Finding Love Pt. 02

"That was your husband?" she asked me. I could see the concern in her face. Her Indian accent was there, but gentle and soft.

I nodded.

"Ah, you are just finding out?"

I nodded again and wiped my nose.

"You should know, he has been coming there for many years."

I said nothing. So it was many years. Not just once or twice. A common thing. An escape for him. I felt hollow and numb.

"I saw you last week. You saw me?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I blinked at her, not understanding the question.

"Why are you sitting outside in your car? Were you following your husband? Spying on him?"

I shook my head. "No. I was investigating the open garage doors."

"Investigating? You are the police?"

I laughed. "No. I write for The Examiner. I'm a journalist."

She took my hands in hers. I felt a shock go through me when she did. The hairs on my neck stood up and I swear I heard a ringing in my ears. "You are writing a story about the garage doors? Why would you do that?"

"I heard a rumour. I was seeing if it was true."

"And now? You know it to be true?"

"Yes. It's all over the town. Everyone seems to be doing it."

She looked at me intently. "What do you hope to achieve by printing this story?"

"Achieve? It's my job. I investigate and report."

"And? Will you write this story now? Knowing your husband is one?"

"I... I don't know. I couldn't publish it. It would expose so many. My boss, he's one. He would never print it."

She looked relieved. "You must not. You would destroy so many lives."

My journalist instincts took over and I finally heard what this woman was telling me. "You're one of them, aren't you?" I asked her.

Her expression confirmed it to me at once. "Yes. I have been for many, many years. My husband is gone. He was much older than me. An arranged marriage. We came to America. We have a son. My husband died from his heart. I came home to find the police waiting for me. He died having sex with another man. This is when I learned about the doors."

She stopped speaking and watched me. I was stunned at this revelation. I needed to hear more. I looked around and then down at my hands in hers. Her nails were pressed on and bright red. The skin of her hands was brown and looked so soft. I lifted my eyes and stopped at her breasts. They were larger this close up. They were easily double D. Maybe larger. I have a thing for breasts. Mine are large and I love them. I missed the feel of another woman's breasts pressed up against mine. I wondered what her nipples looked like. When I looked up she was appraising me with her eyes.

"I am Eshana. It means wish or desire. Come and sit. I will make you Indian tea. Come." I told her my name and she let go of my hands and walked deeper into her house. I wanted to keep holding her hands, but I followed and entered her kitchen. She told me to sit at the small table by the patio door. I sat down and watched her.

She moved with fluidity and grace. Each motion measured and precise. She looked like a dancer and I said so. She grinned back at me and I marvelled at how her smile changed her face. She explained she used to dance. She kept up her yoga.

I asked her what she did, and she surprised me by telling me she owned the only Indian restaurant in town.

"That's owned by Reyansh," I said matter-of-factly. Everyone in town knew that.

"No, it is owned by me. Reyansh works for me. He pretends to own it. Jennifer, the people in this town accept that better than they would a woman owning such a thing. Surely, you know this? When my husband died, I suddenly had a lot of money and too much time. I am somewhat of a cook, and so I opened my restaurant. I knew Reyansh and trusted him. He fronts the restaurant and I prepare all the meals. I pay him well. More than he deserves for what he does."

I sat stunned. I felt angry for her that she would have to hide herself from the town like that, but I understood. I liked that she called me by my full name. Not many people do. I watched her busy herself with the tea. It was fascinating to watch.

"I am, in this, your chaiwala. The maker of tea. You know chai tea, yes? From the coffee shops?"

I nodded when she glanced at me.

"Such garbage. I will explain. Tea comes from India. It is ours. Not the British. I boil the tea leaves in milk and water. Americans and British, you pour hot water over the tea and let it steep. Not the best way. I will serve you our tea and you will enjoy it, this I promise you." She turned away from her small pot and opened a cupboard. It was filled with cups and plates. She brought down two glass cups, small in size. "These are kulhar. Our cups."

She opened another cupboard and brought down a small brass pot. "I will serve the chai from this." She stirred the steaming pot on the stove. "We must let it boil for a small time." She hummed some tune I did not recognise.

"You love women, do you not?" She asked me out of the blue.

I jumped in my seat. "What!?"

"I saw you in the street looking at me. I could see your lust for me in your eyes. Did you not see mine, in return?"

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"I opened my garage door for you, but you fled."

I had nothing to say to that. I felt caught. Trapped.

She stirred her pot. "I would have welcomed you. You are very attractive. I find myself drawn to American women. Your blond hair and blue eyes. Your square chin. You have breasts almost as large as mine. I find you exotic. Enticing. I like that word: enticing."

She kept her back to me and I was thankful. I didn't know how to respond. I was attracted to her, but I hadn't been with a woman since college. I fantasised about this woman. I had masturbated thinking about her. And now she was discussing her attraction to me as if it was some daily occurrence.

She stirred and hummed a little longer. "When I was a girl. Eighteen. I entered into marriage. It was arranged as all marriages are. I met my husband for the first time shortly after I had been with my first lover. She was a girl from a lower caste. Quite lovely. I seduced her. I enjoyed her taste. Her softness. I was in love with her. An impossible love. I loved in Dilli."

Dilli? I thought. She must mean New Delhi.

"I still had her taste on my mouth. I meant to shock my new husband to be. We met and we were forced to kiss. I kissed him hard. Making him taste my lover in his mouth. He tasted pussy. I tasted cock." She laughed and stirred. I was enthralled.

"I think we fell in love with each other right then. We had each looked to shake the other. He loved men and I loved women. We agreed to allow the other to enjoy what our hearts desired. We consummated our marriage. It was a difficult thing. Mechanical. In the end, I let him fuck my ass. It hurt. But when he came, he came in my pussy. It was a first for both of us. We talked many times about that night."

I sat in silence. Who is this strange woman? Why is she opening up to me like this?

She removed the pot from the stove and pulled out a strainer. With years of expertise she poured the tea through a strainer right into the small brass pot. She had made exactly the right amount. She dropped the pot and strainer in the sink, grabbed the small brass pot and the two cups and joined me at the table.

She placed a small cup, a kulhar, in front of us and then quickly poured a small measure in each of them. She lifted a cover off a small plate on the table. I spied four strange cookies shaped like ladyfingers. "Rusks. To eat with our tea." She picked up her cup and held it up toward me. I picked up mine. "Namaste," she said.

I knew this word and repeated it to her. I watched her sip her tea and I cautiously tried mine, blowing a little on it first. It was very hot but as soon as it hit my tongue I knew I loved it. It was sweet and delicious. I could taste the tea but it was so much more than that. I smiled and she smiled seeing it.

"You like it? I knew you would. It is hard to resist. Try it with the cake." She pointed at the cookies she had called rusks.

I took one and nibbled it. It was dry but delicious and went lovely with the tea. I told her so and she smiled.

She leaned back and sipped her chai. "My husband and I had a very good life. It was easier for him to enjoy his lifestyle here in the States. It was the same for me. We found couples like us. We met often. A man and woman would come over for dinner. Afterwards I would fuck the wife and he would fuck the husband. Sometimes in the same bed. Does that disturb you?"

I was mesmerised listening to this stranger open up about her sex life. I had never heard anything like it. I didn't know what to think, but I wanted to hear more.

"You are listening. That is good. I tell you this because we are the same. You are married to a man who loves men. You love women. You are trapped in a marriage that will not give you joy unless you allow yourselves to admit it to each other."

"He doesn't know," I said meekly.

"That you love women?"

"No, I never told him. We married out of college. I'm only just realising he married me for appearances."

She nodded. "Yes, I am familiar with this. There are many like this in the States. They hide in plain sight. They seem normal to others. They fit the illusion. What people expect to see. Behind closed doors they are miserable. Their heart missing what it wants. The intimacy."

"I love him. I enjoy sex with him."

She smiled at me, but it wasn't condescending. It was the smile of someone who knows and is pleased to know. "Yes. My husband and I had enjoyable sex, too. We have a son. He is eighteen and away at school. My husband and I had sex once per month. It was a routine. We had sex to reaffirm our love for each other. It can be hard to have sex with others. You will lose yourself in them. My husband and I loved each other very, very much. I have never loved another like him. He understood me to my soul. We call this raabta in Hindi. It means an inexplicable connection with another soul. You and I. We have raabta, but you don't see it yet.

"You and I also have jazba. A strong desire, a passion, for one another. When we finish this tea, you and I are going to make love in my bedroom. I have fantasied this since I saw you last week. You have thought of me, no?"

I hesitated and then nodded yes. I couldn't believe the words coming out of her mouth. This woman was having such an effect on me. I loved the sound of her voice. It soothed me. I felt such an attraction. I found myself watching her lips form words. I watched the line of her jaw and the shape of her ears. She was beautiful. And she wanted to have sex with me. With me. She found me exotic. Beautiful. I sipped my tea and noticed little was left in the cup. I set down my cup and Eshana refilled it.

She saw the look of disappointment in my face. She laughed and refilled her own cup. "I see you are wanting the tea to be gone. So we can be together. This is good. But we must finish our tea. It is important. You are intezaar. Waiting in hopeful anticipation. It will make our pleasure more. This is good. Now tell me your deepest desire. What is it you want? And I don't mean sex. Tell me."

I sipped and thought. No one had ever asked me this. I had never asked myself this. I think I knew once in college. I had dreams. Goals. I looked up at Eshana and saw the true interest there. I took a deep breath. "I'm not sure, to be honest. I knew once, I think. But I've forgotten. Isn't that strange? How could I know once and not now?"

She smiled at me and I wanted to kiss her in that moment. She looked so open and inviting to me. Suddenly I remembered Paul and wondered what he was doing at that moment. I pictured him sucking dick and shuddered.

"Stay focused, Jennifer. Answer my question. What do you desire?"

I thought hard. In college, I wanted to be a world-famous journalist. I wanted a Watergate. A revelation that would change the world. Make my name a common one in the right circles. That was what I wanted in college. Now? I wasn't sure anymore. I looked at this woman and felt my heart lift. She seemed so in tune with herself. So in control. I envied her. I admired her. I knew then what I wanted. What I was missing. What my marriage didn't have. I was alone in a marriage built on lies. My heart had always known.

I looked at her and felt tears splash down my cheeks. "Love," I whispered. "I desire love. I'm so alone."

Eshana sipped her tea. "No longer."

I stared at her brazen statement. How could she sit there and make such incredible statements? Who was she? "You don't know me."

She laughed gently. "Yes, I do. You are me, years ago. Lost in a world that would place limits on women. You have never been free to be you. You put on masks of what people expected you to look like. You were given a destiny. You didn't follow your own."

When she used the word destiny I lurched in my seat. I felt my tears increase and my throat tightened with grief. She was right. Of course she was. I lived a lie. I pretended to be what everyone wanted me to be.

Eshana reached behind her and handed me a box of tissues. I pulled one free and dabbed my eyes dry. "I'm sorry. This is too much."

"It is the kindalini. We have found one another. This is a difficult time emotionally. I am rejoicing inside seeing you here before me drinking my tea that I made for you. My heart sings. Can you not feel it? We each have seven centres. Ours are aligned. We are destined to be together. Everything in your life led you to here. Do not fight it. It is easier to give in. Embrace it. When we make love, it will be amazing. You will see."

I shook my head. "That is not the Christian belief. You speak of what? Hinduism? I studied it in college. You talk of soulmates."

"Yes, the kindalini. It is true whether you believe it or not."

"I can't believe in that."

She laughed again and lowered her cup. It was empty. I glanced at mine and too was empty. She held her hand to me. I put down my cup and took it. Like in the hallway, I felt a shock touching her. The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. She grinned at me. "You feel it, no? The connection?"

I nodded my head. She stood and I stood with her. She kept my hand in hers and pulled me through her house. We climbed the stairs and down a small hallway to her master bedroom. A large canopied four post bed was against the far wall. The room looked like the room a woman would live in. It was floral, beautifully decorated, and it smelled of spices and flowers. I took a deep breath and entered behind her. This was the bedroom I had always imagined as a girl. I looked around in wonder.

"I decorated this for someone. I didn't know who. I can see now, it was for you."

I gazed at her in wonder. There was something strange going on here. This was not natural. And yet, I wasn't afraid. I felt more at peace than I ever had. I was excited. My breathing was rapid and my pulse quick.

"Undress me, Jennifer. I am yours."

I smiled and stepped closer. I had to kiss her first. Her lips were wet and red and inviting. I had to taste her mouth and press my lips against hers. I leaned in and our lips met. I kissed her softly, lips to lips. I pressed a little harder and felt her press back against me. I heard a moan and realised it was mine.

Her lips parted and I parted mine. The tips of our tongues met in the middle and I could taste the chai tea on her tongue. She was delicious. Our tongues touched and retreated and touched again. I pressed a little harder and ran my tongue over her bottom teeth. Her tongue ran over my top teeth. I heard her moan and felt my hunger for this woman grow. I stepped closer and so did she. Our bodies pressed against each other and my arms circled around her upper body and pulled her in closer. Her arms encircled me and pulled me tighter.

Our mouths were hungry and our tongues danced in our mouths. I wanted to draw all of her into my mouth and savour her taste. I wanted her whole body in my mouth. I sucked on her tongue and she gasped and let me. I drew her tongue deep in my mouth and sucked it obscenely like a cock. My pussy tingled hard. I wanted her mouth on my clit. Her tongue in my pussy. Her fingers anywhere she cared to thrust them.

She broke the kiss and left me gasping. "Undress me, quickly, Jennifer. I need to expose my body to you. I want you to see me. All of me. I am yours. Take me."

I released her and stepped back. I admired her figure and then wanted to kiss her again. She laughed and pushed my face away. "Undress me."

I growled but obeyed. It took me a little while to figure out her sari. Once I found the start, I unwound her, slowly. I walked around her and unravelled her dress. She was naked underneath. I unwound the sari from her breasts and hitched a breath at the sight of them. They were enormous and yet so proudly firm, defying gravity. They rose hard off her chest, ending in dark, almost black areoles. Her nipples were huge, standing out an inch, and thick. I licked my lips. Eshana stood tall and straight with her chest pushed forward. She was proud of her breasts.

I circled around her, unwrapping her like a gift. My eyes went from her breasts to her flat, toned stomach. She did yoga, she had said, and I saw the benefit. She was in incredible shape. I circled around and pulled the sari away from her waist. She was shaven. Her pubic mound stood out from her front. Below it, I could see the thick pouting lips of her labia. I almost drooled.

In college I had discovered I had a thing for thick labia and the meatier the better. I wanted something I could suck and pull into my mouth. Something to peel back and explore the hidden sweet insides. My own pussy was simple. I had no inner lips to speak off. Just my outer labia and then pussy. I thought it boring. Eshana, on the other hand, had the kind of pussy I craved.

Fully exposed I stepped back and admired her form. She was stunning. She was fit and tone. Her breasts stood out from her chest like a doll. The flesh of her breasts reflected the light with their health. They gleamed. Her nipples absorbed the light in contrast, accenting them, and making them erotic to my eyes. My eyes travelled over her stomach. I could see the slight bulge of her womb on her flat stomach, and then her stomach disappeared to the wonderful space between her thighs.

Her brown skin was exotic. She was the opposite of me. Her high cheek bones and proud features made her alluring, I lusted after her. I wanted to taste her pussy so badly.

"I am soaking wet for you, Jennifer. Step up and touch me gently. Part my lips and feel my heat and moisture. It is for you."

I stepped forward and stared into her eyes. I reached down and with a shaking hand gently touched her labia. It had been so long, but my hand knew what to do. I gently pressed two fingers and her lips parted to my touch. Her eyelids fluttered in response. I pressed harder and felt my fingers enter a deluge of pussy juice. She wasn't lying. She was soaked.

"Ungh, Jennifer..."

"Shh," I said. "Let me feel you. You are so wet. Like me. You want me, need me, don't you?"

"Yes. I've waited so long for you. I am here. I am yours."

I stepped back and withdrew my finger. I lifted my hand looked at her juices covering my fingers. I separated my fingers and watched her juice stretch between them. I had to taste her and put my fingers in my mouth and sucked off her juices. She tasted delicious. Women have unique tastes. Pussy tastes like pussy, but a true connoisseur, can taste the subtle nuances. Its like saying all wine tastes the same. It doesn't. Sure, it all tastes like wine, but a Pinot Noir taste different from a Malbec. Eshana tasted like a vintage fine wine. I wanted more. I needed to drink her down.