Preface: When I discovered erotica on the internet over a decade ago, almost all the stories were written by Americans or Europeans. The few Indian stories were a mishmash of hurriedly described fantasies in bad grammar. The only exception was an author named Mary Jorsay Gandmar. The deliciously dirty Hindi pun in the name is indicative of her body of work - Caligulan levels of hardcore depravity dressed in perfect language, compelling narratives, and believable characters. And frequent use of typically Indian inter-class taboos.
Then suddenly she disappeared. If you google her name, you can still find a couple of dozen stories by her, especially on asstr. But there was one that I read ages ago, that was my absolute favorite, that I just can't find. She never posted it on asstr but on some other site that has since ceased to exist. It was written in diary format and was about a young lady stranded on a highway in India. And then eagerly, not under real duress, doing a lot of things to get going. In college, I fingered myself to countless orgasms while reading the story hundreds of times. Sadly, I never saved it. I have tried many different keyword searches but just can't find it. All that remains is a hazy yet detailed memory of that masterpiece of erotica.
So I have decided to rewrite it. But in my own voice and with my own choice of backstory and circumstances. For example, unlike the story where the protagonist was an 19 year old girl (just like me when I read it), here it's a 35 year old married woman with kids (just like me as I write it). The essential plot of the story stays the same. But I have added my own touches to it, so consider this an adaptation. I hope that wherever she is, she reads this story and doesn't hate it.
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I finished the last of my chicken curry and roti, gulped down the tea, and got up. I looked around and surveyed my surroundings. Dark moonless winter night at a highway dhaba in the interior of eastern Uttar Pradesh. Fog all around us. The tables mostly empty. The dhaba's brick-structure illuminated by a flickering tubelight. And he stood right under the light, looking at me. From that angle, I couldn't see his face. But I am sure he was looking at me. What or who else could he be looking at?
I walked to the faucet by the side of the dhaba, bent down and started washing my hands. He approached. Even without looking at him, I could sense his gaze on my jeans-covered ass. I finished washing my hands and stood up. He handed me a ragged hand towel. I wiped my hands and looked at him. He was smiling knavishly.
"So?" he asked. "What did you decide?"
I said nothing and walked back to my table. He didn't follow me. I picked up my phone and checked it for the hundredth time that hour. Still no network. I raised it and moved it around, but in vain. No network coverage at all. Two AM on a dark foggy night in the boondocks, and my cellphone had no coverage. I looked back at the dhaba. He was sitting on the steps. I beckoned to him and he sprinted over.
"You're sure you can get me a ride in time?"
"Absolutely." he nodded eagerly.
"What if you're just lying to me?"
"I swear by Vaishnodevi I am not! It'll be here in an hour. And it'll get you to Meerut by noon."
I sat down, and ran my hands over my suitcase thoughtfully. I looked at him. He was cute in a rustic kind of way. Pleasant face with high prominent cheekbones and a three-day stubble. His sweater and trousers clung to his lithe petite 5 ft 2 frame. Short wiry hair. I guessed he was about 20 years old, so a decade and a half younger than me.
I was used to respect, even subservience from guys his age, especially in his socio-economic class. Yes, there were whistles and catcalls and stares on the streets sometimes, especially in Delhi. And what woman in India hasn't endured faceless gropes on crowded streets? But an elaborate well thought out proposition of the kind this boy had made! It almost seemed like one of those MTV pranks.
I looked into his twinkling light brown eyes and reconsidered his proposition. The look of eager admiration in his eyes made me seriously think about it.
I hadn't gotten laid in a while anyway. Almost two months. A decade long marriage by itself would have severely undermined any couple's sex life. Add to it four years of dating and we now had almost 15 years of sexual monotony. Add to it demanding travel-heavy dual careers. Two kids who refused to go to bed unless threatened with decapitation or bribed with riches. The inescapable toll time takes on the body. It's a miracle we had any sex at all.
Of course, there had been opportunities and temptations to stray. Although not quite the Perfect Ten I used to be in college, I was still attractive enough to turn some heads. There were flirtations and come-ons of varying levels of intensity at work, in hotels, in parties, at holiday resorts, parent-teacher meetings, and of course in the gym.
I had always resisted the temptations. Had never let it go beyond really blatant flirting and maybe a cop and feel when drunk during a dance. And then imagining my pursuer in my masturbatory fantasies or while having sex.
I'd like to think it was all based on morality. But honestly, a large part of it was the hassle of complications that could arise and the possible shaming in the still conservative Indian upper middle class. I knew some women (and men) who had strayed, had been found out, and their family lives and careers were irreparably damaged.
So more than moral, my concerns were practical. Although not ideal, I had a pretty good life. Why throw it all away? I had too much to lose.
Except here. He didn't even know my name. Or where I lived. Had no real motivation or resources to hunt me down and demand more. Expose me if I refused. And even if he did, so what? A dalliance with a colleague, neighbor, friend, or acquaintance, if exposed, could be proven or at least seem plausible. Who would believe this guy?
"Well?" he broke my reverie.
"Okay." I shrugged and immediately shuddered at what I had just said.
"What?" The smile disappeared from his face.
"Okay." Saying it a second time made it even scarier.
"Really?"
For the first time that night he suddenly seemed unsure and nervous. Like a poker player who had gone all in on a pair of sixes expecting everyone to fold, but had instead been called on his bluff.
"Yeah, really! I have to get to Meerut at all costs."
Which wasn't strictly true. Yes, getting to Meerut in time was crucial to closing on a multi-million dollar contract. And missing the meeting would lead to a lot of groveling, explanations, discounts, and fending off more attacks from the competition. Still, if I didn't get there in time, it wouldn't end my career or anything. Once they saw my totaled car, I would be off the hook.
But now, the idea had taken root. The temptation had been succumbed to in all but deed.
I got up and stood right in front of him with my hands in my jacket pockets. He gave me a nervous smile and turned around.
"Okay...come with me..." he picked up my suitcase and started heading towards the dhaba "...no no....wait here....or maybe.....yes wait here. I'll put your bag away."
I stood there as he picked up my suitcase and started walking towards the dhaba. A few steps later, he walked back.
"The purse?"
"I'll hang on to it." I patted the purse dangling from my elbow.
"Okay.." he turned around and then stopped after a couple of steps. "Actually, come with me."
I followed him to the dhaba. He opened the door to a room and walked inside it with my suitcase. Then I heard a woman's voice. She talked with him in what sounded like an annoyed voice. They had a bit of an argument. I wasn't sure who it was. His wife? Mother? Sister?
