Some men are born to make multiple women happy. While most end up making a few women unhappy. I believe I fall in the former category -- men like me who never get married. Yes, my shrink says I've a commitment phobia, but hey, his wife is happy with me. But then that's another story, altogether. Today I want to talk about Meena.
I met Meena when I was working for a tech company in Santa Clara, California. Working is really used in a loose sense here, for I used to work from home three days a week -- even in the pre-COVID times. And let's say, I wasn't one of those workaholics, or ambitious guys; plus being born relatively smart (yeah, modesty!) I could get my work done in 2-3 hours a day, leaving me with pretty much the whole day to do what I wished.
It wasn't unusual for me to go for a run at 2PM on a workday. In fact, it was on one such run, I first saw Meena. Now let me be upfront -- I love Indian women. I think many, if not most, of them are sexy - not in the traditional, "blonde Western concept of sexy" way, but in a graceful, intelligent, well-behaved, exact opposite of the "bad girl" way sexy. Demure, and somewhat shy, Meena fit the stereotype to the T. As I was stepping out for a run, I saw her trying to push a stroller -- she was a young mom, did I tell you -- with a months old baby up a ramp while on a phone, talking somewhat animatedly, but quite aware that she was in public space. She was speaking in her local language, and I could not understand a word of it. She was struggling to push the stroller up, with not much success, so I stepped up to give her a hand. But she abruptly cut the call with a "I'll call you later," in heavily accented English, and pushing the phone into her jeans pocket, took control of the stroller, politely declining my help.
While she was on the phone, and distracted, I had taken a measure of her. She was just over five feet tall, on the slim side, but with some post pregnancy weight, and what her tight sweater (she was wearing one even in the summer for some reason) indicated a 34C breasts (I pride at guessing the size of women's breasts through their clothes, and as a single man who has had my share of women, I have to say, I'm quite good at it). She was more fair than dusky, with lovely brown eyes, and thin lips.
"Thanks," she said, averting her eyes, as she hurried away from me. We bumped into each other randomly over the next few days, and I realized she lived practically next door (although there was one apartment between ours), and that she didn't really talk to strangers. But I still smiled at her every time we crossed paths, just to get an awkward acknowledgement as she quickened her pace. And with every such encounter, I was getting more interested in her. Yup, that's me.
But it wasn't easy. There was just no opening, as she swiftly closed all metaphorical doors on my face. Then again, I wasn't looking for easy and I had time on my side (by all indications, they had just moved in, and will have at least a 10 month lease). One day, though, I caught a lucky break. And it was to change our relationship -- if you could call it that.
As I headed towards my apartment, passing hers, I saw her standing outside, with a worried look on her mind. I stopped and asked her if everything was alright.
"I got locked out," she said, "I thought I had taken the keys, but I hadn't. I tried calling my husband but he is not taking calls, or responding to my texts."
"You could try the property office, they should be able to open it for you," I suggested.
"Umm. We're subletting from a friend, so I don't know ... " she said, clearly worried.
But this was progress. It was more words than we had spoken in weeks of interactions.
"You could wait at my place if you want," I offered, the gentleman that I am.
"Do you have a family?" she asked.
"No," I smiled, "but hey, we'll keep the door open."
"Oh no, I didn't mean to ..." she trailed off, as I started smiling.
"Come on, you don't want to be stranded out with that tiny fella. I'm Rick, your neighbor."
"Thanks. I'm Meena. We're new here. And I don't know too many people here yet."
"Now you know me", I said, pointing the way, "come."
She deliberated for a minute, and then probably thought I'm OK, and followed me. As we walked into my apartment, I asked her if she'd have some tea. She declined, but asked for some water instead.
"I will just get changed," I said, pointing at my drenched clothes, "please make yourself at home."
When I came back a few minutes later, changed into a T-shirt and shorts, she was frantically texting.
"It will take him at least two hours to be back home," she said, looking apologetic.
"It's fine. You can hang around as long as you need to. If you like to read, I have tons of books," I said pointing to the bookshelf in the corner.
She perked up at that, and walked towards it like a boy walking towards a candy jar.
"Wow, that's some collection!" she explained, picking up Zadie Smith's On Beauty. "I love Zadie Smith, although I've not read this one", she said. So the lady doth talk, eh!
"Oh, it's her best, in my opinion. You can borrow it if you want."
She settled down into the couch with the book, her baby in a stroller next to hers, peacefully asleep.
We talked a bit about her. She was a commerce graduate, but loved arts. She had got married two years back, after her parents back home were getting worried about her marriage prospects, and had come to the "states" with her husband who had been here for a few years.
"I used to work back home, and I was quite career minded. So they were worried I'd be past the prime age," she explained. "Quite a common sentiment where I come from."
"But you aren't old," I said. She was barely in her late twenties.
She blushed. Just then the kid woke up, and started crying.
She gave him a water bottle, but he pushed it away.
"It's his feeding time," she said, again apologetically.
"Oh, you could totally feed him here," I said with a poker face, "I've no problem".
A look of shock came on her face.
"Oh, I didn't mean here, in this room. Gosh. Please use my study," I said, pointing towards it.
She took the kid to the study, and locked the door. It was then that I realized that my laptop was open on the bed (I live alone, and I hate the auto screen-locking, so I have it disabled), with my newest erotic story open in MS Word. It was about a 20 year old girl doing a summer job at a community library getting fucked, in the library, by a mid aged man, after a discussion about the book he had come to return - Nabokov's Lolita - gets a bit, shall we say, out of control. A man who happened to have a lot of commonality with me in physical characteristics.
When she came out, one look at her face told me that she had seen it. I also noticed that after feeding her kid, she hadn't properly closed her shirt buttons, giving me a glimpse of cleavage. Surely, that wasn't intentional, I thought, my stare lingering a second longer than I intended. She noticed where I was looking and quickly closed her shirt opening, buttoning it up.
But while I was expecting her to get angry, her eyes almost had a look of longing. And I knew in that instance, that she wasn't getting much action. Trust me, when you are an unmarried man in his forties, you develop a sense for it.
*
"I should leave," she said.
"But where will you go?" I asked.
"I will take another walk with him, by that time Sameer, my husband, should be back."
"I think I know why you're leaving," I said.
