The Older One

He hadn't been with a woman for almost eight months. Stuck in a small town where he had been sent for his training and induction into the country, Hans was lonely and angry. He had made no friends quite simply because he didn't know their language and they didn't know English or French or Spanish - which were the three languages he spoke. It was only at the office that he was able to converse because the senior personnel spoke English; but they weren't friends, although they'd invited him out to parties occasionally.

Hans had completed his management studies and obtained his degree from the IESE Business School in Barcelona, Spain. Now, he worked for a large European manufacturing conglomerate and had been chosen as one of three recruits to be sent to Asia. The other two had gone to developed countries; one to Tokyo and the other to Singapore. The recruitment board had told him that developing and underdeveloped countries were challenging, and hence more exciting. He had four more months here in the interior of the country before he could pack his bags and go back to the capital, where his firm had their regional headquarters.

Of course, the company had looked after his basic needs to the extent they could in this one-horse town. They'd rented a flat for him, arranged to have part-time cleaning and cooking staff, and had provided transportation -- they bought him a second-hand 300 cc BMW G310R motorcycle in the nearest large city and had told him to go collect it. For all this, he was grateful, but the gratitude had long run its course and he sometimes rued his decision to take up this assignment.

The only women he had interacted with over the last eight months were the two elderly ladies that worked at the office, whom all the men-folk called "aunty" for some reason.

And of course, there was the house maid. She must have been about 45 years old, often had a tired look with a few unruly strands of hair always bracketing the otherwise pleasant oval shaped face. While she came to clean his house every day, and cook an evening meal for him, Hans never saw her during the weekdays. The only time they met was on Saturday and Sunday -- she worked seven days a week -- when she would come over to the flat and complete all her chores in the morning hours before noon.

Her name was Maitri, which he initially had difficulty in pronouncing but finally settled on something that sounded like "Matty". It didn't really matter because they hardly exchanged any words, other than the standard greeting of "Namaste" which she uttered with her hands folded on arrival and departure.

Today, Saturday, it was almost 10:00 a.m. and he was expecting her at any moment. Sitting on the first floor balcony that overlooked a large meadow, he was ruminating about a series of random thoughts that haphazardly ran through his mind. He liked this spot of the apartment because the only houses he could see were on the other side of the meadow, almost two kilometres away. But the stretch was green and dotted with cows, goats, and the occasional shepherd tending to his livestock.

His thoughts went to Matty as he lit his second cigarette after breakfast, taking a tentative sip of the steaming hot coffee he had just made for himself. He knew that the maid, like so many of the people he saw here, was poor. She had a husband who worked in a cheap hotel nearby, but they needed for her to bring in some extra income. She had a family but Hans did not know how many children they had, or what ages they were. But every Sunday, he would give her some extra money; the first time he did that she bent low to touch his feet and shocked him with the gesture. He had chastised her in English but wasn't sure if she had understood. At any rate, she didn't do it gain but always spent almost a minute thanking him with folded hands each time.

Matty, or Maitri, was only a couple of inches taller than five feet, wore her hair in a messy bun on top of her head, invariably dressed in the traditional 'saree' and blouse, and had a pleasant demeanour. In the first few months when his frustrated hormones raged crazily at the absence of any sexual release, he had spent much of his weekend mornings ogling the deep cleavage between her breasts. Whenever she cleaned the floor and the drape of her saree slipped off her shoulders, he would get that inviting view.

Or sometimes, when she was cooking, he would make frequent forays into the kitchen in order to get a glance of her profile which showed how large her blouse-encased breasts were. Often he would have to fight the urge to reach out and touch her bare midriff. Her blouse barely covered her breasts and her saree was tucked into a petticoat worn low on her waist; the intervening swathe of naked flesh titillated him no end. She was a little on the heavy side so there was a layer of fat that formed a thin tyre just above the saree, but that seemed to add to her appeal.

He would just stare at the nakedness of her dark brown skin and ache inside at the proximity of her body. Hans was too scared to go to a local brothel or even organise a whore to visit; and besides, he had no idea how he would go about such a liaison. He had often thought about offering Matty some money and entice her to just give him a blowjob, or even a handjob, but again was too fearful of the implications. And of course, he didn't know the language or any other way of asking her. Instead, he would end up masturbating after she left.

Over the months, his mind had conjured up myriad ways of trying to get her to show some suggestion that she might be interested in him as well. There was a time when he had stood behind her while she was cooking and reached up to one of the high wall cabinets above her head, pretending to be looking for something. He had a massive erection inside his jeans and the bulge pressed against the maid's saree-covered backside while he rummaged inside the shelving unit. But she only asked him what he was looking for and tried to apologetically move out of his way. He had pressed harder against her as he reached deep inside the cabinet. But when he thought she may get suspicious after more than a minute, he quickly grabbed whatever his fingers touched and pulled it out. It turned out to be a broken handle from an old frying pan, and he had to say "Ah! That's what I was looking for!" before turning away and heading back to his living room.

On another occasion, when he was sitting on the balcony and spied Matty walking down the road towards his flat, he quickly got up and went to the bathroom. He took the two towels from the rack and dumped them in an untidy pile on his bed before going back into the toilet. He stripped his clothes off hurriedly and waited till he heard the maid insert her key into the door lock. Then, shutting the bathroom door, he stepped under the shower which he had kept running for a couple of minutes. Having quickly doused, soaped and rinsed himself, he turned off the water and stepped out of the shower cabinet. In the silence, he tried to determine where in the house Matty would be.

When he heard chairs in his living room being pushed around, he knew she had started with her housekeeping chores. He unlocked the bathroom door and walked out, dripping and naked, and turned to the right heading to his bedroom. He pretended not to notice that the maid was right across from him and casually sauntered across a short corridor, leaving a trail of water behind him. He knew she would look up and couldn't possibly avoid seeing him.

Hans was built like an athlete; in fact he had maintained a very busy sports regimen throughout his high school and university years. His 6'2" frame was sculpted like an ancient Greek marble statue; broad shoulders and chest tapering down to a slim waist. Muscular thighs and calf muscles that matched the sinewy ripples on his torso, back and arms. And... he had a penis that hung almost five inches when limp; thick as a young woman's wrist as it seemed to rest limply over his large testicles that somehow always looked full.

Of course, Maitri had seen all this in the few seconds it took Hans to walk from the bathroom to the bedroom. She was too stunned at the sight to pause and wonder why he had stepped out naked and drenched, considering she always left a pair of large fluffy white towels in the washroom. She was on her haunches, squatting, as she swabbed the floor with a wet washcloth. But on hearing the bathroom door open, she obviously looked up to greet Hans when this astonishingly handsome man walked out naked. She sat still, mouth agape, as her eyes followed him, catching a final glimpse of his taut buttocks as he disappeared into the bedroom.

Even after that she didn't move, now mortally scared that he might soon walk out of the room and still be naked. What would she do? How would she react? She tried to will herself back to her feet so that she could move out of the room and perhaps go to the balcony. If he saw her, surely he would run back inside and wear something.

But at that time, her subconscious mind was playing games with her; she actually did want to see him again, bare bodied and raw. Almost on instinct, she had started re-swabbing a section of floor that was already cleaned, and inched her way towards the corridor that would allow her to see inside the bedroom. When she reached the doorway into the aisle, the bathroom was in front of her and the bedroom to her left. Surreptitiously, she twisted her neck and saw Hans drying his hair vigorously, his thick long phallus swinging limply as he towelled his head, face covered by the large towel. For half a minute, she just stared at his cock and the tick mass of pubic hair that surrounded the base.

Of course, Hans was unaware of her lascivious thoughts that day, or her clandestine ogling. He had given up hope that his provocative theatrics may have any impact on Matty. Now, as he sat on the balcony, taking a last sip of his tepid coffee, he wondered why she hadn't arrived yet.

Still waiting for her, he noticed dark clouds in the sky drifting over the meadow; heavy and pregnant with rain. He was reminded of the time, barely three weeks ago, when he returned from a visit to a neighbouring township at about noon. He had got caught in a raging thunderstorm but had decided to keep riding his bike since he was only a few minutes from home. But those minutes were enough to drench him to the bone and when he got to his flat, he began sneezing immediately. Maitri was cooking in the kitchen when she heard him, and came rushing out with a look of deep concern on her face.

Without saying a word, she had got a towel from the bathroom and began drying his face and hair while he stood in the corner of the living room, water dripping off his clothes on to the floor as he kicked off his shoes. She spent two minutes doing that before handing the towel to him and then started unbuttoning his shirt. Hans had been too taken aback to resist. Instead, he just stood still with a crash helmet in one hand and a towel in the other, while she stripped him of his shirt. She yanked the garment out from where it was tucked in to his jeans, pulled off the sleeves and dropped it on the ground. Then, taking the towel from him, she wiped his chest and back and arms before unbuckling his belt and peeling his denims down his thighs.

She had gone down on her haunches and taken off each leg of the trousers before beginning to wipe his limbs completely, from groin to toe. Hans stood in his soaked underwear while the maid dried him down completely, and finally pulled his socks off. Then, taking his helmet and placing it on the floor, she led him by the hand into the bathroom and turned on the shower. Once the water was warm, she gently pushed him under it and walked out of the bathroom, leaving the door open a crack.

While the water warmed his body, he looked through the glass shower cabinet and the slightly open door, watching Matty pick up his clothes from the floor near the entrance to his flat. At that moment, it was just beginning to strike him that her hands had been only inches away from his groin. Although she didn't exactly touch the bulge in his underwear, Hans couldn't help wondering if perhaps she had wanted to. He had felt a stirring in his crotch and indulged briefly in a fantasy that had her coming into the bathroom right then, maybe to soap him. His cock was getting hard and he had realised he couldn't, shouldn't, pursue that line of thought.

Every time in the last few months that he had entertained such thoughts and hopes, he always remembered the HR briefing that the three recruits had attended just before they left for their overseas assignments. "Always remember that you are guests in the country that you are going to, and that you are ambassadors from Europe. Quickly learn the social customs and norms, and never violate them. Always behave with the highest decorum and respect their traditions and culture."

***

Maitri, on the other hand, had struggled with her emotions and the conflict between her heart and her head. For weeks, she had witnessed Hans' "accidents" where he had exposed his body partially or wholly, intentionally or inadvertently. She had been aware of some of the times he ogled her breasts, and was very conscious when he stood behind her in the kitchen pretending to reach for something in the upper shelves. But three weeks ago, when he had come into the house fully drenched, she knew that her instinctive reaction had been one of worry; perhaps even a sort of maternal concern.

When she was drying his hair with a towel, rubbing vigorously as he bent his head, she had felt her breasts push against his torso and the friction that caused her nipples to harden. In fact, her blouse had gotten damp as it brushed against his dripping shirt and that seemed to enhance the sensitivity of her bosom, centred around the nipples. When she undressed him and took the towel to his muscular body, wiping his chest and his arms, her heart began beating faster and she had felt a flush spread across her face and neck.

She behaved as though it was the most natural thing to do when she stripped him of his trousers and began towelling down his thighs and lower limbs. But she was very mindful of the bulge in his underwear, even though he was cold and limp. In one crazed moment, the thought of peeling off his briefs had crossed her mind but, as she thought later, sanity prevailed and she sent him off for a warm water shower instead. Even then, she had knowingly left the bathroom door open a fraction, hoping to feast her eyes on his masculine nudity.

That day, after the rain had stopped in the late afternoon, Maitri went home in a very pensive frame of mind. She realised that although she had not touched Hans' body with her hands, only with the towel, she had craved the idea of feeling his bare body; had wanted it desperately, in fact.

She was surprised at how her body ached for that touch. Having married early in life, like all the women in her part of the world, she had now raised two daughters to adulthood, given them an education, and hoped they would do well in life. Soon after the younger one was born, her husband had stopped having sex with her even though she knew that he had other women. For all these years since then, she had not allowed another man to touch her even though many had propositioned her. She had, through the decades, maintained a relatively attractive body because of the physical labour that her jobs entailed.

She had, in fact, abhorred the local men that approached her; had a great disdain for them. Which is why she was surprised at her feelings towards the young foreigner whom she served as an employee. He didn't look so much like a foreigner though; tanned brown skin like smooth leather, long dark black hair, brown eyes... he could have been any of those handsome young locals from the city college. But long forgotten emotions and desires were surfacing in her and she couldn't understand why. Yes, he was a good man and never took advantage of her like so many of the locals had tried, but that didn't explain her lust-filled infatuation; not at her age.

The following weekend, she didn't go to Hans' apartment; she'd told the gardener to pass on a message to him saying she was going out of town for a couple of days and would resume her duties on the following Monday. Actually, she'd been too scared of herself, not trusting how she might behave in his presence. She stayed alone at home over Saturday and Sunday while her daughters went to visit their father in the neighbouring town. Although she told everyone that asked - especially potential and actual employers - that she was married and her husband worked in a hotel, all the people in her immediate neighbourhood knew that they had separated almost ten year ago.

She struggled all week with her thoughts; especially when she went to Hans' flat to clean and cook while he was away at the office. She touched his clothes, smelt them, and felt the blood rush through her veins as her pulse quickened. She found herself one day, last Friday in fact, looking at her reflection in his full-length bedroom mirror as she folded the washed and ironed underwear before putting them away in his wardrobe. She let the drape of her saree fall off her shoulder and looked at the buxom swell of her breasts, taking one hand and unthinkingly toying with her nipples as they grew hard.

Maitri put away Hans' clothes and sat down on his bed, facing the mirror. Without conscious thought, she brought both hands to her boobs and began to knead them gently through the tight-fitting blouse. She pinched and pulled at her nipples, reminding herself of how hard and long they could get when she was aroused. She knew she was wet between her thighs as she stood up and looked at the curvature of her waist; the wide expanse of naked flesh below her short blouse and the top of her dress where it was tucked in to the underskirt. The deep navel, embedded in the middle of her upper abdomen, was darker than her coffee-complexioned skin and seemed to wink back at her. She let her eyes roam over the voluptuous hips as it expanded below her waist and then the contoured thighs tapered down towards her knees; the saree hugged her tight before the folds flared out and the pleats fell to the floor.

Maitri was pleased with what she saw; maybe a few extra pounds on the hips but otherwise she had a good figure. She knew she could be attractive to men if she tidied her hair and maybe applied a bit of makeup. Sitting down on the bed again, still facing her reflection, she brought her hands back to her breasts and felt the fullness against her palms, the rigid stiffness of her nipples pushing against the blouse. Her fingers found the tiny clasps that held the blouse together in front and she began undoing the four hooks from top to bottom. She then pushed a hand deep into the right cup of her 38DD brassiere and scooped out one large breast, feeling the succulent fleshiness in her hand. She took the stiff nipple between her thumb and index finger and twirled it, the pain adding to her pleasure as she tugged at the stony resilience of the nub.

She felt the heft of her breast, proud of its fullness even though the weight caused it to sag just a little bit. She pulled down the other cup of her bra, freeing her left boob as well and then used both hands to massage the tits in a gentle, slow circular movement. She saw the dark round aureola as her fingertips grazed over the tiny pimply bumps that had erupted over the surface; they were a shade darker than the protuberant nipples. She imagined Hans in front of her as she shut her eyes and pictured his mouth over her breasts, sucking the stiff teats as his large hands pawed and mauled her mammaries. Her fingers were almost violently twisting and pinching the nipples, so intense was her craving; she tweaked and pulled till her tightly closed eyes began to water from the hedonistic masochism that she was inflicting on herself.