The First Time

He was different. While other kids who worked in the shop took pleasure in chasing and stoning a haggardly dog, he fed and caressed every animal that crossed his way. Others wore mud-brown shirts that were supposed to look white; he wore colorful clothes with floral patterns. Too weak to resist anything and anyone, he would seldom be a victim of all practical jokes. Not a single day passed until he was laughed at, ridiculed or even physically harassed at the shop. What didn't kill him only made him stronger and immune to most emotional attacks that leave other mortals scarred and scathed. It improved his people skills by leaps and bounds. Pune is notorious for arrogant shop-keepers. However, he could easily connect with his lady customers, keeping them smiling if not giggling as he complimented and teased them. The connection, which others saw as a flirtatious act came to him naturally and with ease, for deep down, he had never really imagined him with any of his lady customers – or any girl for that matter.

Natasha is a kind of name which instantly gets a hundred friend requests on Facebook, but that wasn't quite the case with her. She was hundred kilos – on a valentine day. All her friends basked in seductive attention the dudes with raging hormones gave them, as she quietly walked down the corridor yearning for a second look. The cafe right across the road had a long waiting list, but that didn't matter. She ordered one to go. With her i-pod earphones snuggly plugged in, she carried an aloof image perfectly. Hurriedly she went home, grabbed one of those best-sellers that people read to sound well-read at the parties she could never attend. A coffee was a bad idea. It only made her think more. She needed something that could tame her torturer mind for it only churned melancholy. She poured herself a vodka, sunk into the comfortable Recron cushions on her sofa and pretended to read - a needless pretention. She was all alone in the house. Her roommate was out doing her thing of course. She could barely finish reading a line, when her mind began its torture routine again. "25 years and I'm still a virgin. Not even a smooch yet. I rushed too much with Sanjay. I could have had him. I was so close," she thought. Sanjay was a popular guy in her college. Natasha was just one of his friends. However, she fantasized about him every night. Many girls did. "All is not lost yet. He wore his blue shirt thrice that week. He thinks about what I say. His biceps are so... And they look even more so in that blue tee," she continued.

Her muscular and pristine vagina tickled. Without her knowing, her hand slid inside her slacks, ignored the feeble resistance of her panties, and started fondling the vegetation around her flower. She was unkempt. Almost by reflex, her index finger straightened itself and touched her rosebud. Then the middle finger joined in. Two fingers at a time. That was fun. She could feel her delicate hymen – the seal of her purity she was proud of. "Only Sanjay has the right to break this." she thought. About fifteen tickles later, she poured herself another vodka. She lay there and closed her eyes as she sipped.

The door bell rings. She hears it, but is too drunk to care. The door was open. After a longish wait, Suresh realizes that it's open, and walks in. "Three tops, four jeans, madam. Twenty-eight rupees." he says expectantly. She felt it agonizingly hard to get up, take out the cash from the purse and pay him, but she realized that it was too much to ask him to come back later. She had barely interacted with him before. Usually her roommate took care of such chores.

She trips over the extension cord as she tries to get up. Suresh doesn't let her fall. He holds her by her waist, and pulls her up. They are face to face, their chests touching each others'. He likes the feeling of her spongy chest. "Madam, your hand." he mutters. Her hand, which still hadn't left the cozy cocoon of her panties, is now pressed against his crotch. She could feel his eel, as he felt her boobs pressed against his chest. She likes the touch. He likes it too. Slowly but surely, his eel starts to grow. She is not embarrassed anymore; nor is he. The awkward moment is over.

Their lips lock. Her mouth smells of coffee and vodka, but he doesn't care. His breath is fresh as always. Her heart starts to race. "First kiss... with the laundry-boy?" she doesn't mind it, "It's only a kiss. He is not getting any further." His 'eel' is now turned into a steel shaft. Her hand still in contact with his cock, can feel his heartbeat in the veins that carried hot blood to his pulsating cock. She looks at him. He is cute. She likes his innocent, beady eyes and sensuous lips. He was only nineteen – cute enough to provoke the maternal instincts in any menstruating woman. He grabs her boobs; very timely move. She groans with pleasure as he caresses and plays with them. It was his first experience too. He was thoroughly enjoying playing with a strange organ he had never seen or touched before. Her top unbuttons by itself – almost magically. It was her destiny. It was valentine day.

His hand is now fondling with her slacks. She raises her hips to let it slide off. She wants it as much as he does. "Really? Are you sure?" her hesitant mind tries to control her naive heart. "I'm only teasing him." she reassures herself. Suresh is now looking at another new organ he had only read and talked about thus far. It looked messy, really unkempt. But it was the best he had ever seen. He wanted to play with it. Having straightened his middle finger, he inserts, and tickles it slowly. It's moist and slick. Every slight movement of his finger created a sensation of exploding fireworks inside her most delicate skin. Those rose petals shivered and shuddered and reddened as they were being caressed. She could barely contain herself. "Please." she managed to grunt.

"Please, what?" he asks with a naive curiosity.

"Stop toying with me." She tried to sound as if she is resisting, which would have seemed more credible if she wasn't groping and unzipping him at the same time.

He interpreted it differently. It was time for the next steps. He helped her with the zipper. Their naked, warm thighs touched each other. His hot steely shaft slid between her thighs effortlessly - wet and slimy that it was by now. She knew she could push him away, but his warmth, his touch was too pleasantly addictive to resist. Her thighs separated as they allowed his pelvis to sink in. His tip was perpendicular to her entrance; perfectly positioned for the action. He kissed her deeply, held her tight in his arms managing to distract her attention from the lower body. For a first-timer, he was doing it very well. Because it was all from the heart. Whether it was plain instincts or genetic legacy, he didn't care. The first, gentle but firm thrust took him inside her. Could anyone experience intense pain and pleasure together? She sure did. There was definite tearing. A tiny jet of blood squirted out, then a few drops trickled, and then it stopped. He was maddened by the warm, moist feeling his cock could sense. The smell of the fresh blood gave him a high. Second push followed... slightly firmer, and with a sadist grin on his face. She grabbed a corner of a sofa pillow that lay nearby. He kissed her again, holding her trembling hand, trying to reassure and soothe her; a futile attempt. He was experiencing as much pain as she was. As his shaft rubbed against the muscular threads inside her, it was getting shredded too. His aching cock gave her a few more strokes... each delivering an electrifying sensation to her and him.

She hugged him tight. Her hands weren't trembling anymore. The pain had subsided. Joy was all there was to feel. Another small jet erupted. This time, it wasn't blood. She felt a terrible weakness. Panting and gasping for breath, she feebly tried to push him away. It was over. She had lost her most prized possession. It couldn't be undone. He needed some more time, and wasn't going to give up until he had had his turn. Every stroke now felt agonizingly painful. She bled some more – realizing that she was, this time. "This is rape. I was drunk." her analytical mind hinted. But she knew she wanted this, she started it, and she could have stopped him anytime. She liked him. He was a sweet chap. Sweet enough to avert the imminent danger, for her sake. He pulled it out. Only one gentle stroke with his hand was enough to release the floodgates. Hot, thick, creamy and rich white fountain sprayed out of him. Most of it fell down on the furry carpet, some on her fatty paunch. He collapsed on her. They both lay there still... inhaling each others' mist, blissfully satisfied.

"Take this carpet too." she murmured as he was about to walk out of the door, without his twenty-eight rupees. He quietly picked it up and they exchanged nervous smiles.

It was Tuesday morning. Suresh's mother hastily rolled two chapattis into a steel Tiffin box, hurried to the bus stand. "Yerawada jail." she told the conductor. Was it his fault that it was her first time?