Hema

My friend Ashok told me: "Hem said no."

Hem is Hemlatta his wife of twelve years, a beautiful creature. Alabaster skin, dark obsidian eyes, full silky hair, about 5' 3". She has great presence, takes over the whole room the second she walks in. She loves to laugh and people like the sound of her laughter. Very intelligent and very well-read, she can talk just about any subject, but she does it without making anyone feel small. Men love her and respect her. My girlfriends who met her envied her and hated her for her attractiveness, but Hem invariably managed to put them at ease with her familiar, non-judgmental charm.

And if you haven't figured it out already, I was crazy about her.

And what she had said no to was having sex with me.

Ashok had repeatedly shared his fantasy with me that he wanted some one else to fuck his wife. And he was crude about it. I suppose that was the excitement of the fantasy. "I want another guy to balls-up fuck the shit out of her yaar. It makes me cream in pants just thinking about it."

"We're talking about Hem. Your wife."

"Well what's wrong with it. I'm not jealous. I would like to share her. It would wrong of me not to share such a heavenly woman. I think she'll like it even though she'll never admit it. Just once, I want see her fucked. It might as well be you, yaar."

"Might as well," I agreed rolling up my eyes. "Have you discussed this with her."

"Many times. At first she was angry. How could I even think of it she said, sharing her like a whore. Did I think she was a whore? That kind of stuff. Then I would bring it up while I was fucking her. Like, what if it was someone else fucking you right now Hem, not your husband. She doesn't say anything but I know she gets wetter and she puts marks on my back. I know she likes it. One of these days maybe it will make her give me a blowjob. She never does that."

"You don't have oral sex?" I asked.

"Plenty of oral sex, me doing her yaar. She thinks its dirty to suck me. I don't even want to bring up fucking her up her arse, she would cut off my cock if I even mention it. Bitch."

I was uncomfortable with his crudeness. We were talking about a very proper woman. A woman that I was infatuated with. A woman who made me wish I was a better man. This is a woman who didn't have children because she wanted to focus on her very promising and glamorous career as a writer for a popular feminist magazine. When her younger sister died in a car crash a few months ago, Hem quit her job the very next day and became a mother to her sister's two toddlers.

A few days later Ashok called me. "Come to dinner Sunday. I'm going to Toronto late at night. We can have dinner first."

Hema was as charming as usual. After dinner, we were sitting around talking. Ashok had had too much to drink. "So are you going to fuck my wife after I leave?" he said.

She turned crimson. I thought she was going to slap him. "Just leave Ashok. Go on your damned trip."

"It's a simple ques-"

"ASHOK! Enough."

He got up, grabbed his overnight bag, and left, slamming the door.

"He's too much," she said. "Why isn't he happy with me. He's sick. Do you know what he wants me to do?"

"Well, kindof, he-"

"Sick. He's sick. I couldn't sleep with another man. Even if it was you."

That was a warm thing to say. It made me smile.

"Can you imagine? He wants me to be a whore. God, I mean if I was drugged or something maybe."

She picked up an after-dinner mint from a bowl on the table between us. Like the kind you get at some restaurants, just a small piece of sugary candy.

"Like if this was some kind of drug and someone spiked my drink with it. Perhaps then..."

So I took the piece of candy from her and threw it in her drink. She pretended not to notice.

A few minutes later she had finished her drink. We had said very little.

She folded her hands in her lap and straightened her back, looked at me shyly and whipered, "I'm ready."

I went over to her and stood her up. I held her face in both of my hands and kissed her. I felt like the luckiest man alive. I couldn't believe this was happening. I wanted to memorize the feeling.

I caressed her neck and back as I kissed her. Her lips were full. She was actively kissing back, not like many of bimbo automatons I'd been with. She was wearing a short blouse and I explored the skin around the small of her back. It was warm and lively; I could feel downy hair and smallest bit of moisture.

I was beside myself. Who was this divine woman? I wanted to know everything about her, I wanted to feel all her sorrows and desires and laughter. I wanted to hold her, to protect her, to touch her, to be inside her, to behind her, to absorb her. I couldn't decide what to do next, I was completely fuddled. I wanted to be her, to be one with her.

She broke away. I held the edge of her sari, a beautiful, impossibly white sari with gold embroidery. She smiled at me and with outstretched hands, she started to slowly twirl out the sari. She moved slowly and gracefully, smiling coyly, as she danced out of her sari. Never had I before, nor will I ever see a more femine sight than this mysterious, complete woman unraveling before me, her gold jewelry shimmering.

She ran upstairs to their bedroom.

She was on her bed already naked. Her tits were not large but full, round and the nipples were high and prominent. Her pussy hair was not jet black, it was a dark brown, and cleanly trimmed.

I dove in and she loved it. She tasted wonderful. I devoured her, pushing my tongue into her folds and flicking her clit. She was vocal. "Higher." "Slow down." She moved a lot, squirming across the bed, my tongue chasing her. He grabbed my hair, pulling it roughly at time to move me to certain spot.

She screamed when she came. I don't mean a metaphoric scream, I mean a piercing, lustful, unabashed, primal scream.

He pulled me up and I started kissing her again. I kissed her neck and entered her and started pumping slowly. But she knew what she wanted.

She slapped my back and said through clenched teeth, "Harder! Fuck me harder bastard. Fuck your best friend's wife. Fuck me like I'm whore. Aaargh!"

I fucked her harder than I ever had before. Hard and fast. We were both sweating a lot by now. I kissed her tits and her armpits and inhaled her scent.

"I'm almost there," I said.

"NO! Don't come yet," she said. "Fuck my arse!"

I was shocked.

She squiggled out from under me and turned over. "Fuck my arse." Who was I to argue? I slipped inside her arse easily because she was already wet with excitement and sweat. And I was in heaven. It wasn't like I was fucking any woman in the arse; it's a pretty good day when that happens. This was Hema. I thanked my karma.

I knew I came a lot. I convulsed four times and that's unusual at my age.

We didn't tell Ashok and he doesn't ask. It's kind of an open secret. He trips seem to happen more frequently. He doesn't ask why my toiletries are in his bathroom or why some of my clothes are in his closet.

She's the proper wife for him, a whore for me. She blows me and swallows. She wants me to fuck her in the arse. She wants me to fuck her by her pool, in the pool, in the hot-tub, on her marital bed, on kitchen counter, on the dining room table, in the back seat of my car. When she goes out with me she wears slutty clothes without panties. She smokes cigarettes, drinks a lot. I got some pot the other day; now she can't get enough of it.

I'm trying to reconcile being best friends with Ashok while fucking his wife.

I'm trying to reconcile my respect for a beautiful, strong, capable, divine woman with my lust for the whorish slut she can be.