To Be or Not To Be a Doctor

They held hands all the way across campus. Tony saw plenty of guys staring at Manjula — he felt a surge of pride at this — but he also noticed girls looking at him. He'd never experienced that before. Could it be that just being with Manjula rubbed off on him a little? Whatever. There was no girl he wanted more than her.

The effect accelerated once they entered the women's dorm. Tony had never been inside an all-female building; several times he saw very hot girls, dressed in outfits as skimpy as Manjula's, glance at him and flash knowing smiles at her.

Tony had been thinking about what to show her. He doubted she would be able to handle his long list of fetishes — in fact, there were some he feared very much showing to any girl, of any culture. Why even start with full-fledged porn? Pinups would do.

One of Tony's pastimes was to download images of girls from various sites — often lingerie or swimsuits, but also ordinary revealing clothes, like miniskirts — and collect the images into a PDF. He could then have the computer display them in a slideshow, a few seconds per image, full-screen, leaving his hands entirely free. Looking at a series of images has a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effect even for non-porn pictures; if there are girls, the effect is that much stronger, clothed or not. Tony had also torrented virtually the entire back catalogue of Playboy magazine, painstakingly assembling his favourite photos from each issue into custom PDFs designed to push exactly his buttons.

His mildest PDFs were for microkinis, bikinis, lingerie, and outerwear. He started with the latter. It did not escape Manjula's notice that the outfits he'd put in his collection were remarkably similar to the ones she'd bought earlier that week, and that she was wearing now.

"Tony, you... you find these arousing?"

"Yes. I usually start with these when I"— he stopped when he realized what he'd been about to say.

"When you masturbate?" she asked, so gently that he nodded.

"So when I am dressed like this" — she pointed at the sundress — "and boys are staring at me, and talking to me, will... will they masturbate later and think of me?"

"Probably yes, at least some of them will."

She covered her face in her hands. Sighing, Tony closed the laptop.

"Why are you closing it?"

"Huh? I thought you were offended."

"I should be, should I not?" She paused. "But I am not. I feel — I feel free!" She sported an expression of defiant joy. She pulled open his laptop and jerked her chin at him.

"Tell me why you chose these pictures."

There followed a strange session of annotated pinups. Because that girl had a cute expression. This one was in a pose that showed off her legs beautifully. This group of slave-girl Princess Leias had such submissive posture. That girl's wet T-shirt made her look wanton and uninhibited.

Tony had sequenced the pictures by how revealing they were. They finished the outerwear and moved on to the lingerie collection. As the shots got more and more racy, and Manjula remained unfazed, he felt his cock grow harder and harder. Soon they were sampling his compilations of nudes.

More arousing than the girls themselves was the knowledge that Manjula was there watching him. Like him, her eyes shifted back and forth between the girls on the screen and his own face. Thankfully, because they were sitting side by side in chairs in front of her desk, she could not actually see the pillar in his pants.

He did not realize that his occasional squirms were plainly obvious to Manjula. She also observed that he kept breaking his gaze at the pictures to look back at her.

The girls did not seem prettier than she herself was. Or were they? "Tony—"

"Yes?"

"Why are there no Indian or Sri Lankan girls in your collection? Do you like white girls better?"

"No, it's just that it's harder to find these kinds of photos of them. Especially in the large resolutions you need for fullscreen. A lot of sites feature only white girls, with maybe a few token black or Chinese girls. Probably they're what white men prefer."

"Even in Sri Lanka they always seem to want girls to be fair," she said in a hurt tone. "People say I will never find a husband because I am so dark. There are girls who go to Colombo for skin lightening treatments, but I could not afford—"

"Manjula," he said quietly, turning around to face her, "there is nothing wrong with your colour. You are more beautiful than any of these girls."

He began to sing the Tamil song Mersalayitten. Translated, it started simply, "I am mesmerized... mesmerized... mesmerized..." He hadn't stopped to think that, now that he was facing her, his erection was plainly visible through his pants. This gave his song an entirely different meaning.

Manjula had never seen a live erection before. Her eyes were moist.

"Have you... have you masturbated and thought about me?"

Oh, shit! What do I say to that?

She had trusted him into her room, and was literally watching him ogle girls in front of her. Didn't he owe her the truth?

"Yes. Yes, I have." Tony's fingers shook. He found himself tensing up, his cock softening, waiting for the inevitable sneer of disdain.

What he did not expect was the look of pure, unadulterated happiness on Manjula's face. Her eyes were as radiant as the sun, her smile could have lit up a mansion, every particle of her being seemed possessed by energy.

This time it was she who stood up, boldly sat in his lap, put her arms around him, and leaned in. There was an energy in her now. He was not kissing her, she was kissing him. Her lips pressed on his with a hot force, her breath hot on his, her arms squeezing him tightly. Her scent all around him was intoxicating. He felt his cock growing hard again, felt it press against her leg, he knew she could feel it too.

Somehow, his mouth was open. He felt the soft wetness of her tongue inside his mouth, gingerly probing into him. Tony had only ever seen this in movies, he could not remember how it was done, all he was conscious of was the overwhelming desire he felt. His hands were on Manjula's back, holding her tightly, drifting slowly downward—

She came up for air. "We have seen enough of girls. I want to see a boy."

Tony nodded and turned towards the computer.

"Not photos. A real boy."

She looked pointedly at his erection, then sat down on her bed, expectantly.

It took all the affection he had for Manjula for Tony to overcome his fear.

"I... I am not large."

"What does that mean to me?" she countered. "I have nothing to compare it with."

That wasn't really true, of course. Male porn stars are chosen in no small part because of their size, and many is the man who feels inferior and self-conscious compared to them.

But Tony also realized, that if disrobing would be scary for him, that was nothing compared to how frightening it would be for her. This was a girl who had only just shown her legs in public for the first time two days ago.

He stood up. From this angle he could clearly see some silky material under her sundress. Was that the lingerie they'd bought together?

Tony's pulse was racing. He was scared, but thrilled in equal measure. The thought of exposing himself to a girl, especially this girl, was practically making him jump with the pressure in his cock.

But the fear ran deep. It was the fear of a thirteen-year-old that a girl called "ugly", right to his face. The fear of a sixteen-year-old to whom a group of girls sarcastically shouted "nice legs!" before snickering maliciously. Not long ago, he had been walking on the sidewalk when a passing car lowered its windows. Someone shouted out, "is it true you have a small dick?" and drove off. He remembered spending prom night brooding at home, rejected by everyone he'd asked, too ashamed to go by himself.

As he often did, Tony turned to music to calm himself down. He began to sing again, choosing Kalangalil Aval Vasantham, another sixties Tamil song famous for the poetry of its lyrics:

"She is the spring among seasons." He took off his shoes and socks.

"She is the painting among art forms." He pulled off his shirt.

"She is the April among months." (April was Tamil New Year, a holy month.) He untied his belt and slid it off.

"She is the jasmine among flowers." He undid the button of his pants.

"She is like a baby, her smile without guile." Down came the zipper.

"She is a fair maiden, her embrace like the snow." The pants descended. He stepped out of them.

"She is the apple of my eye." He stood there, his briefs pushing away into a triangle, a large wet spot at its peak. Manjula's eyes were as wide as saucers. She was breathing hard, her fingers digging into the bed.

"She has turned me into a poet." He slipped off the briefs. He stood there, his pulse racing, his cock roaring with desire, precum pooling on his tip. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? The curiosity was making him almost crazed. He had to know. He had to. But he remained silent, giving her the space to explore her feelings.

She got up, circling around him, eyeing every inch of him as if he were Michelangelo's David. He stared back at her breasts, ass, and legs shamelessly. Imagine that mouth on his dick. Imagine that pussy on it. Yes. At the thought his cock squirmed and another drop appeared. Manjula looked startled.

"Your... your penis does that... when you are thinking of me?"

"We call it 'cock', remember. Also 'dick'."

"What is your, uh, cock thinking?"

"It... no, I want to see you naked too. I want to have sex with you."

Manjula did not answer. Had he gone too far? Finally, she spoke.

"I am not ready to be married."

"You do not have to be. It is enough for me just to look at you, and be with you."

She stepped towards him, stood on her toes, and kissed him again, deeply. His cock poked her in the stomach. She pulled back, peered down, and started giggling on seeing the wet spot it had left on her dress.

"Now that dress is stained. You'll have to change out of it," he said, only half joking.

She met his gaze proudly. "I will do it. On one condition. No, two conditions."

"Name them."

"Only the dress comes off. I am not ready to be naked in front of you."

"Agreed."

"And," she licked her lips. "I want to see you masturbate, while you are looking at me."

Wild horses could not have prevented Tony from agreeing to that. "We call it jerking off, or sometimes whacking off, or wanking off—" but she had darted into the bathroom. She emerged with a towel. "Sit there," she directed, laying it on the bed.

He sat there, cock aimed directly at her, while she peeled off the dress. It was like a divine revelation. All the life he had lived seemed to lead to this moment, this vision of unearthly, heavenly beauty. That waist, oh that waist, so thin, so curved, so magnetic...

Her lingerie was indeed a silky white. The lace bra was thin and porous, making it translucent. He could clearly see the shape of her breasts, her dark areolas, even how hard her nipples were. And her panties... flimsy and translucent. They looked a size too big, as if they were about to fall off. He could see her black pubic hair very clearly through them. And behind, a glimpse of heaven itself. Manjula's pussy. For him, it was now the very centre of the universe.

Manjula shivered. Quite aside from the sexuality, it was cold standing there dressed like that — she was not used to temperatures under thirty Celsius. The expression of hot desire was clear in Tony's eyes. She had not told him that she'd already looked at videos of men masturbating, on a gay site. She expected him to take his penis — no, his cock — in his fist and yank it, like milking a cow.

Instead, he squeezed it gently, like a bottle of jelly. A drop of semen obligingly came out. Hers! That semen was for her! He drew the drop all the way down the bottom of his cock with one finger, then began to massage the underside of his organ with the flat of just two fingers.

"Tell me what you are thinking," she said.

"You really want to know?"

"Yes."

"I'm thinking about your hands on my cock. Of how I want you to touch me like this one day. That this cum — this semen — could land on your fingers. Or maybe your belly."

Manjula swallowed.

"Or maybe your tongue."

She gaped so wide he had a good view of that tongue. He went on, recklessly. "I want you to suck my cock. I can't deny it. I want to cum in your mouth. I want you to swallow my cum."

She was shivering. Was she afraid? But she was listening. The sight of an unbelievably gorgeous, nearly nude brown girl watching him jerk off while listening to his fantasies — almost nothing in that sentence seemed even possible.

"I can see your pussy. Did you know that? I can see it. It's amazing. I want it. I want you. I want to be inside you. You're so amazing. You're smart and you're funny and you're cute and you're fun. And you're so hot. I want to—to... oh... Manjula... MANJULA!"

Manjula had feared that the cum would shoot out like a water hose and stain her carpet, but it just dribbled out, like squeezing a bottle of oil.

She stared in wonder at the cum on her bed. The thought of sleeping on that bed, tonight, sent shivers up her spine. She felt an unfamiliar wetness in her own nether regions. Tony was heaving, panting, staring at her.

The door opened. It was Rachel, Manjula's roommate. "Hey Manj—"

She stopped and took in the sight. Manjula clad only in flimsy white lingerie. Tony naked on the bed, a cum stain in front of him.

Without a word, she walked out and closed the door behind her. Tony and Manjula burst out laughing and kept laughing for a long time.

Chapter 3

The next day, when calling his parents, Tony decided to try talking in Tamil.

"This weekend I am bringing someone home."

His mother was astonished. "What? You are speaking Tamil?"

"Yes, I am speaking Tamil."

"How did you learn it? Who is coming?"

"Her name is Manjula. She comes from Sri Lanka."

At hearing a female name his mother excitedly burst into rapid Tamil far too fast for him to follow. "Slower? Slower... yes, she taught me... can she stay Saturday night?... she likes puttu... Mullaitivu district, I don't know the name... okay, bye." He felt proud that he hadn't had to dip into English once, after less than a week of Manjula's teaching. She was changing his life, in more ways than one.

***

Unfortunately the amount of time Tony and Manjula had spent with each other had been cutting into study time. They decided to stick to the library for Friday's classes with each other.

Tony was now learning verb conjugations. As he had taken French in high school, the concept was at least familiar to him, and Manjula felt satisfied at how quickly he picked it up.

When her turn came, Tony reflected that she didn't, so far, show much interest in slang, except for sexual terms. She really had a dirty mind, he thought. He loved it.

"The vagina in slang is called a 'pussy'. Why is that?" she asked.

"Most people here don't know the reason. But I do—"

"—because you know everything," she interjected teasingly. "Well not everything, but I tend to look up stuff like this. It has to do with cats."

"Cats?"

"A female cat, when she goes in heat, will mate with a whole bunch of males, one after the other. She'll chase each one off afterwards and go for the next. So that part of the body is named for the female cat, the pussy."

"Is that what women are like here? Everyone back home was warning me not to be like them. They say you can have sex with a white girl just by asking, whether you are married or not."

"Where did they learn that?"

"That is what people say who have watched English television shows."

"No, girls here usually won't have sex except with their boyfriends."

"But... more than one?"

"Yes. If they break up, she finds another boyfriend, and has sex with him. And so on. Eventually, when she finds one she wants to marry, she does."

"So a woman might have sex with four or five men in her life? One after another?"

"Yes, that's probably about average."

"And if I broke up with you, you would have sex with another woman?"

Tony looked up fearfully.

"Do not worry, I do not want to break up with you. But I am asking... say, hypothetically."

"Hypothetically. I would be devastated to lose you. But I would not expect you to remain alone the rest of your life, and I would not want to be alone either."

"But if you got married, how would you expect your wife to feel, knowing that another woman had had sex with you?"

"Women here don't mind that, as long as their husbands are faithful to them while they're together."

"A Sri Lankan man would definitely mind. I am not even sure about what we did on Wednesday," she said dully.

His heart sank. "Do you regret it?"

She looked daggers. "Of course not. I loved it. But if you do not marry me, I would not tell my husband about it."

Tony did not believe that someone should lie to their partner, as a matter of principle. But what if their partner had asked them a question they had no business asking? And how could he tell someone from another country how to live?

He wanted to have sex with Manjula, and she knew that he wanted that, and she was with him anyway. That would have to be good enough for now.

***

On the bus ride out of town the next morning, Tony found himself disappointed to see Manjula wearing a traditional Sri Lankan outfit, a long dress with long sleeves. She still looked lovely, and he had to admit that the clothes themselves, with gold-coloured thread interleaved in the fabric, and little pieces of jewelry dotting them, were prettier than anything he'd chosen. She looked stylish and elegant. Undoubtedly she was trying to impress his parents.

Instead, he decided to broach the other forbidden subject.

"Manjula, why do you want to be a doctor?"

"I am very intelligent. A very intelligent person should become either a doctor or a lawyer, and there is no demand for lawyers in rural areas."

"Are those really the only two career options?"

"Yes," she said bitterly. "Sri Lanka is not a rich country. We do not have loads of skyscrapers with consultants and marketers and executives. We do not have high-tech firms with engineers and investment banks with finance jobs. The civil service is reserved for the Sinhalese. The only options left for an educated Tamil are law and medicine. In rural areas, just medicine."

She didn't say the words check your privilege, but this was the equivalent.

Tony reflected on the reams of recruiters found at any career fair. They would have nothing like that in Sri Lanka. He himself had chosen computer science after seeing the mountains of jobs in the field constantly being advertised, but that would not be the case there.

At least she was thinking about careers. That was how Tamils thought about education. Going to university is an obsession since early childhood. The rocky soil and remoteness of the Tamil regions left little work in agriculture, and Tamil parents hungered for their children to get the few professional jobs in the country. When the civil service was made Sinhalese-only, and university places were assigned quotas based on ethnicity, the Tamils had risen in armed rebellion. They were the sort of people who would literally go to war for a chance to get an education.

There were problems with this, of course. Tamils overwhelmingly pushed their children towards science and engineering disciplines. As a result, hardly anyone studied Tamil literature, and the field suffered a serious lack of scholarship. Tamil literature is one of the oldest in the world — of languages still spoken, only Greek and Chinese have as ancient a canon — but few of Tony's relatives had ever studied it, even those who had gone to school in Sri Lanka. Most knew far more about Shakespeare than Shankara.