Growing up in a small rural village in Southern India, life was fairly simple. As with most of rural India, the activities of our womenfolk were restricted to home chores and tending to the cows and goats. We were never allowed to leave the house after sunset and our movements were closely watched by the village elders. Even though I was eighteen, men and women never mingled outside the four walls of their homes.
The men, on the other hand enjoyed the sort of freedom us women could never dream of having. They could roam the fields and the countryside as they wished. The only area that was forbidden to them was the bathing canal used by the women. Like most other girls my age, I had always wanted to enjoy that freedom, to do as I wanted without the fear of whispers that would ultimately lead to the fall of my family's so called honour.
Innocent as I still was, I had started to develop certain urges that were sometimes so strong that it took an immense amount of willpower not to attempt to satisfy them. But at times I would succumb to them and allow the occasional rubbing of my palm over my mound through my thin cotton skirt although I would be quick to retract that hand. I was taught that it was wrong.
Our walks to the canal and back every day were something that I had always looked forward to. It was the only time that we got to see what lay beyond the vast fields of paddy. Traveling in large groups, we would strip down to nothing, enjoying the reprieve from the cool water. We did this in confidence, knowing or rather thinking that they weren't being watched. There, I would get to see women of all ages and breasts of different shapes and sizes and I would compare those to mine, consoling myself that mine weren't the smallest.
On one of these trips, I had wanted to urinate and being a shy girl even amongst so many women, I walked a little distance from the opposite bank until I found a spot behind some bushes. After relieving myself, I decided to walk around and explore the area a little as I had seldom been to this side of the bank. Covered in thick forest, I noticed that I could watch the women bathe without the risk of getting caught, although there wasn't any really. Standing at that vantage point, butterflies started to flap their wings within my flat stomach and those familiar urges could be felt creeping swiftly to the surface.
These urges were quickly subdued when all of a sudden I could hear a muffled giggle some distance from me, between the river and where I now stood. Stealthy as I could be, I tiptoed in the direction of the river, making sure not to rustle any leaves and hid behind a bush the moment the boys came into site. There, kneeling behind a thick row of bushes, three teenage boys from our village looked on over the helm of the thickets, taking in the site of nearly all the women from our village, unknowingly displaying all their wares to these boys.
At first, I was gripped by a strong sense of anger, knowing that they were not supposed to be here. But something about the way they sat behind those bushes captured my interest. Shaking rhythmically were their hands, as if pumping something in front of them. I then noticed that while one of them had his shorts pulling down enough to display a part of his ass crack, the other two had their shorts around their knees. Wearing no shirts, these two were practically naked.
It was only when one of them moved and turned his body to one side that I saw what was in their hands. His head leaned back, his face contorted, the thrusting of his hand increased until a thick load of milky cream spurted out of his cock and dripped down the shaft. It was the first time I had seen a man's privates. I noticed the brown colour of his rod, the curve and finally the head, glistening with his spunk. Those urges were starting to return.
Not wanting to get caught by them, I silently treaded backwards until I felt I was at a safe distance to run further down the river and towards the group to expose their presence. But when I climbed down and reached the middle of the shallow canal, I could not get myself to tell either my mother or my sisters. At first I felt a sudden pang of guilt at having seen those boys like that. It then dawned on me that I wanted to watch more and actually regretted leaving so soon.
That night as we lay in our beds in pitch blackness, I found my hand making its way down towards my crotch and I was unable to stop it. I rubbed there gently over my skirt, feeling a warm, satisfying feeling starting to emanate from that spot. Not wanting to wake the others, I let my hands stay on my thighs as my wrists bunched up folds and fold of my thin skirt until I could feel the helm within reach and pulled it above my waist.
Returning my right hand to my forbidden spot, I let my fingers roam through the soft hair and between the folds, finding myself wet. A finger slipped into my tight hole while my thumb lightly flicked over my clitoris sending pleasant chills down my spine and towards that very area. My hand started to work faster and I could almost hear the wetness from down there when the silence was suddenly pierced by a sharp cough that made me jump out of my skin. My skirt soon covered my legs and I fell asleep shortly after.
