Babu sat up. An idea that might work flashed upon him. He considered it from every angle. He found no flaw. Like all good solutions it was simple. It was based on the age-old barter principle. He worked on it and after two days got it all down on paper. He read the note with hope more than satisfaction. He waited for an opportunity to spring it on his unsuspecting spouse. He got his chance the next day itself.
* * *
Babu problem was as old as mankind, and its cause as old as womankind—his wife's determination to thwart him when he wanted to have sex. Babu's sixth-ninth birthday was seven days away and early signs that his tap would soon run dry were evident. He was desperate to squeeze as much as possible in the time remaining, but his wife obstructed at every step. Even at this age Babu believed he was capable of delivering three orgasms, but alas, not always. There was a time less than a decade ago when he had just to click his thumb and a masterful hard-on would appear. Nowadays it was becoming more difficult to prime himself to the task. And to his eternal sorrow there were occasions, sadly not few, when he had to abort the show half way owing to instrument failure. Even more poignant, at times it refused in spite of wicked and wickeder fantasying, to rise to the occasion.
He tried various solutions, but with little success. Blue films as a source of stimulation were disappointing. From the moment the titles display was over men and women were doing it incessantly to the sound of moaning. These men seemed to hold on interminably, and Babu had a strong suspicion that either they were using surface anaesthetics, or their organs were rubber attachments. After a few minutes he was so bored that he stopped the show. He wished these producers would take scripts like those he had in his mind where the story reinforced the sex scenes, and the sex theme complemented the story.
He tried erotic literature, but he found them inferior to his fantasies. Erotic images were better, but not significantly so. He downloaded images of many attractive women in various stages of disattire from the Internet and had them secreted in a sub-sub folder. It did not take much to imagine the snorting and sneering that would ensue if his wife (whose computer savvy did not extend beyond receiving and sending emails) were to click on these files accidentally. When his wife was away on one of her many social service activities he spent a lot of time classifying these photos under various subheadings. Very imaginative were the titles: 'Hills and Dales' was one, 'Allure' was another, 'Cornucopia' was yet another, and then there was on called 'Mewing'. No prizes however are offered for guessing the subject matter of this last mentioned file. In spite of all the pleasure he got out of his computer he graded it only slightly higher than erotic literature.
What then was it that really turned him on? This where his wife came in. What he needed was something simple, something homely, something quite readily attainable, and something absolutely in the rules book—the sight of his dear wife Mona going about her tasks in the house in the nude in undimmed light conditions. Was this an unreasonable demand? With doors closed and curtains drawn of course. But Mona never obliged. 'I am not a harlot,' she said and that was that. Babu groaned. He wished he knew enough of Sanskrit to quote the poem that defined a perfect wife so succinctly. It said that a perfect wife is one who is as patient as Mother Earth, as beautiful as the goddess Lakshmi, as wise as a minister, and as pleasing to her husband as a courtesan.
Mona was ten years his junior. She was attractive, and when she had dyed her hair she did not appear a day older than fifty. She was lively, and had the impishness of a teenager. She was friendly and outgoing and popular with men and women, old, and young, and when in the mood quite flirtatious. At home however she chose to wear the cap of a prude.
"Spontaneity, Mona, that what arouses me," he often told her. "From time to time you must take the initiative the way I do. Cuddle me when I act as if I am having a headache, and by various physical enticements like undressing, lying naked on me, rubbing me wherever you choose with your pussy and so on and so forth make me do it." She either pretended as if she heard him not or counterattacked.
"You seem to be forgetting that we are now grandparents. Merely because we live alone we cannot behave like honeymooners." Then will come the punch line. "I wish you had shown this same enthusiasm when we were young." This was her King of trumps. It hurt. Babu knew and Mona knew, and Mona knew that Babu knew that she knew that when he was young Babu was a veritable tiger when it came to sex. But how to refute such a blatant misstatement? Babu fumed and fretted and the female Machiavelli, having done the mischief, disappeared into the kitchen, but not before playing the ace: "When I was spontaneous in those days you were shocked."
The painful thing was that she knew exactly what he desired. On those rare days when she was hot she did what she had to do to get her needs fulfilled. How to get her hot? Therein lay the secret to eternal happiness. Her mind was constantly on other things. First there was this whirl of social activity she was involved in, called charity work, but really gossip sessions. Then there was this habit of her to allow the trivial problems involved in running the house to divert her. At times in the afternoon, when in a placid mood, Mona allowed Babu to rub his cheeks against her arm. Some fondling followed, and just when Babu hopefully prepared for a soft transition into the next phase the wheels would come off.
"Babu, you must call the Water Works engineer and tell him to increase the pressure in our mains." And that was the end of Babu's plans for the afternoon.
* * *
The idea came to Babu quite suddenly. It was a pippin. But would it work? Babu got his chance to try it a day later.
"I need a pair of broad Kerala type gold bangles," said Mona one evening after they had had tea. Babu was at the computer playing the Hearts game.
"Rather ostentatious designs, aren't they? You never fancied them."
"It has suddenly come into fashion. All my friends have it." That of course was reason enough.
"Certainly," he said. "I must check if you have earned the points."
"I don't get you," she said. "What points and who earns it. Are you OK?"
"I have instituted the barter system in our day to day life," I said. "Not for food, clothing and the like, but for essential luxuries. Your bangles come in that category. If I want to upgrade my computer for example you allow it only if I had earned points."
"Babu, are you OK."
"Of course I am."
"Then why are you blabbering?"
