It was a hot summer morning. After my husband left for work and my twelve year old son left for school, I got to have my own breakfast and tea while reading the newspaper. My precious me time.
I was gathering my clothes to go to the bathroom when I looked out our bedroom window and saw what had recently become a familiar sight. Our neighbor across the street Mr. Reddy, who was referred to by everyone as Reddy Garu (a respectful honorific like San in Japanese). Since he had retired from a government job a few months ago, I often noticed him in his balcony or one of the windows, looking straight at or into our house.
I walked to the window and as I was closing the curtain, I happened to make eye contact with him and he gave me a nod and a smile. That Reddy Garu smile, always with a hint of a suggestion. I did not respond.
Having closed the curtains, ensured of privacy from his forever probing eyes, I took my clothes off and headed to the bathroom.
I took a long cold shower to cool off. We did not have air conditioning. Which was usually not a problem. But in recent years, summers had gotten really oppressive. My son and I kept asking my husband to let us buy an A/C. But he considers it an unnecessary indulgence. The truth is, we have been cash strapped for a while as my husband's business has struggled.
I stepped out, wrapped in a towel, even though I was home alone. Something I had only recently started doing. Because it felt like Reddy Garu was always perched there like a hawk, watching me. And in a creepy way. Like he was hoping to get a glimpse of me in a state of undress. And for all I knew, might already have. Our houses face each other and we have the large ventilating windows common to older Indian houses. I didn't always used to be this obsessed with closing curtains. And I often walked out naked to the bedroom after a shower when home alone. Not anymore.
I got dressed in a simple thin t-shirt, panties, shorts, and continued with my daily routine. First, unlock the door for the maid to come in and get working. It would only be her coming into the house so I didn't feel the need to wear a bra on this super hot day. Then start on lunch and other such chores.
I took out a bunch of vegetables and started chopping them. I stood such that I would not be easily visible to Reddy Garu. But I could still look out the window. For a recent guilty pleasure.
The road in front of our house was being widened and there were some daily wage laborers working hard for the past few days. Young lean muscular men in minimal clothing, sweat glistening off their taut dark skins, mmmm, eye candy. An Indian housewife doesn't typically get much fit male eye candy. I loved watching their muscular thighs under the short lungis, sometimes getting a glimpse of their undies. It gave me a thrill.
I also noticed, as an added bonus, that Reddy Garu wasn't in his usual perch. I felt comfortable to move a little, in front of the window. One of the laborers noticed the movement and looked at me. For a second. Then looked away. As did I. This had been happening for a few days. I knew they were checking me out just as I was checking them out. All from a respectful distance.
It had been five minutes of me slowly chopping vegetables while admiring the sexy male bodies when I heard the door open. I assumed it was the maid. She usually started with sweeping the living room. She wouldn't enter the kitchen for a while by our regular schedule.
So I was not really paying any attention to who was behind me when I suddenly heard,
"Enjoying the view?"
I almost cut myself in surprise because it was a male voice that had come from just a few feet behind me.
"Reddy Garu!! You almost gave me a heart attack!" I said, annoyed.
"The door was open." he said and calmly stood there in my kitchen, giving me that weird smile.
"Yes, I keep it open for the maid." I put an extra emphasis on the last word, to signal that it was not okay for him to just walk into my house and sneak up behind me.
But such comments were like water off a duck's back when it came to him. We had been neighbors for almost five years now, since we bought this house. And he's always had that shameless sleazy uncle persona. Always making inappropriate jokes or comments. But he was connected and wealthy so no one really called him out.
"You didn't answer my question." he said, sitting on a stool near me without invitation.
"What question?"
"You enjoy looking at those men, don't you? I've noticed."
My ears got red as they often do when I'm embarrassed or upset and right now I was both. Yes, I did enjoy gawking at those men. But for a man almost twice my age to be saying this sitting so close was a bit....forward!
"I have no idea what you're talking about." I said. "Did you need something?"
And as soon as I said it, I regretted the phrasing, because I knew he would jump on the chance to make a suggestive comment. And he did.
"What I really need, I don't know if you can give me, haha. But my wife needs some peanut oil if you can spare it."
That smile got extra leery. This wasn't the first time he had made comments like that. He had a bit of a reputation in the neighborhood as a compulsive lecher. Even the husbands were aware.
But Reddy Garu was not someone people wanted to have confrontations with. He was well connected, wealthy, and also physically, an imposing figure. And a loud talkative and dominant personality.
"Yes, sure."
As I walked to the pantry door to give him an extra bottle of oil, his eyes followed me. And he wasn't looking at my face.
"You look absolutely like a bombshell today." he added and I reflexively blushed. I had no bra on and it was a sweaty hot day. I knew why I looked like a bombshell. The fabric sticking to my boobs. But I didn't say anything.
The thing is, other than my husband on special occasions, no one has ever paid me compliments on my looks. I'm not ugly. And I have no self image issues. But honestly, I'm not the kind of woman that gets compliments or extra attention from men. It's not like I'm disfigured or obese or anything. I'm just your average looking 35 year old Indian housewife. Not pretty not ugly, not fat not thin, my mom would describe me as to people.
Which is why Reddy Garu has always made my heart race a bit. I'm simply not used to handling compliments from men. Or flirtations. I never had a boyfriend in school or college, had an arranged marriage, had a kid quickly and had settled into that homemaker role for over a decade now. At 35, I'm still inexperienced in how to handle male interest.
"You can take this bottle." I said, keeping it on the counter instead of handing it to him.
"There's nothing to be ashamed about if you like admiring those men. You admire them. I admire you. I wonder, do you admire me?"
"Reddy Garu, please! What are you saying? I'm a married woman! You're a married man!"
I mustered up as much outrage as I could and glared at him. He seemed taken aback, because I'm usually a soft spoken person, even when he's been suggestive in the past. This was the first time I had raised my voice at him.
But the smile returned.
"You're in the sexual prime of your life, my dear. I'm just saying there is nothing wrong with an adult woman having a roving eye. And needs. I've seen how late you husband works. I know his business is going through a rough phase."
I glared at him angrily, but the anger was more at how right he was than anything else.
He took a few steps towards me. Wait, is he going to make a physical pass at me? No one had ever done that except in crowded buses or trains. But he just picked up the bottle and said,
"I'm retired. I have a lot of free time in the day. So do you. And trust me, I won't disappoint."
My heart skipped a beat as I registered the smell of his sweat and the heat radiating from his burly body while he made me a proposition. I hated myself for not being repulsed by the suggestion.
The truth is, I had always felt at least somewhat of a reciprocal primal attraction towards this obnoxious bear of a man. Something about his Alpha-ness seemed to call out to the cave-woman in me. But not on a personal level. He was brash, rude, loud, and repulsive in terms of a personality. And yet. Sigh.
"Reddy Garu, please, I'm a married woman. A mother."
"Motherhood enhances the libido, my dear."
He was waiting for a response when we heard the sound of some footsteps. It was the maid.
"Memsaab, I need more phenyl."
She looked at Reddy Garu for a second and then at me, with a neutral expression.
"I should get going. Just think about it." he said, and then flashing me another creepy smile and a wink, he left.
With the maid there, I got busy supervising her work, but Reddy Garu's brazen proposition kept dominating my thoughts in the background.
The primary reaction was outrage. How dare he just walk in and make a pass at me like that. The next reaction was panic. He was a well connected man. My husband was a hot headed man. If I told my husband, there would be a fist fight for sure. And if I didn't tell him, then for the first time in our marriage, I would be hiding something from him. Which brought guilt.
And there was also the guilt of the fact that a small but vocal part of me was actually thinking about it. Just a few seconds at a time. And then I would scold myself for even entertaining such thoughts.
But as the week progressed, I found myself imagining how it would be. We had been going through a particularly lean phase in the bedroom, partly because he was too busy or too stressed. The last time we had sex was a couple of months ago, and even that was a tired quickie. My husband was so caught up in the current work crisis that we had not really had a real conversation in weeks.
A couple of days later, I was walking back from some grocery shopping, carrying several heavy bags. I saw Reddy Garu from a distance, standing in his balcony. And then he disappeared. And reappeared from his gate, taking long strides in my direction.
"Let me help you. This look heavy."
"No, it's fine." I protested in vain.
A couple of minutes later, I was putting the groceries away with my heart pounding as Reddy Garu made himself comfortable at the dining table.
"Make some tea." he ordered as if I were his maid. But I complied. He stared at me as I started the tea.
"So have you given my proposal any thought?"
"No." I said a little too quickly and emphatically.
Maybe he detected my lie because he moved a bit closer.
"I'm good at it. And well hung. And I will be very discreet."
He was making such a strong case. But my upbringing was still holding me back. I simply blurted,
"Reddy Garu please don't do this. Please don't do this."
I might have sobbed a bit. He sighed and left.
A few days went by.
Another morning, I walked into the bedroom to close the curtains. Reddy Garu was there as usual. But I paused because something looked different. He was dressed in a bathrobe. He saw me and nodded.
And then he opened his robe.
As an adult Indian woman, I've had more dicks flashed at me in public than I could count. This was the first one that, after looking away instantly, made me look back.
He had not been lying. His semi erect penis hanging off the white bush of pubic hair was clearly substantial. I closed the curtains. Terrified that he would come over again. In the bathrobe.
But his purpose had been served. He had now planted in my head, the image of what I could have, discreetly, if I chose. I started thinking of it more and more and even masturbated a couple of times imagining how it would feel.
And then something happened that put a temporary brake on Reddy garu's campaign on me. His wife had a heart attack. She was hospitalized and he was there with her.
It was a bit of a relief not having him in the window or the balcony all the time. I got to ogle the laborers as much as I wanted. But I kept thinking of him.
A couple of weeks later, as good neighbors should, my husband and I went to the hospital for a visit. I was dressed as conservatively as possible so as to not tempt him. But I wasn't prepared for how his mind worked.
He played the concerned husband for the most part, giving me a couple of winks only. She was asleep the whole time. But as we were wrapping up our visit, he played his game. He asked my husband,
