"A strong man like you should be able to look me in the eyes, no?"
I had just been introduced to "Charma," which was short for something in Hindi, I didn't catch the whole of her name, and apparently Westerners never did; that's why she shortened it to Charma. She was from India, and she had just been hired by the Women's Studies Department at my university. This was her first day here, so she was making the rounds, being introduced to everyone by Clarity, a woman who taught in the university and who also had a lot of familiarity with India. There was another woman with them who seemed to be Charma's companion but to whom I was not introduced. This other person was carrying all three women's purses and things, and she had been the one I had seen opening the door at the end of the hall my office was located in; she was some kind of helper for the other two, and she stared at me in an excessive sort of way.
"I mean, you have muscular arms," said Charma, moving her hand up around one of my biceps, "You certainly
seem
like a strong man."
"Oh! Well, thank-you, I guess," I blurted out. The truth was I didn't know where to look. Charma was shorter than I and quite a bit heavier. She had a fantastic bosom which jutted out from her body and which was somewhat exposed by her tight-fitting sari. If I looked down at her, it would be hard not to seem to be staring at her swollen breasts (which in truth I longed to do) even if I was looking into her eyes. The right thing to do, of course, would be to make eye contact and just get in control of whatever urges I had, and then look away so as not to seem to be staring. But I was too distracted. I find it very difficult to look headlong into the eyes of any woman who shows confidence, and Charma was already exuding power and having the effect of making me painfully erect.
* * *
I had been standing outside of my office door, taking a bit of a break from work. Just standing there, almost, well, waiting for something, it felt like. I watched idly as the door at the end of the hall opened, and I saw that third woman coming through and holding the door open for Clarity and Charma. This was no small feat, she was struggling with carrying a load of bags and paraphernalia. Still, she did it, and the other two came through the door. I inhaled. Clarity and Charma were unconcerned with the third woman and did not try to help her, but rather carried on with a conversation they were having. Clarity (who had also called herself Siva to me) I knew, having had a weird experience with her the previous week. Maybe. In truth, I wasn't sure that I hadn't dreamed the whole thing. I blushed a little just thinking about it, and turned my attention to the other member of the party, who I was about to learn was named Charma.
She was of dark complexion, short, and had straight, short, jet black hair to match. She was very voluptuous, almost overly so, with very wide hips under a narrower waist and fulsome thighs. She seemed to be having trouble walking, she moved slowly, and took small steps, placing one foot almost directly in front of the other. If I had to guess I would have supposed that her inner thighs were chaffing, rubbing up against each other in the forced tightness of her sari, and that this was causing some discomfort. That, and it was plain that she simply did not like to expend the effort involved in walking. By the time she was half-way down the hall she was breathing heavily. Her posture was good, she kept her shoulders back, and since she was taking large breaths from the effort she was expending, the effect on her breasts was spectacular.
Noticing that she was distressed upended my lackadaisical voyeurism and I felt an intense desire to help her. Without thinking I strode right up to the little group, held out my arm to Charma, and said to her directly,
"Can I be of any help to you?"
Well that was not like me! I am never that forward with women, preferring to be the cool type, and here I hadn't even stopped to introduce myself. But seeing her in a needy state was compulsion itself, and I had reacted automatically, as if my consciousness was no longer in command of my actions. My higher brain functioning simply stopped at crucial moments when I was exposed to Charma, and some more primitive and slavish animal uncovered himself.
"Yes, Yes you may. I was hoping someone could provide assistance, I have trouble supporting myself at times," she said, and took hold of my arm. At first though she did not use it to brace herself but instead applied a turning force to it in order that she might look me over head on. I readily complied with her hand's force, and moved around to face her from the front. As I did so, I started to harden. The motion of deliberately being brought around, head on to her, for her judgement, gave my body expectations and hopes that were frankly embarrassing, and it was responding appropriately. Of course what was really happening was that she was gathering me in for inspection. And while she was clearly controlling the interaction, her eyes gave me a different impression: they were so large and open they looked bewildered, a bit like a frightened animal that did not know where to go. But she also had a sense of yearning, that she longed for something she did not have. The intensity of eye-contact was too much for me, and I turned away. She had a presence that exuded waves of vulnerability that forced others to worry and do her bidding, and she knew this and could control it. Coming close to her was like walking into a radiation bath, and I felt hot all over. I had the urge to care for her, give her whatever it was she needed. I felt her now putting her weight on my arm. With that I relaxed somewhat, because I was now supporting her and doing something to serve her need.
"Yes, that's better. You see, I've had a long trip, and that's very hard for me. Oh, I don't mean the actual travel, but being cooped up on a plane full of people for an overnight flight can be very taxing. My first time was when I was younger and hadn't quite learned the extent of my effect on others. During the night a fight broke out: some men were arguing over the honour of providing me with their blankets and it got out of hand. I was sleeping at the time and so my presence just radiated out uncontrolled; this was too much. Of course I woke up from feeling the intensity of desires in the cabin when the fight broke out, and once I got in front these men they became more placid. But it had caused such a scene that the crew turned the plane around! They even locked the doors to the cockpit, which is standard procedure in the event of an emergency, I gather. The captain would not consider anything but returning to India, but I wanted to see the West. Fortunately one of the stewardesses was in fact a man! Well he intuitively understood my distress at not getting what I wanted and worked it so that I could talk to the pilot on the intercom phone. I guess the sound of my voice was enough to make the captain want to help me himself and so he let me in, and that against the company's policies! And after I promised I would stay in the cockpit with him (he made the co-pilot leave, who was very disappointed) for the rest of the flight, we continued on. He said that I must stay with him so that he could insure my safety from the mob in back. He was very devoted, and well, we
were
alone, so I rewarded him for his attention. I later heard he was fired for breaking procedural rules. But don't worry, he wrote me several letters telling me how much it was worth it and that he would do it again, if he ever got the chance. Anyways after that I made sure that whenever I make long flights I stay awake and control my influence as much as I can. So I'm very tired and need someone's help. I wonder, can you be that man?"
Gulping in air, I looked down and rasped, "Yes." So I bore her weight as much as possible and we began to amble down the hall. Clarity has a mischievous look on her face as she said, "He seems to be working hard."
"No, no, Clarity, he's just breathing deeply. I like it. More excitement than tiredness, I should say. I doubt that it's really that that much work for him to