Varun had been gone for three days now and I was back to the same old routine. I would go for a jog, albeit a little later than usual.
I was trying to avoid Jacques after a series of incidences between us. The memories of the stormy evening and the dinner were still fresh.
Once home, I would get back to doing my chores and other work and in the meantime, I would laze around.
The memories of the evening kept playing inside my confused little mind again and again. The way he remarked on my breasts, the way he kissed me and the under-the-table-play, the kiss in the living room, the soft squeeze during the selfie and several other instances of our past lingered in my mind till it was the only thing I could think about.
What had emboldened him to do something like this? Was it his nature? When I had first met him he seemed to be a gentleman but now he seemed something else. Was he always like this or had I provoked him?
My silence, my blushes and my smiles perhaps emboldened him. I cursed myself for not stopping him and nipping the whole thing in the bud.
I don’t know what came over me when I was with him. From the very first time when I caught him ogling at my cleavage to the evening in my home, I had silently let him, not once stopping him apart from a rare feeble no.
The more I thought about it, the more I would get turned on. The attention Jacques showered upon me was something that I craved. A husband away for months, a job that allowed a lot of free time and most of all, the loneliness I had to deal with. Apart from the women in my building, I mostly had no friends.
Ever since I had moved to Mumbai from my native city, I lost touch with most of my friends. Most women I was friends with were older than me, whether they were colleagues at work or in the building.
Being a married woman, I never really had the company of other men even if it was platonic. The Mangalsutra hanging around my neck was the ‘Fuck Off’ sign that all Indian men read. Jacques not only became my friend but made me feel young again.
When I was with him, I didn’t feel like a middle-aged married woman, I didn’t feel like a typical boring school teacher. I felt like the same bubbly twenty-year-old that I was long ago.
His eyes displayed his craving when he looked at me and that made me feel wanted and desired. Being the object of his desire made my loins tingle. The idea that a handsome young man was attracted to me pushed me towards him. I had slowly started craving him too.
Not that Varun was bad in bed, he was pretty good but our passionate days on his short trips back home didn’t compensate for his long absences. I was a woman and I wanted to feel loved, desired and touched and I wanted it often.
A couple more days passed since Varun had left and I stuck to my routine of going jogging later than usual. One day after finishing my jog, I stood near the elevator as it came down to the ground floor. When the elevator arrived and the door opened, I saw Jacques standing inside. I was a little startled since I had been avoiding him ever since that dinner night at my place and now he was standing in front of me.
Dressed in crisp formals, he smiled at me as he stepped out of the elevator, standing in front of me. I wanted to avoid talking to him but one look into his expecting eyes made me stay glued to my position.
“Hi, Rhea. I haven’t seen you around,” he said.
“Yeah. I have been busy,” I replied trying to come up with an excuse to avoid him. I didn’t dare tell him why I was avoiding him and I didn’t know why I couldn’t.
“Your husband has left?” he asked.
“Yeah. Been almost a week since he left,” I replied to which there was no reaction from him. I was expecting the entire opposite or at least a smirk but got nothing.
“Hey, listen. Thanks for the wonderful meal the other night. I loved the biryani,” he said. This is exactly what I wanted to avoid, having an awkward conversation with him about the evening.
“As you invited me for dinner and served me a delicious Indian meal, I have to invite you for dinner to my place as well and serve you some French food,” he said. I was taken aback, not from the invite but from his avoidance of any mention of our under-the-table activities that evening.
“But, my husband had invited you and he isn’t here,” I replied, throwing a lame excuse to avoid going to his place.
“Well, then we will have to wait for months for that to happen. C’mon, just one simple dinner with a friend won’t harm you,” he pleaded, trying to coax me into agreeing.
I agreed that a simple dinner won’t do any harm but going to his place amidst any pre or post-dinner activities or initiatives by him could be harmful.
“Come on, Rhea. Tomorrow evening at my place,” he pleaded again. I juggled with the idea in my mind for a couple of minutes and decided to say no, a firm no.
“Let me think about it,” was what I replied.
‘What the fuck did I just say?’ was what I thought the next moment.
“Okay. If you decide to come, I will be waiting in my apartment tomorrow evening at nine. I hope to see you,” he said ecstatically.
I didn’t say anything further, bid him goodbye and got into the elevator. The whole way back to my house, I kept thinking of what I had just said. I cursed myself for betraying myself. I had decided to say no but ended up saying maybe. Fuck!
Now that I had said maybe, then maybe I won’t go to his place. The rest of the day was spent thinking of the same thing. What would this mean? What would happen if I go? What if something happens between us? What would be the consequences? The whole day, I kept thinking of the same and by the end of it, I got a headache.
The sun rose the next day but even after a long night’s sleep, the questions started pestering me the moment I woke up. I decided not to go for a jog, instead went back to sleep, hoping I would wake up fresh and perhaps all these thoughts would go away by then. I was wrong.
I went about doing my chores checking my watch so very often, counting the minutes before I had to go to his place. I had to make a decision well before that.
If I didn’t go, the signal would be clear. He would realize that I wasn’t interested in taking matters any further and he would stop. On the other hand, things could get very awkward between us after my snub and I would end up losing a friend, a good one rather.
Apart from Rupali, there was no one in the building of my age besides Jacques. Rupali was a typical Indian housewife who loved to gossip, watch soap dramas and gossip some more.
The other women in the building were far older than me. They were busy with managing their families, kids and jobs if they had one. With the end of summer vacation, a good four weeks away, I ended up bored at home.
Despite my repeated requests and even taunts, Rupali never showed up on the jogging track. The other women did show up but late and even then, they would walk around the track a couple of times before finding a bench in the garden and get busy gossiping and discussing their lives and TV shows.
Jacques was my age. He was progressively thinking and had been a gentleman most of the time. Since he started speaking decent English, our conversations had become meaningful. We would talk about a wide range of things.
He barely knew anyone in the building so we didn’t gossip and he never occurred to me as gossiping sorts. We had many things in common like love for western classical music, Hollywood movies and other stuff. So, if I didn’t go there tonight, I would end up losing all that and also a good working out partner.
I knew he wouldn’t do something if I said no. I could go there, enjoy the meal and come back if I resolved and said no to any advances he made. I just had to say no when and if the time came but could I?
I had just a couple of hours to go before the clock struck nine pm. I decided to go for the sake of our friendship and act as I had resolved in the morning. I took a nice, long, cold shower, clearing my mind of all the thoughts.
I walked out of the bathroom and stood in front of the dresser. I untied the towel around me and started wiping my body dry. I unknowingly caressed my pussy. I had shaved it clean before Varun arrived and now a couple of weeks later, I had a very sparse growth of hair. I dried and brushed my hair, letting them flow freely.
I picked out a black thong and a front-open lace bra. I gently got into the thong and wore it. I turned around to admire my soft, fair ass. I wore the bra and tied the hooks at the front, capturing my boobs in them and adjusted my boobs inside the cups a little.
I picked out a black chiffon saree with a red and golden embroidered border. Accompanying the saree was a black blouse and a black petticoat. I stepped into the petticoat, tying its knot just below my navel, just above from where my mound would begin. I wore the blouse and then the saree.
I put on some light makeup, mascara and red lipstick and a light perfume. I stood in front of the mirror, adjusting my clothes a little. With the pallu resting on my arm, I looked beautiful, graceful yet very sexy.
I stepped outside my apartment and locked it. I looked around the corridors of the building through the duct to check if anyone could see me. Once I had checked that no one was around, I walked inside the elevator. Throughout the short elevator trip, my mind kept saying ‘Don’t go. Don’t go’ and yet after the elevator door opened, I walked to his door.
I checked my watch and it was nine pm sharp. I rang the doorbell and he opened it immediately. He smiled at me and beckoned me to come in. I stepped into his house, the first time since I had met him.
It looked like any other rented apartment with little furniture. There was a three-seater couch and a TV a few feet away from it. There was a round dining table for a maximum of three people. The lit candle on the table and some soothing instrumental music in the background did send alarm bells ringing in my head but I shut them down to let the evening proceed.
The curtains to the windows were white to match the walls and had been closed but the windows behind them were left open to allow the fresh breeze to flow into the room. All in all, the house looked neat and not cluttered.
“Hi, Rhea. I knew you would come and I have prepared a very nice real French meal for you,” he said as he gently took my hand in his and placed a gentle kiss on it. I shivered as I felt his soft lips on my trembling hand.
I did feel like backing my hand out but decided not to do so. I didn’t think he was doing anything wrong but was just showing off some European chivalry. Jacques signaled for me to sit on the couch and I did before he sat next to me, just a foot away from me.
“You look really beautiful in that dress,” he said as he continued looking at me from head to toe. The transparent black chiffon saree would easily give him a veiled view of my flat stomach and my deep navel.
“It is called a saree. It is a traditional Indian dress for women,” I said, explaining to him what a saree is.
“I hope it’s not a multi-course meal because I don’t have a big appetite,” I replied.
“No, no. The meal is going to be small but perfect,” he replied.
He went into the kitchen and brought two bowls and placed them on the dining table. I walked to the dining table and sat in one of the chairs. Jacques joined me at the other end.
“This is shrimp bisque or what you would call a shrimp soup,” he said and then went on to explain how it is made.
I nodded as I listened to him. The bisque looked delicious and the aroma wafted through the room. We were both hungry and dying to dig into the food that we both moved our hands to grab the spoons at the same time. I backed my hand away from his the moment we touched and he smiled at me to which I gave back a faint smile. He picked up his spoon before signaling me to pick one for myself.
I gently picked up some of it on the spoon and ate it. I tasted French cuisine for the first time and it tasted great. The flavours were mild and the shrimp was fresh and its creamy texture added to its character. He was looking at me expectantly, waiting for my opinion on his cooking. I looked at those puppy-like eyes waiting and smiled gently.
“Did you make this or just ordered it from a hotel?” I asked him teasingly, not believing he had cooked it. He let out an infectious laugh.
“I made it. I’ve cooked since I was a teenager so I know something about cooking, though not as much as you,” he replied. Once he knew that I liked it, he too started eating it.
We talked about some random stuff over the bisque and it was over in minutes. We continued talking some more before he asked me if he could serve the main course and I agreed. I slowly let my guard down as we engaged in conversation. My giggles, his laughter and small sips of the soup helped set the mood.
The engaging conversation was abruptly halted when I felt his foot brushing against my leg. I immediately backed my leg; I wanted to avoid a repeat of what happened that evening at my house when he played footsie with me during dinner with my husband. Seeing me back off, he too retreated, his eyes showing a sense of apology. He stood up and walked to the kitchen to bring the next course.
“This dish is called Steak Frites,” he said as he kept the plate in front of me.
“I don’t eat beef,” I replied, sounding a little hesitant to try the main course.
“I know, Rhea. It’s mutton, sheep meat,” he said before handing me a fork and a knife to cut the meat.
“Well, okay,” I said as I looked at the plate. It was a steak with potato fries and some kind of gravy. It looked tasty and tempting and I decided to dig in.
After tasting it, I nodded in approval to which Jacques smiled. The evening was going nicely, at least the meal part. He went on to explain the ingredients and the recipe like he did with the previous course and soon we were back to talking normally.
“How is your girlfriend?” I asked him as we continued eating. I had no clue why I referred to her. After that one time when he showed me her picture, I had never asked him about her. Perhaps it was a subconscious defence mechanism to guilt him into not making a move on me.
“She is fine,” he replied before he put a piece of meat into his mouth and chewed on it.
“Have you told her about me?” I asked, getting curious at the lack of response or enthusiasm from him.
“Yes,” he replied in one word.
“Mhmm,” I said, preferring not to broach the topic anymore as he seemed reluctant.
“I have to tell you something. She is not my girlfriend anymore,” he said after a few minutes of silence.
“Oh. I am sorry to hear that. What happened?” I asked sounding concerned.
“India happened. I am going to be here for at least a year before I can even ask them to send me home. The distance, the different time zones…it just got too complicated,” he replied, sounding genuinely disheartened.
Seeing the disappointment on his face, I extended my hand and placed it on his. He looked at me and smiled. He gently placed my hand in his and held it, all the while we were looking at each other.
There was a moment between us and we were lost in each other but better sense prevailed when I withdrew my hand, albeit gently, making him snap out.
“Oh, I forgot to serve you the red wine,” he said as he got up from his chair.
“Jacques I don’t drink,” I said, trying to stop him. I did drink very little on occasions and I didn’t want tonight to be an occasion.
“But it is supposed to be served with red meat. They both complement each other. Try it, just a little,” he said before walking into the kitchen. He walked back with a couple of glasses and a bottle of wine.
“Taste it, it’s nice,” he said as he handed me a half-filled glass of wine. He poured himself one too and then we clinked the glasses before sipping on the wine. He was right, the wine tasted great with red meat.
We continued talking, eating and within no time, the food was over but we weren’t done with the wine. We were soon into our spirits and started talking like we used to. He poured small drinks for us as we continued talking.
Jacques with his sense of humour and boyish charm made me giggle and laugh at his jokes. It was turning out to be an entertaining evening.
I finished my second drink, a larger one than the first and kept holding the empty glass in my hand. Seeing that, he gently placed his hand under mine, holding the glass and then poured some more. Before I could stop him, the glass was almost full and I just kept quiet.
“Rhea, I like you,” he said as he sipped on the wine.
“I like you too,” I replied, my tone indicating my casualness about the word ‘like’.
“No. I meant I like you,” he said before gently holding my hand.
“Jacques. I can’t. I am married. You know it is wrong,” I replied as I turned my face away from him.
“I know. Perhaps that’s what is stopping you,” he replied. “I have liked you ever since we first talked outside the store. We’ve bonded so much ever since. We might be from different worlds but the connection we share is far stronger and far beyond that.” He gave my hand a gentle squeeze. I closed my eyes as I felt the warmth of his hands.
“That rainy evening was special for me and I will cherish it and all the moments I’ve had with you. I know you like me too, Rhea. Just say it,” he appealed to me.
“This is not right, Jacques. I can’t do this,” I replied, putting up a feeble resistance.
“What seems wrong isn’t necessarily wrong,” he said.
“I think I should leave,” I said as I backed out my hand. Just as I said that, the music playing in the background stopped, adding to the tension in the atmosphere which was so thick, one could cut it with a knife. I kept staring at him, wanting to say more, much more, but just couldn’t muster the strength to do it.
With two full drinks down my stomach and a half of the third, I started to get tipsy just a little bit. I knew this was my limit since I didn’t have much tolerance to begin with.
I realised it was time to leave not only because I was feeling high but also the few tense moments that had happened between us. He requested me to sit for some more time but I decided to go now before things changed.
He agreed but with reluctance. He carried the dishes and I carried the wine and the glasses in the kitchen. He walked me to the door and I thanked him for the evening. Just as I was about to open it, I felt his hand on my shoulder and I froze. He gently pulled on my shoulder turning me around to face him.
“I forgot to serve you the dessert,” he said before he placed his one hand on my right arm and his other sneaked to my waist and gently held it and within a second, his lips were on mine. My eyes stayed open with shock from the abruptness of his move. I thought I would leave this place unscathed with my morality intact and if he wanted to make a move, he would have made it during the dinner.
All these thoughts started vanishing when he closed his lips on mine and started kissing me. He gently squeezed my waist, tempting me to respond and I did when I closed my eyes and kissed him back. He grabbed my waist tighter, pulling me closer to him and I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeper.
I could hear our breaths quicken as we both embraced for the steamiest kiss I had ever received in my life. Still kissing me, he pulled me away from the door and took me to the couch and I could feel my chance of being a faithful wife slipping away.
“No. Please don’t. Please…” I said, trying to break the kiss, trying to get away from him. My words said one thing but my body didn’t. As much as I tried to get away, I didn’t move an inch. My inner turmoil was manifesting physically as I just couldn’t withdraw.
