Hola!
It'll be nice if you do not kill me for the delay. I have never received so much hatemale, er, hatemail ever in my life as when I left part 2 hanging.
If you like the story, feel free to press '5 stars'. Don't worry about spraining your finger in the process, literotica's company doctor will fix it. The millionth reader who presses '5 stars' will win two tickets to Mars on 'The Flying Wastebasket' (If it is launched in the next 50 years).
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The next day, it began to rain heavily. Not that I knew -- I was out like a light till noon, dreaming of mom. It was five when I had slept, after two wank-off sessions.
Shortly after I woke, the rain overwhelmed the shallow storm-drains around the camp and we were moved to the covered common area, where all the people in the camp had assembled. We watched the approach road drown into a pool of slush while we devoured a packed breakfast of fruits and cold-cuts that the management had given. Finally, when the tents went under ankle-deep water snakes started being sighted, the camp management declared the area unsafe and broke camp.
SUVs dropped us at the car park, where we got into our cars and decided to continue to the next destination -- Bandhavgarh Forest Park. There was no point waiting till the next day.
The cars had just moved a short distance beyond the city when the car with the ladies -- the smaller one -- broke down. There were fields of rice on both sides, no place where we could stand, so the ladies got into the front seats of our SUV while both the drivers looked into the problem.
"I hope there's nothing major," Bushy said. "That'll screw up the trip good and proper."
"Well, we have this car," Bushy's daughter said.
"We can't all fit into this for six hours," Mom said. "The SUV can take six people at most, with the driver."
"Here they come," Bushy said, gesturing with her chin towards the drivers who were trudging towards us in the rain. "Doesn't look like they have good news."
"We have a busted radiator, and it will take five to six hours to fix," the driver of the car said. "That rules out travel today."
"Call in for a replacement then," Mom said.
"There's no replacement available, ma'am," the driver replied, the rain bouncing off his waterproof hat. "Every car we have is engaged, thanks to the rain."
Mom and Bushy looked at each other, disappointed writ on their faces.
"We drive back into town and check into a hotel," Uma said.
"Yes, makes sense to go back," mom said. "It's only fifteen minutes back into town. We should be able to travel that far fitted into the SUV like this."
We went back towards Khajuraho and the driver turned into the local Taj hotel.
"You guys wait here," Bushy said, "I and Nina will go and book the rooms first. No point filing out if they don't have rooms."
Bushy and mom went to the reception and came back in barely a minute.
"Just like I thought," Bushy said as she slid in, "the rain brought the tourists packing into hotels."
We all moved again, packed in the SUV like sardines in a tin. Mom and Bushy went in again at the next hotel and came back, shaking their heads, a scene repeated in about a dozen hotels that we went to.
"They have one room -- a double," Mom said, coming out of the last hotel that they went into. "What do we do?"
"Looks like two of us will have to stay back," nana said. "It's already three and if we move now, the rest of us can be in the forest resort by nine. I wouldn't recommend a delay, so decide who's going to stay behind."
Everyone looked at each other.
"Well, it very well cannot be two ladies. One of the men must travel with the women and children, that leaves Nina and Bobby. You ready to stay back till the car is fixed?"
My heart raced like crazy. This was it. At that moment, I wanted to kiss my old grandpa.
"Well?" Bushy asked.
Mom shrugged unenthusiastically, as did I. A man's got to do what he's got to do -- sacrifice for the benefit of the community.
"I'll book the room before they give the room to someone else," Bushy said, turning around on her heels.
I got our luggage off the SUV while mom and Bushy booked the room. Mom stayed with the bellboy who carted the luggage towards our room, while I stayed behind to see off the rest of the family.
"I'll miss you handsome," Bushy whispered as I kissed her cheek. "Come soon, my prince."
"I'll miss you too, aunt Bushy," I said, smiling flirtatiously, "I'll be thinking of you a lot."
"Take care of your mom, meanwhile," she said, smiling sweetly.
I looked at her face, searching for a double-entendre, but there was no hint of any. I waved as the SUV went out of the hotel's gates, my heart thudding against the chest.
Mom and I were alone! Free to continue where we left last night! Only I didn't know how to begin. What if she screamed if I touched her? With women you never knew where you stood, even if you charmed their pants off.
When I entered the room, mom was looking into the mirror, applying lipstick. Looked like she was on her way out.
"I am going downstairs to get something to eat. You want to come?"
I nodded.
"Well, freshen up and join me at the coffee shop. I'll be there."
Relief flooded me as she went out, and I went into the bathroom. I was sort of glad that we weren't in the same room with sexual tension stifling us, while not knowing what to do about it. That's right -- despite exploring every inch of her body with my hands and slurping on her pussy for half an hour, I still did not know where we stood.
I brushed, shaved, and took a leisurely bath in the tub. I wanted to delay facing mom again, even though my stomach was growling with hunger.
After almost an hour, I took the lift down into the lobby and walked into the coffee shop. I saw mom in a corner, sitting with three girls -- a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde. The blonde was the same one that I had seen sketching in the temple. They were sipping coffees and there was snacks on the table.
"Here comes my son," mom said. "Meet Bobby. Bobby, the girls are from good old USA!"
"This is Shawna, from NYC," she said, pointing towards the brunette sitting beside her. I nodded at her she raised her hand, saying hi.
"This is Joanna, from Boston" she said, introducing the redhead, who wiggled her fingers and I nodded.
"And this is Nora, from Fort Lauderdale, practically a neighbor!"
Nora was the blonde I had seen at the temple, and later in the camp. She wiggled her fingers and smiled.
"I saw you before," she said. "At the temple."
"And at the camp," I nodded and smiled, pulling a chair, sat down.
"Beautiful temple."
I nodded uncomfortably. Women are pretty comfortable calling pornographic sculpture 'beautiful'. Men are not, though older men learn to speak with women in the same language -- no wonder women adore older men. But among ourselves, we still don't speak that language ever. Imagine a man saying, 'that sculpture with a woman taking it in the ass and in the cunt at the same time were marvelous!' That'll probably earn you a, 'shut up, faggot!'
To my embarrassment, a conversation started on the intricacies of sculptures in the three rooms of the temples, and how they were so 'artistic' and 'beautifully carved'. Before the conversation veered towards 'beautiful' postures, I excused myself and went to the pastries counter. There I bought a couple of sandwiches, a pastry, a thick shake and wolfed them down at a standing counter. I was too hungry to eat politely. I stuffed my face and in about two minutes, all the good stuff was inside my stomach, placating the jumping acids of my stomach somewhat.
'That should keep it busy for a while,' I thought and ordered a coffee, moving to our table.
"I was just telling the ladies how you know about the significance of each room in the temple," mom said. "Care to tell the girls what you know?"
Four pairs of eyes looked at me, waiting for me to begin and I turned red with embarrassment.
"I, uh, it's like the, uh, the three stages of, uh, the thing ......." I mumbled and then looked outside the window, biting my lip hard.
"It's wonderful that you can talk to your son about sex, Nina," Nora came to my rescue. "I can hardly mention the word in front of my mother."
"Yes, I'd always thought Indians were more prudish," Joanna said.
"Sadly, they are," mom exclaimed in her girlish voice. "But they weren't prudish before the Muslim invasions, as you can see from these ancient temples of sex, and the kamasutra. There was a time when consenting man-woman pairs were free to have sex irrespective of their marital status. The only restriction was that the act would be done in a room, bush, or any shelter away from public eye. As common courtesy, when such a pair went into a bush, the eyes of the rest turned away to give them privacy. There was enough decency, but that doesn't exist any longer."
"So you tell your son about the birds and bees?" Nora asked.
"Not really," mom replied. "But when we saw this ancient temple, I thought, 'why not tell him what I know of the ancient art of sex?' Young people learn about sex from porn nowadays, and that is neither a wholesome education, nor a realistic depiction of sex. Porn leaves out the importance of an interesting conversation and sometimes leaves out foreplay, both of which are important for good sex. Most men go through life without realizing how difficult it is for women to achieve an orgasm without these, and I didn't want my son to be one of those."
The girls exchanged smiles, and I squirmed in my seat. The girls were mid-twenties, five / six / seven years older than me, and I guess you lose your bashfulness by that age.
"Er, I'll get some more coffee," I said, and started to move out of my seat. My mom's hand held mine and she forced me back on the seat.
"Have you girls had orgasms? Be honest," she asked the girls.
They exchanged smiles again and all of them nodded.
"Every time?" she persisted.
