The Awakening Of Sunita Sharma

The Awakening of Sunita Sharma - Another Love Story

Aidan's parents are friends with three other couples, including Shankar Sharma and his wife Sunita. Aidan has grown up around Sunita and he is utterly besotted with her as only a post-adolescent can be with a very attractive older lady. So when Sunita's husband dies unexpectedly, he is faced with a life-changing opportunity.

A note on the Crown Prosecution Service. The CPS is the main prosecuting authority in England and Wales. It works closely with, but is independent of, all agencies in the criminal justice system including the police.

The story is a bit of a slow burner but I hope you enjoy it and look forward to comments.

Sylviafan, June 2025

My parents are outgoing and gregarious people and they have lots of friends, but there are three couples that they are particularly close to, who all live a few streets away from each other. It's easy to see why they're friends with these couples; they are all professionals of similar ages with similar tastes in music and films and books and politics. The men all belong to the local golf club and they play together every Saturday morning, rain or shine. The women get together in one of their houses every Sunday evening and play contract bridge for hours and get mildly plastered on supermarket wine.

Firstly there are the Morgans, just around the corner on Hazel Avenue. Bryn and his wife Olwen are financial advisors; they have their own business. It's rather touching, really, they've been sweethearts since school and neither of them has ever slept with anyone else, according to my dad. They've got two daughters, Eleanor and Sophie. I went to school with Eleanor and we had a bit of a fling in the sixth form but history didn't repeat itself. She's married with a kid, now.

Then there are the Dickinsons, a bit further up Hazel Avenue. Tony Dickinson is a university lecturer in economics and his wife Amanda is a maths tutor. They've got a son called Matthew. He went to the same school as me, too, but he was a few years older so we weren't really friends. I say hello to him if I see him and once or twice we've had a drink together.

Lastly, but not least, there are the Sharmas, who live on Whitebeam Drive, on the edge of the estate. Shankar is a lawyer, like me. He owns half of a thriving practice with his younger brother. His wife is Sunita and she doesn't work, which is odd because they don't have children; apparently Sunita can't conceive, according to my mum. My mum says it's a bit of a cultural thing and dad says she's just lazy. And that's not true because she does a load of volunteering with various charities and she drives the mobile library van around. I suppose they just don't need the money. Sunita is quite a bit younger than her husband and she is fucking hot! The other thing about Sunita is that she seems to be completely unaware of how fucking hot she is.

Just to complete the introductions, my mum and dad are Catherine and Toby White. Dad's a structural engineer and mum's a pharmacist. I'm Aidan, their oldest son and I'm a lawyer working for the Crown Prosecution Service. I'm twenty-five and unattached and living in a flat in the city centre, close to where I work. I've got a kid brother, too, David.

To get straight to the point, I have also got a bit of a post-adolescent fixation for older ladies, more specifically ladies in their forties or fifties. I probably wouldn't turn down an offer from a horny sixty-year-old either. Not that I've had any offers, I might add, from anyone outside my age bracket that is. It's all been unfulfilled fantasy.

I don't have a steady girlfriend, never have done. Instead I have a large circle of female friends and acquaintances and I migrate between them as they become available from other relationships, sometimes lasting a week, sometimes only a night or two. It's a bit 1960s, Summer of Love and all that scene. I'm aware that it's not particularly commendable behaviour for a young professional but it hurts no one and I'm sure I'll settle down with a nice girl eventually and we'll get married and have two children and so on.

In the meantime I enjoy a varied and stimulating sex life, but always in the back of my mind is the vision of an older woman. An attractive, experienced, mature woman. A lioness who can take me to the next level, sexually. Inevitably, I base these fantasies on the women of that age who I come into contact with regularly. More specifically the female side of those four couples that are such good friends.

I do mean four couples because I include my mother in my imaginary harem. She meets all my selection criteria nicely: early fifties, good-looking, trim figure. The fact that she is my mother just adds an additional spice to my dreams. In reality nothing will ever come of my attraction to her because she would not allow it. And if I'm honest, I don't think I would have the courage to try anything on with her, but I do fantasise about making love to her and she is included for completeness.

In third place in my imaginary harem is Amanda Dickinson, the maths tutor and wife of Tony. Amanda's a bit willowy and ethereal with a slender body, small tits and wispy blonde hair. I don't see the lioness quality in Amanda but I do imagine myself dominating her in bed; making her suck my cock and throwing her down and thrusting into her, flipping her over and taking her from behind as she squeals beneath me.

In second place, and it's a close-run thing with first, is Olwen Morgan. Olwen's Welsh, like her husband Bryn, and she has the black hair and pale skin of a Celt. I reckon Olwen is red-hot in the sack; she's got a certain look about her, although that might be just wishful thinking. I can just see Olwen taking me in hand and completing my sexual education. Her other attributes include a sexy, curvy figure, big breasts and an impish sense of humour that could easily be misinterpreted as a come-on. In fact I once did interpret it as a come-on. It was at a garden party thrown by the Dickinsons, for the four couples and their children, although I was nearly nineteen at the time. It was a few months after my brief fling with Eleanor Morgan and I was feeling my sap rise. The drink flowed and things got a little bit out of hand, and in a secluded corner of the moonlit garden I put my arms around Olwen and pulled her to me and kissed her full lips, feeling her tits pressing against my chest. For about three seconds she responded and then she pushed me away, although it was light enough to see that she was smiling.

'It's tempting, Aidan,' she said huskily, 'but I'm strictly a one-man gal. Besides,' she added, laughing softly, 'it wouldn't be right after you've already had my daughter.'

Which brings me to the first place, which is currently occupied by Sunita Sharma. Of the four women in my harem, Sunita is the most mysterious, which of course only adds to her allure. She was born in Southern India and came to the UK as a child; she still retains a faint accent, which I find enchanting. She's ten years younger than Shankar, according to my mum, which puts her in her mid-forties. Reading between the lines, the marriage almost amounted to an arranged one, though she seems happy enough. She's not a great talker, though that may be because the other three ladies talk almost non-stop, but she's good company and she's a demon at bridge.

It's hard to describe Sunita's figure because she usually wears long, flowing skirts in floral patterns and loose blouses that conceal her form. She's about five-foot six and clearly isn't overweight, but I've no idea if she's slim or what her legs and breast are like. Facially it's much easier to describe her and I would start by saying that I find her almost breathtakingly attractive. She has the very light-brown skin tone of her ancestors. Honey probably describes it best. Her face is oval with high cheekbones and beautifully defined lips and big, dark eyes. And topping it all off is her raven-black hair, side-parted and cascading down over her shoulders in a shining wave.

I have always found her personality attractive, too. She doesn't say much about herself but she takes an interest in those around her and especially the children of the four couples, never forgetting a birthday or Christmas card. My heart leaps when I see her and I am almost struck mute when she talks to me. I am achingly in love with her, or what I assume is love but is probably just sexual fixation; the very idea of me laying a hand on her is preposterous.

Which brings me to my mother's phone call in the early evening of a Saturday in April. I was sprawled on the sofa, watching football on the television, a half-drunk beer on the coffee table.

'It's Mum here,' she began and I resisted the impulse to tell her that I knew that because of the caller ID. I had mentioned it about eleven times already. 'I'm afraid I've got some very bad news, Aidan,' she continued. 'Shankar Sharma has had a heart attack and he's in intensive care at the City Hospital.'

I don't know what I'd been expecting, but it wasn't that. 'Bloody hell, Mum! Poor guy! when did it happen?'

'Sunita phoned all of us from the hospital. He started to feel unwell early this afternoon and then he collapsed and she called an ambulance.'

'Is he going to be alright?' I asked.

'I don't know,' said mum. 'I don't think he'd be in intensive care unless it was very serious. And poor Sunita doesn't really know either. She's in a terrible state.'

I had a fleeting vision of walking into the ICU and Sunita flying into my arms. 'I could go over to the hospital,' I offered, 'and sit with her.'

'That's very sweet of you, Aidan, but Olwen's already there and I'm going over as soon as I can and we're going to stay with her tonight.'

'Well give her my best wishes,' I said, lamely.

Mum disconnected and I sat staring unseeingly at the TV. Talk about not knowing what was around the corner! Shankar Sharma was a fit guy. Ok, he was in his fifties but he wasn't overweight, he didn't smoke and he didn't drink much. And he played squash once a week and golf on a Saturday morning with my dad and the others.

My thoughts turned again to Sunita, and I imagined her sitting terrified by the bed in the hospital while the instruments bleeped to indicate her husband's continued existence. What would she do if the worst happened? Her husband had looked after her for her entire married life, and before that her own father had had responsibility for her. She had never had to pay a bill or argue with a tradesman or fix a leaking tap. How would she cope on her own?

Visions flitted through my mind of me coming to her rescue in a series of unlikely scenarios that all resulted in me taking Sunita to bed and bringing her to a gasping orgasm as I thrust into her hairy pussy. Then I told myself not to be so stupid and heartless. The poor guy wasn't even dead yet.

That state of affairs was resolved in the early hours of the morning and my mother phoned me at eight o'clock and told me that Shankar had passed away peacefully just before three am.

'How's Sunita taking it?' I asked, which was a pretty stupid question really.

'I think she's in shock,' replied mum. 'Amanda Dickinson is coming to the hospital this morning and taking over from Olwen and me and then we're going to take it in shifts to support her.'

'That's really kind of you, Mum,' I told her, 'but what about her family?'

'Sunita's family went back to India, years ago, just after she married Shankar. She's going to phone them, of course, but I can't see them rushing halfway across the world.'

'What about Shankar's family,' I persisted. 'They're local aren't they? He's in business with his brother, isn't he? Was,' I corrected myself.

'Well they've been informed, of course,' mum replied. 'But reading between the lines, I think there's some tension between Sunita and her husband's family, although she doesn't talk about it. Well, you know Sunita, she doesn't say much at all.'

'Well if there's anything I can do to help,' I finished.

That was also what I wrote in my card to Sunita, expressing my sincerest condolences. I also added my phone number, just in case. I got the card from the local newsagents on Sunday afternoon and posted it on Monday morning. Like a lovestruck adolescent, I waited anxiously for her to phone me, if only to thank me for the card but of course she didn't. She had much more pressing matters to attend to, like organising her husband's funeral.

The funeral took place at the local crematorium three weeks later and after the brief, secular ceremony the widow and her guests went on to a local hotel where a wake had been laid on. It was a revelation to me. I had never seen Sunita in anything but flowing, full-length skirts and voluminous tops. But she stood at the entrance to the crematorium, welcoming the mourners, dressed in a black two-piece suit over a red silk blouse. I looked at her open-mouthed as I waited to greet her. Her figure was stunning! Slender, shapely stockinged legs beneath the skirt of the suit, slim hips, a narrow waist and a bust that was full without being enormous. She was also wearing a little pillbox hat with a gauze veil that partially obscured her face but not enough for me to miss the perfection of her features and the carefully applied make-up, especially around her eyes, which were huge and lined with kohl.

I got to the front of the queue and stepped up to Sunita, offering my hand, which she took with her small, gloved hand.

'I am

so sorry

for your loss, Mrs Sharma,' I said, trying to get every ounce of authenticity into my voice.

She gave me a small smile. 'Thank you, Aidan. And thank you for your card. That was thoughtful of you.'

I spent the time in the crematorium standing near the back of the hall, staring at Sunita's back and her night-black hair. She carried herself well, talking quietly, moving elegantly and slowly. She didn't do a reading; mum said afterwards that she wanted to but was too upset. My dad did a brilliant one and talked about the good times they'd had with Shankar on the golf course and at their homes and there were smiles and even some laughter which helped lighten the atmosphere.

Shankar's brother did a reading too but that was far less well received. I didn't quite get what he was saying half the time, he seemed to be making points that nobody understood, or maybe it was a family thing. But there was something not quite right about it and after he'd finished there was an awkward silence.

At the wake I made a point of introducing myself to Arjun, Shankar's brother. Afterall, we were both lawyers. But he made it clear that he wasn't interested in talking to me, and neither was his wife, a rather overweight, overdressed lady with a thin-lipped mouth and a seemingly constant expression of disapproval. Interestingly I didn't see either of them talk to Sunita. She spent most of the time surrounded by the three couples that were her closest friends. I managed to have a brief conversation with her and I reiterated my desire to be of assistance and she thanked me and smiled and I died inside from a mixture of lust and hopelessness.

And that was that, I told myself as I made my way home from the wake. I had no idea what Mrs Sharma would do now but it was a cinch that she wouldn't be staying in the big house she'd shared with her husband. I imagined that I would bump into her occasionally, presumably she would continue to play bridge with my mum and the others, but that would be it. I could hardly just phone her up and ask her out, could I.

As it turned out, it was Sunita who phoned me, one evening about two weeks after the funeral. The phone said, "Unknown Caller" and I nearly didn't answer it. When I did I immediately recognised the faintly accented tones of Mrs Sharma and my heart leapt in my chest.

'Sunita!' I gasped. 'How are you?'

'I'm really sorry to bother you, Aidan, but I wonder if we could meet. There's something I'd like to talk to you about.'

Sudden visions of erotic couplings flashed before my eyes. Had Sunita been harbouring a secret and reciprocal desire for me? But she sounded tired and close to tears. 'Of course,' I replied, 'how can I help?'

'I don't want to talk about it over the phone,' she replied. 'I know I'm asking a lot but would you mind coming over to my house sometime over the next few days. When it's convenient for you,' she added.

I looked at my watch. It was ten to eight. 'I can come now if you like,' I told her.

'Are you sure?' she asked, quietly. 'That would be very kind of you,' she said, stifling a sob.

'I'll be there in half an hour,' I said, firmly.

It was a rather different Sunita Sharma who opened the door to me some thirty-five minutes later. For a start she was dressed in black jeans and a T shirt. And she wasn't wearing any make-up, so she looked pale and wan and tired, with dark shadows under her eyes. And strangely that didn't detract from her beauty at all, not for me. It was somehow comforting to see that she was still gorgeous under all the cosmetics and this evening there was the added attraction of her obvious distress and vulnerability that tweaked the protective male instinct in me.

'Thank you for coming, Aidan,' she said when we were sitting in her lounge with cups of tea. 'I'm sorry to drag you out but I'm at my wit's end and I don't know who else to talk to that might be able to give me some advice.'

'What is it?' I asked gently.

'Shankar's brother sent me this,' she said, picking up a white, A4 envelope from the coffee table in front of her. 'He says that Shankar made a new will a few months ago and he's sent me a copy of it.'

Something in my brain clicked. 'And were you the sole beneficiary of the previous will?' I asked.

'Yes, everything came to me.'

'And that's no longer the case,' I guessed.

'No,' Sunita confirmed. 'Now I get the house and ten thousand pounds and the balance of the estate goes to his brother, Arjun.'

'And how much is that?' I asked.

'The last time he showed me on his spreadsheet it was about one and a half million pounds.'

I whistled. 'Can I see the paperwork?' Sunita handed me the envelope and I extracted the will and the covering letter and started to read.

Despite the living, breathing form of my most desirable fantasy sitting just across the room, the only time I could remember when she and I had been alone together for any length of time, I read slowly and carefully. Sunita brought me another cup of tea as I went through the document. It was only four pages long and in twenty minutes I was done. I laid the document back on the coffee table and looked at Sunita, who was looking fearfully back at me.

'It's been correctly drafted and signed,' I began.

'So that's it?' said Sunita, tears welling at her eyes. I had a sudden urge to go to her, to take her in my arms and hold her tightly and tell her that all would be ok.

'No, that's not it,' I told her, gently. 'Now, can you tell me who these people are who witnessed your husband signing the document?'

She came over and sat next to me and I felt my insides grow cold and heavy. Focus, you idiot, I told myself. This is important. 'Well Lakshmi Shankar is Arjun's wife,' she began. 'I don't know who the other signatory is.'

'Nothing like keeping it in the family,' I commented. I picked up the covering letter. 'Do you know this firm of solicitors who are dealing with probate?'

'I don't know for sure but I think it's a small company that Shankar and Arjun used to work with on bigger contracts.'

'And the covering letter tells us that Arjun is still an executor of the will despite now being a principal beneficiary,' I said, throwing the letter back on the table. I turned and looked at Sunita. 'I'll be honest with you here, this stinks. Suddenly a new will appears and it bequeaths a fortune to someone who wasn't mentioned in the previous will. There's also a professional connection between the law firm dealing with probate and that same principal beneficiary.'