To Be or Not To Be a Doctor

"There is one thing—" He paused.

"Is it what I think it is?"

"That's why we took a shower first."

"My name is Cleaner of Dirt," she said in Tamil. "I will always clean my master's latrine."

Tony's body jerked so hard that she tipped off, giggling. How to do this so that he didn't cum straight away? He settled for going on his hands and knees, feet dangling over the foot of the bed. Manjula pulled up a chair to sit behind him. Behind his behind.

There is reality, and there is fantasy. Tony had tried to keep the two separate, relegating most of his desires to the latter category. But Manjula had burst into his life like a flaming star, redefining his sense of what could be real and what was a dream.

For so long he had longed for this, he had masturbated to it, but he had never believed he would ever experience it. Now the long wait was ending. Even if he were to live this dream but once in a lifetime, the memory of it would bring warmth, even to his toes, for the rest of his time on this earth.

His entire body was shaking. "How are you so calm about this?" he wondered.

"I was not calm when I first saw the videos," Manjula conceded. "But then I imagined you in them and I realized it was all right."

She stroked his ass cheeks, gently, then kissed them, one by one. Tony gripped the pillow hard, fighting to remain control.

He felt her nose probe into the crack of his ass. At that point his knees gave way, and he collapsed on the bed. "It is okay. Lie down," she said soothingly, pushing his feet upward. He moved back up to the bedhead, while she lay down between his legs. She put her hands on his ass cheeks again and gently pried them apart.

There she was, peering into his most intimate opening. It was clean, as clean as it could have been made, but how clean was that? He could not let her risk infection, no matter how much he desired her.

"Manjula," he panted, "you have to promise—aaaah!"

Tongue in the mouth feels warm, loving, and tasty. Tongue on the skin feels affectionate, caring, and sensual. Tongue in the ass transcends those as mightily as a rocket transcends an airplane. There are nerve endings in the asshole that Tony had not even suspected to exist. He had never felt, never imagined even possible, the sheer physical pleasure he was now experiencing.

He screamed. Manjula jerked her head up. "Are you okay?"

"Oh my god, oh my god. That felt so good, I can't believe it—aaah!" Manjula slid her tongue in again, deeper, deeper, impossibly deep. How was she doing that? Her tongue felt a metre long. The pleasure was wracking his body, consuming him.

She kept licking his asshole, he did not know how long, while he screamed and stamped his feet and pounded his fists like a toddler. The pressure of her weight on him kept his cock from climax, but the level of arousal and desire was driving him wild.

She didn't seem to tire of it. In and out her tongue went, sending waves of passion through him like an electric current. Finally it was Tony who had to roll her off. His body was trembling, shivering, barely able to handle the surge of feeling rushing through him.

Manjula looked at him nervously. "Was that good?"

In answer, he drew her close to him and clasped her against him. He felt he could not possibly love her any more than he did at that moment. Even if she never did this again, he could never, ever forget it, the closest he had ever come to pure paradise.

"I can't believe," he said finally, "how... how privileged I am to have you in my life. Truly you are one of heaven's angels."

"I am just a girl," Manjula contradicted. "My work here is not yet complete. But thank you for saying that."

"Your... work?"

"Woman's work. Or maybe I should say whore's work." She beamed. "I am tired of painting. It is time for drinking." She slid back down to the floor, into his favourite kneeling position.

"Are you sure—ohhhh," he moaned as Manjula lunged for his inner thighs. And then he could not think anymore, could not hold a coherent thought, as her tongue, her sweet, sensuous tongue, was caressing him. She pried his legs apart for a better access, and seductively licked his groin, sending ripples of pleasure through him.

He was saying something now, he didn't know what, he could not talk coherently, something about how she was angel, she was whore, she was both and they were all together, goo goo g'joob. He closed his eyes, quivering, as his balls, one after the other, went wet in her mouth. Words were failing him now, he was babbling, giggling, making incoherent sounds, his intellectual armour gone, his raw emotions rising to the surface after having been buried for so long. Tongue on balls will break the will of the hardiest.

Manjula had been careful not to touch his cock, but he was already on edge. With one swift flick of her tongue, she licked his cock from bottom to top. And then, no—

— he could not last —

— and her mouth was on him —

— and his head was spinning —

— oh my god, oh my god, this can't be real, it can't, it can't —

— and he was shooting, he was shooting, he was inside her mouth, inside it —

— the earth was moving, it was moving, I tell you —

—and he was heaving as much as if he'd run a race, heart thumping, uttering praise to all the gods of Christianity and Hinduism.

His own goddess lay beside him with a satisfied look, humming to herself, stroking his hair. Tony opened his eyes to see that sweet face in front of him, her expression sly.

Manjula opened her mouth. There it was, the white pool, the subject of so many dreams, so many late nights.

Her slow, smiling swallow was like nothing Tony had seen in porn. It was an act that hit him straight in the guts. So many years of waiting, of dreaming, of fantasy, had crossed the line into an unbelievable reality. Tony could not contain himself; he burst into tears.

Manjula took him in her arms. She lay there holding him, soothingly, comfortingly, for a long time.

Chapter 6

Tony felt happier than he had ever been. The song of the birds was sweeter. The touch of the wind made his senses come alive. The grass was greener. Even the girls were prettier, though seeing them only made him want Manjula more.

They say that oral sex is not sex, but it is. Bill Clinton had been wrong. Tony did not feel a virgin anymore, and he could not think of Manjula as one either. She had been right. They had crossed a line, a line that Tony felt himself well rid of.

He still wanted to have full-fledged intercourse with her, of course, but he knew how much just this oral sex would have cost her. Let it wait. It was hard to see how he could be any happier than he already was.

He could not stop thinking about the incredible experience, to the point where he spaced out in class, or dropped sentences with his classmates in the middle of study sessions.

He even ran into Tiffany at lunch again one day. She stared at him for a moment before recognition dawned. "Say, aren't you the guy who—"

"Thank you so much for introducing me to Manjula!" he boomed, warmly shaking her hand, then boldly kissing it. He could not resist bragging a bit. "She knows everything now! Everything!" he crowed as he walked off, leaving Tiffany flabbergasted.

He found Manjula in a couch in the lounge area. She smiled, that sweet gentle smile he loved so much. He snuggled up beside her.

"Somebody looks very happy today," she said, with a tone of unmistakable smugness.

"It was paradise. Pure paradise. The only thing was—"

"Please do not say I did something wrong."

"Nothing. But I didn't do anything right, or anything at all, really. I didn't give you anything."

"I think I got the better side of that equation. How do you boys survive with only one orgasm a day? I had three."

"I didn't even notice—"

She laughed. "I do not think you were in any shape to notice. But it is okay. I know now what the other girls meant, why they take it in the mouth. You men have a baser, more raw sexuality than we women. Being close to it like that is like being close to the earth itself, rich and fertile and full of life. Never be ashamed of your carnal desires. They make you the man you are. And watching you react that way — so strong and powerful and yet at the same time so open, so exposed and vulnerable — made me feel like a goddess, like Lady Rati herself. It did not feel quite as good as your fingering me, but it was very close. In a moment like that, I only need one hand."

"I still want to keep fingering you—"

"You will, believe me, you will."

"But tell me one thing, I have to know..."

"Yes?"

Tony's face was red, he could barely meet Manjula's eyes.

"Did it stink?"

Manjula snorted with laughter, so loudly that it drew stares across the room. "Of course it did not, foolish boy! I am a cleaner of dirt, not an eater of dirt!" She kept laughing until she saw just how relieved Tony looked.

"Actually," she went on, "your kundi tastes better than some other parts of your body. Would you believe it is a little sweet?"

"I'm not sure I do believe that. I wonder if... next time... I could do the same for you—"

"Next time?" Her eyebrows shot up.

"I mean, if... I just thought..."

"I was only joking. Of course you can," she said. "I am looking forward to it."

Tony's cock pulsed a little, and his eyes burned with a hot light.

"I wish we could do it more often," he said. "Having to work around roommates really sucks. I wonder if we could go away for the weekend sometime."

"I do not think either of us has time for that," she said regretfully. "But there are always the holidays. We can learn how to ski together."

Tony looked at her, thinking about how much there was he wanted to show her, share with her, explore with her.

"You know what would be great?" he asked. "If you go back to Sri Lanka over the summer or anything, I could go with you."

"What?"

"It would be awesome! I've wanted to go there for years, but my parents weren't interested, and they always said I shouldn't go alone."

"I am sure you could manage. You are a grown man, and plenty of foreign tourists come to Sri Lanka."

"But I want to go with you," said Tony.

"There would be far too much gossip in my village. Even your staying in a hotel nearby would lead to rumours spreading."

"But there's the whole rest of the country! I have relatives in Colombo, Batticaloa, and Jaffna—"

"Who will also spread rumours, and probably will not even let me in their homes," Manjula reminded him.

"Well, screw them then. I've read the tourist books. I can't believe there's so much to see in one small island." Excitedly, he went on about the beaches, among the best in the world, the historical sites in Anuradhapura, whale watching in Mirissa, the elephant sanctuary in Pinnawala, mountain climbing at Adam's Peak, wildlife in Yala National Park, festivals in Kataragama...

"You know more about travelling in Sri Lanka than I do. I have never been to any of those places. I have seldom gone far from my village, except to visit relatives in Colombo."

"Why not?"

"We cannot afford to stay in a hotel. If we do not have relatives to stay with, we do not go. And even bus fare to Colombo can cost as much as five hundred rupees."

That was less than four Canadian dollars. To go a distance of more than three hundred kilometres.

"Foreign tourists usually take trains or tourist buses, which are air-conditioned and much more expensive," she added. "But they go only to the big tourist sites you were talking about. Those are mostly in the Sinhalese parts of the country."

"What I want to see most of all is Jaffna. Both my parents were born there. I feel I could understand everything so much better if I could see it, just once."

"Why is that?"

"It's where my ancestors come from. In that sense, it's home."

Home. Manjula's eyes filled with tears.

It was not the beaches, or the mountains, or the scenery, or the sights that Manjula thought of when she thought of Sri Lanka. It was her aunt and uncle, who had worked so hard to give her the chances to grow and succeed in life. It was her three little cousins who looked up to her, who all called her simply akka, "big sister".

It was also the way the birds warbled, early in the morning, the way the sunlight streamed into the hut. It was the soothing tropical heat, the lush palm trees, the cool evening breezes. It was sipping on falooda on a hot afternoon, tricking monkeys to throw down coconuts, swimming in little streams, sneaking a hot toddy when no one was looking. It was sitting on the ground, eating with your fingers off a banana leaf, the way the gods intended.

Tony could sense her distress. "Home... you're really homesick, aren't you?"

"I like it here too. And you have made life here very special for me. But there is no place like home," she said, a woebegone expression on her face.

She lay her head on his chest and he stroked her hair for a while, wondering what he could say to comfort her. Then an answer came to him.

"In that same sense," he pointed out, "Canada isn't really anyone's home, except for aboriginal people."

"What do you mean?"

He told her the story of Canada, the real story. Not the dates and acts of dead white men, but the story of migration and upheaval. It was a tale that ran from orphan French girls desperate for a husband in the seventeenth century to Scots fleeing massacres in the eighteenth; from Irish dying of famine to Italians fleeing overpopulation to Sri Lankans running away from war and poverty.

For centuries, the long line of defeated peoples had trekked across the oceans to find a new place for themselves in this cold land of the north. All struggled with feeling homesick and lonely and foreign. All battled hostility and suspicion from predecessors who had forgotten their own origins. All learned to thrive, mixing the old traditions and the new, synthesizing a way of life that worked for them.

Finally, perhaps as usual, a song captured his feelings better than anything he could have said.

Home.

Hard to know where it is if you've never had one.

Home.

I can't say where it is, but I know I'm going

Home.

That's where the heart is.

And I know it aches,

And your heart, it breaks,

And you can only take so much.

Walk on...

Tony halted at that point, realizing the next lines, leave it behind, you've got to leave it behind, were probably not appropriate to the situation. He just sat there for a while, cuddling her against him, listening to her breathing.

It did not occur to him that she could always google the entire song later.

***

Manjula came late to math class that afternoon. A little breathless, but he could not see any sign of pain on her face.

"Are you okay?" he whispered to her. "I had an appointment," she replied, without further explanation. They resumed taking notes. Afterwards she excused herself again, saying she had to meet a group working on a project for economics class.

Tony thought this a bit odd, since she wasn't heading in the direction of the library, or even the business faculty.

***

Later, they made plans for their next "painting" session, although, as Manjula winsomely pointed out, they were well past the painting stage.

"But before you come over, I want you to do something. Some Tamil homework."

Tony was game for this; working on Tamil meant, as it always had, more time with Manjula.

"I want you to translate this Tamil song," she said, handing him a printout. It was Orey Oar Ooril, from a popular mythological film from a few years ago.

"But no cheating by looking it up online," she admonished. "I can google any translation that is out there. You must do this yourself."

Tony could live with that. There were dictionaries on hand in the library.

***

He didn't finish until just before Manjula's deadline.

He stared at his translation. It was very hard not to conclude that she was sending him an unsubtle message.

He orders me to follow

He arrests me with his kisses

Oh, this Devasena is imprisoned...

Devasena was the heroine of that film.

The true warrior who makes a war field out of my chest...

The demon who kisses me everywhere, with the tip of his sword...

He caught on to me like a fire,

And Devasena burns in that fire of desire...

He aims his arrow to my heart

And I follow him, blindly, unquestioned,

And Devasena is speechless...

Tony read this up and down, checking again and again to see if he had gotten it right. The song had provoked a reaction in him, all right, though maybe not the one Manjula had been going for.

He headed over to her room, his pulse racing alongside his footsteps. He had no idea how this evening would end.

He knocked on the door. He heard a rustling sound of some kind before she finally said, "come in." What did that mean? Usually she just opened the door.

Manjula was standing by the window, her divine figure framed by the bright sun, wearing nothing but a shy smile. Her right hand was over her breasts, with something shiny-looking between her fingers. Her left hand brandished a printed sheet of paper, blocking the view of her pussy.

What was going on?

"I saw the doctor." She passed him the shiny thing, exposing her breasts. It was a packet of birth control pills. The first row was already finished.

"And I no longer wish to be a doctor." She gave him the paper, letting him see her pussy. Her change of major to applied mathematics had been approved.

"All that you want is now yours," she said proudly. There she stood, her nude body inviting and desirable, her face filled with love and surrender and fierce joy.

"Not all," Tony replied.

Everything had fallen into place. It was clear to him at last what he had to do. His mind, his heart, and his cock were ready to speak as one. He dropped to one knee.

"Manjula," he said, "will you marry me?"

Chapter 7

Manjula's beauty had etched itself into Tony's mind many times before — the twinkling in her eyes when she laughed, the wild ecstasy when he fingered her, the sweet smile and soft eyes that had mesmerized him so much. But that seemed nothing compared to the look of blissful hope on her face now.

She opened her mouth. Were her lips forming the word yes? They seemed to for a moment, then snapped shut.

She was looking at him with excitement in her face, but also doubt.

"Are you not afraid?" she asked finally.

"Why would I be afraid?"

"You said... you said that in this country people take years before they decide to marry. That they would rather break up than marry the wrong person."

"You are the right person. I never want to break up with you. Not ever. I love you. I love you more than anything. More than life itself."

Her eyes were wet, but still she hesitated. "Please Tony, you must answer me something honestly."

"Always."

"Do you want to marry me just so we can make love? You do not have to do that. My body is yours, whenever and for however long you want me."

"Of course I want you. I've wanted you from the moment I laid eyes on you. When I look at you I see a beautiful body I can stare at for the rest of my life. I see hands that always know how to excite me. But do you know what else I see?"

"What?"

"I see a soul with courage. I see a stranger in a strange land, brave enough to try anything new and learn anything different. I see a brilliant mind and a generous heart, a heart that cares about people, deeply. I see someone who inspires me, who has made me a better man. I see the one who has taught me who I really am and where I come from.

"I see someone who doesn't try to change me or make me something I'm not. I can tell you my darkest desires and you're still willing to trust me with your body. You're the only one I can be myself with, completely.