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PRELUDE (the introduction)
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When Indra had her first orgasm at age 18, she was standing in the shallow end of her aunt's pool, looking up at her mother, who was standing at the pool's edge filling her in on the family's plans for the evening. Unknowingly, her mother was standing directly above one of the water circulator outlets, which was gently but firmly pulsing water at Indra's clit. Indra was quite relieved when her mother finished her monologue and returned inside the house, because moments later she felt a strange but wonderful sensation roll through her body, causing her back to spasm and her legs to buckle beneath her, which was just as well since it helped muffle the involuntary moan of equal parts confusion and pleasure. Indra's somewhat sheltered upbringing prevented her from immediately understanding what had happened, but some quick research at the library helped her understand what she had experienced. And spending a good part of the rest of her stay at her Aunt's hovering in the shallow end of the pool helped her decide her life's calling. She wanted to learn everything - EVERYTHING - about the human body.
Much to Indra's father's delight, when Indra headed off to University she boldly declared that she was going to become a doctor. This was a relief to both her parents; Indra's brothers had eschewed the family business so with Indra they could claim at least one doctor in the family to carry on the tradition. It also meant that Indra's foolish notion of becoming a musician was going the way of all childish pursuits. Indra was quite accomplished on several instruments, but guitar was her first love. But that first love now played second fiddle (so to speak) to her new passion: the human body.
Fourteen years after her very first orgasm, during which time she graduated near top of her class at Uni, applied to and was accepted at a top-tier medical school in the US, and completed her degree and residency, Indra was a well-respected neurologist at a large metropolitan hospital.
She had also blossomed into a lovely woman. She stood five and a half feet tall, with golden brown skin and lustrous black hair, which she mostly wore in a ponytail. Her look was decidedly plain at work; she wore no makeup, dressed modestly under her ubiquitous lab coat, and still sported flat shoes, despite the fact that she had graduated from dashing around wards to spending much of her time at her desk or in examination rooms. Indra had an engaging personality and was well-liked. She wasn't turning heads at work, and that was how she liked it.
Outside of work, however, Indra was a completely different person. Even through medical school, Indra continued to play guitar, mastering a wide variety of techniques. For fun, she auditioned for an all-girl metal band and ended up landing the spot as their rhythm guitarist. It wasn't the most challenging gig for her, consisting mostly of pounding out power chords at breakneck speed, but the simplicity of her playlist gave her enough time to continue to practice the other styles she enjoyed playing. Her band gigged mostly in the suburbs - too much competition in the big city - and was made up of other professionals like her who saw the band as a hobby and an outlet. It was unlikely anyone she knew at work would ever end up wandering in to one of her shows, and even if they did, they'd likely not recognize her. On-stage she typically wore a white glitter wig, black spandex, and heavy makeup. Her own mother would not have recognized her from farther than three feet away.
Indra's love of physical pleasure that started serendipitously in her aunt's pool years earlier had also blossomed. She loved sex. Sex with men, sex with women, sex with toys, sex with herself. And, like her guitar playing, she treated it like an artform, one she could practice like only an energetic and creative young woman with a doctoral-level understanding of the human nervous system could. She never engaged in group sex - she felt it was a waste of time, diluting the experience. Done right, every sensation in a sexual encounter should be savored, like 30-year-old scotch or the scent of flowers after a rainstorm. Done wrong, sex was a waste of time, calories, and bodily fluids.
Indra chose partners carefully, but with an open mind, both for the individual and the circumstances of the encounter. She considered herself a connoisseur of sex, not a slut. Which is why she felt no guilt nor discomfort with her own behavior one evening after a gig, sitting on the edge of a sink in the men's bathroom of the Motor Club, with the cock of a guy she had met an hour earlier deep inside her.
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ALLEGRO (lively, fast)
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A nice-looking, slightly shy man in his mid 30's approached Indra after the gig, simply to tell her how much he enjoyed watching her play. He had no agenda. Indra was drenched in sweat and figured she looked somewhat ghastly, and smelled worse, so it was not likely some uncontrollable physical attraction that led him to the stage where she was breaking down her gear.
"You guys were great," he said simply. "Metal is usually all noise, but you were playing actual music." Indra smiled. If this was a pickup line, then insulting the genre of the band's music, despite the attached compliment, would not have been endearing. There seemed to be no pretense in the comment. Just appreciation of the night's entertainment. "Anyway, thanks."
He turned to leave, and Indra gave him a quick look up and down. Tall, just over six feet. Nicely dressed, but not flashy. Thin, but not skinny, with an athletic build. She looked at his hands - long, strong-looking fingers. Indra knew the importance of fingers, humankind's magic wands from which all sorts of sensual miracles were crafted.
"Buy me a drink," she called after him.
The next 30 minutes was what Indra referred to as the frog-kissing period. She hadn't made up her mind to do anything with this guy yet. Running headlong into a sexual encounter with no idea about your partner was foolish. On the other hand, it didn't take 5 weeks of dating to determine if you could have some fun. There were a few, but important, criteria. Physical attraction - your partner needn't be a model, but you had to enjoy looking at them (or at least parts of them in a pinch). Confidence, without arrogance. More than anything, they needed to be a good listener - this meant that they actually gave a crap about you and were more likely to pick up on subtle and not-so-subtle cues that would enhance the pleasure of both parties involved. Since Indra was open-minded, she was inclined to give most men a chance, kissing the proverbial frog to see if he was a prince. Most of the time, she'd pleasantly but unambiguously end the conversation and move along.
But sometimes, she'd see something that would lead her to believe that she'd found a worthy partner. So, after the frog-kissing period came the soft-sell. Dropping hints and gauging reactions. Giving off subtle signals that there was the possibility of some fun to be had. She wasn't easy, but she could be very agreeable with the right person. They needed to be interested but not pushy, enjoying the banter, slowly testing the water to see whether this woman was a tease, a slut, or just a fascinating woman who played a solid rhythm guitar. Most never got past the soft-sell, and that was fine with Indra. Quality over quantity.
On that night, the earnest fellow with the sexy fingers had all the right reactions. He laughed, but not nervously. He blushed when appropriate but flirted admirably. He had no idea when he approached this woman that he'd find her this attractive, but Indra had serious skills. She could turn on the charm, and turn on her quarry before they knew what hit them. Indra placed her hand on top of his and stroked his fingers. Strong, with soft skin and calloused fingertips. Not a laborer but worked with his hands somehow. She leaned in as if to kiss him but stopped a fraction of an inch shy. Looking him straight in the eyes, she extended her tongue and traced the outline of his lips and waited for his response. Without breaking eye contact, he guided Indra's hand and kissed her fingertips. A smile crossed her lips and she sighed. We have a winner, she thought.
"Come with me," she whispered urgently in his ear, grabbed his hand, and started off to the back of the club. The line to the ladies' room was three-deep but no one was standing outside the men's room. She walked in and took up position next to the one guy who was standing at a urinal, hands on her hips, sending out the international body-language signal for "hurry-up." He finished peeing and started for the door. "Hey!" she shouted. "Hands!" She was pointing at the sink. Her soon-to-be fuck-buddy laughed, while the guy did a quick wash and dry. Indra kicked the rubber wedge beneath the door to keep it closed.
A mischievous smile crossed Indra's lips, and she launched herself. He caught her, hands cradling her butt while she wrapped her legs around him, kissing him hard on the mouth. Not frantic, sloppy kisses, but kisses with purpose. Indra wanted him to feel the texture of her lips, smooth and pillowy. Her tongue probed, swishing the sensitive nerves on the inside of his lips. Indra's neurology training told her that those nerve endings were half-again as sensitive as those on the outside of his lips, which was an evolutionary trait that helped humans not unwittingly eat anything too acidic or spicy. She also knew it was a hot-button for most people. As if reading her mind, he gently pushed back on her tongue and s-l-o-w-l-y ran his tongue between her teeth and lips. She sighed loudly - I chose well, she thought to herself.
He was able to cradle Indra easily with one hand and with the other he cupped her breast, still contained in her lycra top and sports bra. His thumb found her hardening nipple and traced tiny circles, which earned him another satisfied sigh. She released her grip around his neck and started deftly opening the clasps on her latex pants. She motioned her head toward the sink and getting the hint he carried her over and deposited her on the edge, helping her strip off her pants, with Indra extracting a condom from her pocket before they fell to her ankles. She grabbed his belt buckle and pulled. In perfect synchrony, she unbuttoned his jeans as he pulled down his zipper. She grabbed the waistband of his boxers, pulled them toward her and then released.
They paused. His cock wasn't huge, 7 inches, maybe 7.5. But it was beautiful. Smooth, cut, pulsing up and down with his heartbeat, straining skyward. His pubic hair was trimmed short, but not meticulously - hygiene rather than manscaping, she concluded. Indra reached down and cradled the shaft in her hand, feeling it twitch up and down. She licked the thumb of her other hand and placed it below the crown of his cock, turning gentle circles just as he had done with her nipple. He licked his thumb and placed it on her clit and matched the slow circling motion. His index finger grazed the outer edge of her slit, feeling the wetness. He raised his finger to his lips, closed his eyes, and moaned softly.
Indra tore open the condom with her teeth and with practiced precision, slid it over and down his throbbing cock. With one hand on his cock, she placed her other hand on his butt and pulled softly. As she guided him to his pussy she leaned up and whispered in his ear, "Easy ..."
"... does it," he finished her guidance.
He entered her agonizingly slowly, both of them savoring the sensation of his penis pushing her open. Further and further, until their pubes were touching, she pulled him. Buried deep inside her they paused. Indra pulsed her vaginal muscles around his cock once, twice, three times, then she closed and held him there, letting him feel her strength and tightness. She wanted him to know who he was with: a woman who understood pleasure, who knew what she was doing.
