even thinking about it.

Respect, sympathy, like – yes! These are the feelings people have for me and I am used to them. But Love...love as a woman? That is a big laugh. Who loves a spinster of thirty five, an average looking woman in drab clothes like Kamala Madame?? Ha ha ha ha! That is a big laugh!

And here comes this young boy, almost young enough to be her son, with his puppy love!!

Her mother told her everything. How he came that afternoon when she was literally delirious with high fever. How he went and fetched the doctor, the medicines, how he returned on his own to take care of her and provide support to her mother. Her mother was in tears when she said all this. She was all praise for the boy. What were her exact words?

"That boy is very strong and mature for his age. He took decisions and acted like a man."

Yes, her mother was right. His actions spoke for themselves.

And, this boy was in love with her. In love with his Kamala Madame! She saw it in his eyes, in his words and in his touch. Oh god! His touch more than anything! It started innocently enough, massaging the forehead of a sick woman. There was nothing wrong with that.

But what was he doing caressing her cheeks with such gentle touch! The very thought brought a faint blush to her. And then caressing her lower lip – the very audacity of the act! No one, absolutely no one ever touched her lip that way. His finger tip touching her lip sent sensual sparks down her body. The first time something like that happened in ages.

And then there were her feet and legs. When he started massaging her feet, she never thought he would caress them that way. The way he rolled and tweaked her toes was very seductive. The movement of his fingers between her toes was so suggestively erotic! Oh god! What wild thoughts, these!

The hands that massaged her legs, didn't they feel so manly? They were strong but caring and the touch was lovely and sensual. She particularly liked the way he fondled her calves. Oh god! If he could do that to her calves, what would he do if had access to her bigger assets!! She truly blushed a deep red at that thought.

I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. I should put an end to this nonsense. Sekhar was just a boy, a teenager with puppy love for his teacher. And here I was, a spinster reacting like a teenager myself.

Nothing could come out of this and nothing should be done to promote it. I would gently but firmly, correct the boy and wean him away from this infatuation. Wasn't that what I was supposed to do as a teacher, anyway?

Who was I fooling? For the first time in ages, someone loved me as a woman. A man who worshiped me, who loved to touch me and fondle me! Kamala, you would be a fool to let this opportunity to slip away, I told myself. Make the most of it, it may be your last chance to experience the pleasures of the body, pleasures which you have denied yourself all along, my heart said.

Oh god! What should I do?

I got back to my normal, busy routine of college and tuitions. Things are back to normal.

Sekhar never missed my classes or the tuition. He was as reverent and as attentive as ever. Had anything changed between us? Nothing obvious to others, nothing to betray us!

But there were subtle changes that were known only to us. Firstly, there was touching. Yes, whenever possible, Sekhar's hands touched mine. The contacts were mostly his fingertips touching my hands.

Once or twice, his hands brushed against my thighs, by accident or design, I wasn't sure. The fact was that I loved his touch and looked forward to it. And every single touch sent sparks through me.

Then there were the looks. In the tuition, i very often caught him looking at me in a odd way. He would look at my chest, my behind and my thighs and when he did that, I saw naked desire and passion in his eyes. He would look as if he were mentally stripping me and seeing them naked. That hungry look in his eyes sent hot flushes down to my loins. When caught looking thus, he would blush and turn his head away.

Thus there was this strong undercurrent of passion and desire and we were both aware of it. But neither could do anything about it.

One Sunday Sekhar surprised us by bringing his mother along and introducing us. She was a nice lady aged around fifty years. My mother and she became good friends instantly, when they discovered that they had a few common friends. It was good in a way because my mother didn't have many friends or avoided relatives because of my spinster status.

Another time Sekhar surprised me by giving a few roses from a friend's garden. He gave them when no one was around and his voice shook when he said, "for you Madame." I was touched. No one ever gave me roses – not that way! That night in bed I had the roses for company. I took one and caressed my cheeks and lips with that, simulating what he did the other night. As I thought of his touch, my pulse quickened.

I untied my blouse and freed my breasts. I touched my nipples with a rose in each hand and caressed them. They became painfully hard and erect. I pressed the flowers hard against them thinking of them as Sekhar's palms. I felt a hot flush in my loins and wetness in my womanhood.

I took a rose and opening my thighs wide rubbed myself with that rose vigorously while imaging Sekhar doing it. In a few minutes I had a strong spasm rocking my body. I slept like a log that night.

I felt lightheaded and happy when I woke up next morning. I never woke up in such a mood for long time! It continued the whole day and whenever I had free time, my mind filled up with erotic thoughts.

It was soon November and the winter was on us. The mornings and evenings were often foggy and the visibility was poor. Mercury dropped, sweaters and mufflers were out. While young lovers reveled, the old shivered.

It was then that everything changed!

It all started with a letter from my sister saying she was sick and requesting me to send mother immediately for a week to help her. Mother was in a dilemma. This was the first time sister had asked for help in a long while. At the same time she was loath to leave me alone and go. I told mother we would decide by evening and went back to college.

In the evening, a beaming mother greeted me on return from college.

"Our problem is solved. Sekhar would sleep here in my absence. I went and requested his mother and she agreed readily." Mother was indeed active!

My reactions were mixed. I didn't plan for it but it happened. Here was an opportunity to be alone with Sekhar in the nights for a full week. What would we do? How far we would go? Or should we go? I was too excited to think rationally.

Author's narrative

Sekhar went to the bus stand that evening and put the old lady on a comfortable bus that would take her to her destination by next morning. After dinner he went to kamala Madame's house carrying his books bag with him. He was very excited at the prospect of spending several nights at Madame's place. He wasn't sure what was going to happen but knew he would try and touch her while she was asleep.

Kamala was far more excited, as she waited for the young boy to join her. She felt like a horny teenage girl. She knew that both of them were inexperienced in these matters and felt apprehensive. She wouldn't lead him on. That would be wrong. But, she would respond to his moves positively, she thought. She knew she was all confused and mixed up in her excitement.

Sekhar knocked on the door at nine that night.

"Madame, she got a good seat and it is a deluxe bus with cushioned seats," he said.

"Oh, thank you, Sekhar," she said softly.

"I see that you have brought your books. Good, you can study for some time," she pointed to the mat, bed sheet, pillow and blanket, all neatly kept in one corner.

He got the message. He would sleep in this room and not in her room. It was different with her mother at home and when Madame was sick. That was not possible now. But he would get an opportunity, he was sure – sooner or later.

Now is the time to tell you about the layout of her home. It was a small rented house. The front room was the tuition room where Sekhar would sleep in the night. That room led into Madame's room. Her room led to a smaller room which her mother used. That room opened to a kitchen and a small backyard. The toilet and bathroom were located in that backyard.

Thus the access to the toilet and bathroom was only through her room and there was no other way.

While he studied for a while, she sat on the chair and read the Illustrated Weekly of India, a popular magazine at that time. Neither of them was really focused on what they were reading.

Around ten, Kamala said she was going to bed. Sekhar gave her a look of longing as he bid her a good night. He noticed that she left the door to her room open and saw her switching on the bed lamp and then switching off the main lamp. He heard the slight creak of her single bed as she lay down.

He decided to study for another half an hour so that she would fall asleep. Time moved very slowly and his excitement grew at the thought of what lay ahead. Exactly after half an hour, he got up and made his way to the toilet at the back of the house and relieved himself. While returning he stopped in Kamala's room and looked at the bed from his doorway.

She lay on the bed on her back, fully covered in a thin blanket from toes to her neck. Her breathing was even and she was apparently asleep. He went close to her bed and saw her form for a full minute. He could make out the slight raise around her chest area in the blanket where her breasts are hidden. But he lacked the courage to touch her, looking into her face, even in that dim light. He was scared of getting caught, red handed, if she woke up.

The light has to go. Yes, he would switch off the bed light and would sit on the floor on her bedside. He would then touch her. If she woke up, she wouldn't see him in the darkness. He would just crawl away. If she asked him in the morning why he switched off the bed light, he would say that he couldn't sleep because the light was disturbing him.

With the light off and sitting on the floor on his knees, he searched with his hands slowly and found the side edge of the blanket. Lifting the edge just a fraction, he slipped his right hand under the blanket and let it rest.

After a few seconds he started moving his palm very slowly, a few millimeters at a time. His fingertip touched thin clothing which was her sari. He slipped his fingers under that and moved them forward again.

His two long fingers came into contact with her smooth skin which was soft and just warm. Sekhar guessed that he was touching her waist on her left side. He was lucky because her arms were crossed over her chest and so he had unhindered access to her waist and belly. He reveled at his luck in touching her at such a nice spot on first attempt. He stayed put without moment for full two minutes.