When one is riven to a certain fate, one hardly knows what to expect. One moment clear blue skies; with lazy clouds to greet you as would long lost friends, or brothers in arms and the next, storm clouds front you, rolling out waves of thunder.
Between the devil and the deep blue sea, between the rock and the hard place, which would you choose?
The eternal questions. Before you answer, remember that roses too have thorns.
Or so I realized.
Seeing a woman you have long fantasized about, after years of non-exposure can cause a tiny jolt of electricity to pass from your spine to your genital area.
It was this jolt that spurred me on, towards Arya. Deftly did I weave my way through the summer hotel crowds, my cock doubling as a compass. As I stood behind her finally, watching her bend slightly to scoop some salad on her plate, her tight blue dress strained against her lovely curves; sending my heart rate shooting.
So it was that as she turned, I was standing dumbly holding on to a buffet plate; my tongue, wile and guile abandoning me to dire fates.
Her memory did its part for me, to my squealing baby delight.
"Oh. Vilas! Hi, it's been such a long time!"
I would have attempted something witty, but in my current state I would have failed (luxuriated as I was by her countenance, too much blood had already been diverted, from my brain to my nether regions.)
"Hello Arya," I said wisely, and stopped.
"I am here, with my husband. He's chairing the meeting."
"Oh..." I said.
Lovely Arya was too nice to realize she had just rubbed a lot of salt into my wounds.
Whether, this was due to the mention of the husband or his role as the chairperson, eluded me.
"And what are you up too?"
"Business," I answered diplomatically; however a bit of false hauteur entered my tone.
"Oh...! Are you alone? You must lunch with me and Jeyaraj; once he gets done of course."
The thought of hanging out with Arya again, resulted in further firming my manhood, as I had already believed this to be a cursory conversation.
But, when a woman invites always accept or some such, was my rule. Needless to say I am a horny gentleman.
Further talk invited further erection. And my tight ass jeans were dangerously close, to losing their fight with my stalwart penis.
So I excused myself, as um, there was 'business' to attend to, and made my exit to my room. I promised to lunch with her.
The lunch it turned out, was one long delay. Jeyaraj was a busy man, and as the meeting dragged on me and Arya were bored waiting.
"It's always like this," said a huffing Arya.
When she fretted, her features were much more prominent, bringing out those lovely pouty lips, those flushed cheeks, that lovely aquiline nose.
I had always argued that her lips, eyes and nose were the greatest of her features, though my friends had always focused on, well other aspects of her physique. Not that I wasn't interested in those other aspects, it was just that I am a hopeless romantic (an eternal curse).
"Let's go walk around, shall we Vilas?"
"Sure," I managed.
As we wandered around exploring the hotel, I found my self revelling in her company. I watched her when was not watching, the way the wind danced and played with her hair, the slender slope of her neck as she turned to watch something, the delightful curves of her hips she swayed lazily, on to some bench in the middle of nowhere.
Snow tipped peaks, surrounded us, swallowing us whole; with their majestic primal beauty.
Arya it seemed had worked up quite a sweat.
"Let's go to my room; I want to freshen up."
A simple statement like that could make a man's heart beat until it exploded into tiny pieces. This made unconsciously by a desirable wife can have profound consequences.
But who was I to deny myself?
Do women even understand, that the simplest things that they say, the most casual remark, could give a man unwanted ideas?
Either they don't or they are way too aware of their sexuality.
I knew that Arya did not want me sexually. Did she know that I wanted to suck and fuck her?
Perhaps. Perhaps not.
But did she really think I was hanging out with her, to give her company, or to be nice?
I sighed, and followed her to her room.
As I watched her struggle with key, her perky breasts bounced and juggled in unison. As the door opened I was in a strangely hypnotic trance. Was I really following Arya into her hotel room? Was there nothing seemingly improper about all this?
Did Arya herself sense anything amiss? Or was I being led by the nose?
I did not flatter myself. I am no Don Juan De Marco. Casanova would have sneered and spat on me. Bond, that cool rogue would have shot me in the face.
Yet...
One tends to hope. Fantasies are a kind of sexual hope. One must have faith, if one is to fuck. I wanted to fuck and I found myself having faith. This faith lent me confidence.
Arya excused herself as she went to wash her face.
I settled myself on the couch, and helped myself to a drink.
Glen Livet 18. Jeyaraj's private stock. Man, the rich do live.
Sounds of water flowing from the faucet came from the bathroom, dying down just as quickly. The scotch rolled smooth on my tongue, and tumbled down my throat, a liquid fire in my belly.
A man sometimes likes to run free and I wondered, how a caveman would have reacted to all the sexual tension I was feeling. My mind instantly drew up a horrible scenario of a large hairy man battering on Arya bathroom door.
I was spared further deliberation, by Arya's timely exit. She smelt lovely and she settled down beside me, perfumed soap a wafting essence that spread its tendrils into my nostrils, further addling my brain.
"Is it often?" I queried.
"What?" asked Arya seemingly distracted.
"You said earlier that you are always waiting, for your husband."
"Well it's the nature of his business."
"Still it's never nice to make a woman wait, or so mother told me."
Arya smiled disarmingly, her hands brushing across her hair, in a gesture I could not fathom.
"You don't have to wait Arya," I said, gently placing my hand on her lap.
The liquor was stealing my brain. Before Arya thought anything untoward happened, I moved my hand from her lap, onto her hands.
"Call him." I said.
"What?" asked Arya, confusion clouding her voice.
"Call him and ask him to come," I said feeling, rather than hearing my voice rising. "A girl like you should not be made to wait."
"A- girl- like- me." Arya parroted.
"Yes."
Arya smiled a forlorn, sad smile and tilted her head down.
At that moment her life flashed before me in an epiphany of thought and color. A pretty girl married off to a slightly older man, a man who gave her everything except his actual presence. A lonely, hopelessly romantic girl, stuck in seemingly unending vistas of expected romance, with none forthcoming.
Desires, quietly resurfacing like dead things long buried under sea.
Desires that were than brutally clamped upon by and an iron will and excellent upbringing.
I felt for this girl; this woman, at that moment.
More than anything I have ever felt before, at once.
A thundering maelstrom of raw provocative emotion, mingled with lust that threatened to overwhelm me and the tattered remnants of my self control.
My hands grabbed her cell phone from the desk.
My hands were shaking as I drunk dialed Jeyaraj's number.
But before I could, I felt soft delicate fingers closing on my wrist.
Hands steadier than mine, gently took the phone away.
With a soft sad sigh, Arya turned to face me; her breath minty, and inches from my face.
"You feel too strongly, Vilas," said Arya shaking her head, the motion sending wisps of lovely hair, whipping against my face.
"I feel strongly for you," I whispered, taking a step forward.
I stole a kiss. I closed my eyes and felt my lips brush against hers.
I could sense a faint reluctance from her and so let the kiss linger.
Then my tongue decided to take matters into its own hands (forgive me, for at that moment, I believed anything possible).
With my tongue I gently pried apart her lips, and with tenderness commonly reserved for children, bit into her lips with my teeth.
What had started out as a near diplomatic, meeting of mouths and lips, now garnered enough passion and snowballed into one hot wet kiss.
I pulled her body against mine; as I kissed her with more passion than I had thought possible, making of our bodies' one fiery mold.
My hands slipped under her dress, my palms coming to final rest, on the softness of her belly. I imagined I felt a slight tremor pass through Arya's belly.
My palms squeezed against the parts which join the abdomen to the hips.
A little too tight, I think.
Arya immediately withdrew from me.
All lust left me as a different kind of tension settled upon me.
"I can't, I can't," Arya was saying, her lips trembling with emotion.
I tried to comfort her, taking her hands in mine. She deftly snatched away her hands, gesticulating all the while.
"Arya..." I started.
"Please go Vilas, please..." she sobbed.
I gently put my arms around her, only to be shoved away.
I had ruined it by doing something. But I could not for the life of me realize what it was.
