"Remember, Ashish! Clay's meteor shower party is tonight. Don't get too drunk at your PhD happy hour."
My wife Sarika reminded me for the tenth time in two days. It was starting to get a little annoying.
"Yeah, yeah, I know. I am not a goldfish." I said, putting my shoes on before heading to my university office.
Why exactly a spin class instructor was an authority on meteor showers and astronomy, I had no idea. But that's how all these Clay "cultists" as I jokingly liked to call them, tended to behave. Like not only was he an expert on cycling and other physical activity (he was an ex track athlete and a certified trainer in various disciplines), but also on astronomy, philosophy, politics, economics, the environment, love, morality...it seriously felt like a cult.
Part of it was Clay's personality. He was a big tall broad shouldered black man who reminded me of Idris Elba in both his looks and his charm. Almost like he was consciously trying to model himself after Idris. Even though he had grown up in Detroit, he spoke with a slight British accent from "all my years in ole blighty".
Joining his spin class had been a point of friction between us from the start. The thing is, I was on a grad student stipend in a midwestern state university. Sarika, who had joined me recently after our arranged marriage in India, could not work. She tried to get involved with other Indian spouses in the area, but their wavelengths never quite matched. The other wives talked about Indian soap operas and babysitting and school districts. We had postponed our family plans until I finished my doctorate and got a job. So there really was little in common.
Sarika was also different from the typical Indian grad student's wife in the US, in that she had been a very active social butterfly in India from what I heard. She was involved in classical dancing, singing, Rotary events, sports, and a bunch of other stuff. In a few weeks after our marriage, i realized that my wife was a very high energy individual and staying cooped up at home was starting to drive her crazy. She was a 25 year old woman, forced to be a housewife, with nothing to fill her days other than watching TV and reading books. Which really was not her nature.
So when she first showed me this video she came across on Instagram of a very energetic looking spin class, I was happy. At least she had finally found something about the US to get excited about. Otherwise everyday she had been whining about how she missed her life in India.
"That looks great." I said after the video ended.
"I want to join if you're okay with it."
"$50 per class."
"Whoa! Honey, you can use my university's gym for free. It's part of the grad student benefits."
Her face went glum. This was another thing she was having trouble getting used to. Budgeting our expenses. She came from a family that, while not filthy rich, was certainly well off enough that she had never been denied any wish. I could have afforded that lifestyle if I had stayed on in my job in India. And I would after my PhD. But for now, we had to make do with running the house in less than $2000 after taxes.
"It just looks so fun. The first class is free with a Yelp check-in. Could I do just that?"
Sighing, I nodded. I felt bad to deny her such simple pleasures.
The next couple of weeks, I was busy with some exam preparation, so I spent almost every waking hour in the office or library studying with other students. I only saw Sarika before and after bed. I did notice a regular addition of workout clothes in the laundry basket. So one morning, I asked her,
"Have you been going to the university gym? I saw all the clothes."
Her light Kashmiri skin immediately turned pink in embarrassment. Uh-oh, I knew that look.
"Ashu, don't be mad. I took that free spin class. And I really loved it and the people there. And when I mentioned I was a grad student's wife, they gave me a 50% discount. So...I went for 4 classes after that. Are you mad?"
I was a little annoyed, but also feeling a little guilty.
"$100 in 2 weeks...$200 a month...it's okay, Saru. We will manage. Just fewer uber-eats orders."
"Yes, yes, promise." she smiled happily.
After that, I kept getting more and more updates about the awesome Clay and all the awesome people there. I had only started by joking about it being a cult, but with each passing week, Clay seemed to be playing a bigger and bigger role in our lives.
It started with Clay motivational posters all over the house. Then an audio file of him chanting some buddhist hymns that we had to fall asleep to. A bunch of brochures. And additional socializing events. It seemed like the spin class had pretty much become her social life. And her social media was full of videos and pics from spin class. Which initially, I had been happy with. Finally I did not come home to an antsy wife whining about missing India, but rather filling me in about all the fun (and cheap) stuff she had been doing with Clay and her new friends.
So the first time I was invited to a Clay party a few months prior, I was curious and also nervous. I am not an extrovert by nature. If anything, the opposite. I am usually the shyest guy in the room. A big reason I gave up my tech job and went for a PhD was I liked the seclusion it gave me, just working on my own research. So meeting a party full of strangers, that too foreigners, was a little anxiety inducing for me. So I had a few too many at the PhD happy hour before the party.
When we reached Clay's place, it was a very sedate homely dinner party. I made a beeline for the coffee, but it was obvious to everyone that I had shown up a bit drunk. Some judgmental looks were exchanged. Which made me feel even more nervous. These were all people in tip top physical shape. I am no fatty, but my build is average. I could not carry off cycling shorts the way this 50 year old man genially talking to me was.
"I even find Clay's help useful in policy making on the city council." he said.
Almost every interaction had been similar to Sarika's gushing about Clay at home. This dude, apparently a city council member, relied on the man for political counsel! Was there anything the magic man could not do?
He had cooked an elaborate 7 course meal by himself and was serving it one at a time with some charming story. Dumplings from his travels in China, pasta from his backpacking in Italy, and so on. After the third course, he cornered me. I felt the imposing presence of the man. I am 5 ft 10, so not exactly short, but he towered over me. And his intense brown eyes pierced into mine as he said,
"I don't think we've met. You're Sar's husband, right?"
Sar? I wondered. They were on first syllable basis?
"Yes, I am Ashish." I shook hands with him. His palm almost engulfed mine.
"She is a real bundle of energy, huh?" he smiled.
"Very much so."
And for the next five minutes, we chatted and I realized why people were so taken with him. He seemed to know almost everything. Our conversation ranged from my research to politics to technology to soccer and every time, Clay made me feel like my opinion was very important to him.
He went back to the kitchen and I turned to face Andrea, a gorgeous woman of Colombian descent who was notionally Clay's Admin Assistant, but seemed more like his right hand woman. Almost like Ma Anand Sheela to his Osho. She was also charming and was wearing just the perfect neckline for me to get a constant peak at her ample cleavage. Sarika was busy in the kitchen helping clay. I was enjoying a few moments of boyish pleasure as this gorgeous woman spoke to me.
By the dessert course, I was feeling sleepy with the combination of all the drinks and the rich food, and I didn't realize when I passed out on a couch while having a dessert liquer.
When I came to, I was surprised to find myself in an Uber next to my wife.
"Whoa...what happened?"
"You passed out drunk." my wife's seething voice said in Hindi. "And Clay had to pick you up like a baby and bring you to the Uber."
"Oh fuck, I am so sorry."
"You should start coming to the class. It will improve your...stamina."
There was a sarcastic tone to her voice that I found challenging and also tough to handle.
We were husband and wife, sure, but the fact is, I barely knew the woman. We did meet a few times before getting married and had veto power in the match picked by our parents, so it was not a completely old fashioned blind arranged marriage. But we were in just our second year of marriage and just 6 months of living together by ourselves. We still weren't exactly "in love" and our rapport could get uncomfortable sometimes.
I often got the feeling I was not "alpha" enough for Sarika. She had not dated anyone before we married, coming from a reasonably orthodox family. So her ideas of romance were all from romance novels and movies, I realized. Very tall dark handsome types. And while I wasn't effete or anything, I was just a regular guy. Not a muscle bound giant who could dunk a shot standing. My preferred exercise was playing squash with one of my fellow students between research. The idea of being in the company of more people was unnerving, with my body issues.
I got the feeling that Sarika cared about her spin class cultists' opinion than mine. I however was the kind of person who would bottle it all up.
"Yeah, maybe." I said.
And I did attend a couple of classes. Clay was again very charming and friendly. But it was not my thing. At even at $25 a class, the money we were paying that cult started adding up.
So when this meteor shower party was announced, I was relieved that it didn't come with a cover charge. Sarika seemed really excited about it. She told me she was going to a friend's place before the party to get hair and make-up done, as if she were going to a wedding. I was to meet her directly at Clay's huge house at 10 PM. The peak of the meteors was going to be around 1:30 AM so I did indeed very much moderate my drinking.
But still, i got caught up in philosophical debate with a friend and it was almost 11 PM when I reached. On the way, I had checked Sarika's instagram and found it full of pictures from the party. Whoa! I had never seen her in a dress this short. And she was looking like a bombshell among bombshells!
At this point, I suppose I should describe my wife. She stands at about 5 ft 5, which is tall for an Indian woman. She has a very textbook curvy Indian body, with ample breasts. Much of my stipend was spent buying sports bras for those double D's. She is neither slim nor fat. And being physically active since childhood in sports, has a body to show for it. In the first few months after coming to the US, she had put on some pounds. But spin class had led to shedding them all. Her looks were a big reason she was hot property on the arranged marriage market in our community. I could not believe how hot she looked! I was hoping we could leave the party soon and I could take her home and ravage her.
Our sex life had been...okay I guess? We both came from backgrounds where dating was uncommon or at least frowned upon. She had been a virgin on our wedding night. I had only had sex twice before, when visiting Amsterdam for a work trip. As you can imagine, those two women in Amsterdam had not been my girlfriends.
So our sex life was also growing slowly like our rapport. I liked that Sarika never turned down my request for sex. She was not exactly a tigress in bed, but not shy either, which I liked. At about 6 inches and reasonably thick, I was sure that I was endowed reasonably well. And I could usually last well over 10 minutes my first time. And over half an hour the second time. From whatever I had read and seen online, our sex life was pretty good. While Sarika never quite gave me rave reviews, she seemed satisfied every time. Or so I thought then.
"Hey, Ash, you made it!"
Andrea, that mysterious right hand of the cult leader, opened the door to let me in. She was dressed in a very tight tube dress that barely hid anything. Entering the place with her, I noticed a very different vibe from the dinner party.
The lights were dim. There were way more people, almost two dozen. Smell of marijuana and other substances was in the air. In a corner, I saw someone preparing coke lines. And there were bottles and cans of booze everywhere.
"Where's Sarika?" I asked, trying to resist the intensely erotic scent wafting from Andrea.
"She's probably with Clay. Can I get you a drink?" she asked, leading me towards the bar.
