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Indian Nights

Masturbation

Chaos that somehow seems to work, that’s how I’d describe India. You go into a shop, perhaps to buy some silk and you are assailed by eager sales staff who deliver their patter without giving you a chance to draw breath. They offer coffee or tea, show you endless items in which you’ve already told them you have no interest but they are relentless. On the streets you have to avoid potholes, beggars, cows, appallingly parked cars, burning piles of rubbish, other pedestrians who are so busy chattering or looking in shop windows that they walk into you. The roads are packed too; car horns blaring, brightly coloured buses and trucks, tuktuks, motorcycles with entire families aboard. Smells of all sorts assail your nostrils; food, flowers, God alone knows what. Everywhere there is industry, hard work, endless toil.My friend Mags and I had been there for a week and finally taken a train from Bangalore to Mysore. Mysore was different. Here the streets were wider, cleaner, the people more relaxed, less stressed. We got a cab from the station and were taken to our hotel. It was a colonial relic, thick walled, heavy hardwood and tiles. It was cool and the staff were welcoming but not fawning. Our bags were taken to our rooms and we agreed we’d shower, change and meet in the bar around six for a pre-prandial gin and tonic.Mags is single, like me, childless like me, we’ll say mature, like me and straight, unlike me. She is also my best friend. In my bad times, my worst times, Mags was there to hold me while I wept, sit with me as I drank far too much and cursed life and love and everything. She was the one who, one day when things were bad had said to me, “If you don’t change, you’ll kill yourself.” She’d poured away the booze I had in almanbahis şikayet my cupboards, slapped my face when I called her a fucking bitch for doing so. She stopped me going out to buy more by standing in the doorway and taking all the abuse I hurled at her.It was all about love of course. My lover, the one I had hoped would be my life’s companion had left me. It hadn’t been a good leaving, in fact it couldn’t have been much worse.The scene was the living room of the small house we shared, the living room where a few moments earlier I’d finished giving her an orgasm with my tongue. Wanda, the lover in question, was studying something for work and I had decided to go and have a shower. Naked but for a robe, the one she’d bought me for my birthday and that was transparent, almost, red silk and made me look like a whore but then, for her, sometimes I was, I had returned downstairs and heard one side of a phone call.“She’s having a shower, darling.” That meant nothing, she called everyone darling. “No, I haven’t told her but I will.” Pause. “I know, I know but I know Nancy’ll go ape and I want to find the right moment.” Another pause. My name, by the way, is Nancy. “Of course I love you, silly.” A moment. “God, yes, that was great. I don’t think I have ever cum so hard. Your fingers work magic.” Pause. “No, darling, not even with her. Look, I’ll sort her out and I’ll come and stay with you tomorrow night and we can decide then.” Pause. “I know I’ve been saying that for months but I will, I promise.”OK, I know it’s rude to eavesdrop. But would you have done anything different? The words, “Of course I love you, silly,” hit me like a hammer blow. I went into the kitchen and poured myself a glass of wine, then put almanbahis canlı casino that to one side and poured myself a fucking great brandy instead. I sat at the kitchen table and thought, tears running down my cheeks.Wanda’s voice from the doorway, “Brandy? At four in the afternoon?”I had my back to her. “I don’t think I’ve ever cum so hard,” I said.“When was that, love?”“No, darling, not even with her.” My memory is pretty good. “I know I’ve been saying that for months but I will, I promise.”There were a few cliché moments after that. Cliché numbr one: retaining my dignity as one would expect I turned and hurled the glass of brandy at her. Class, no? Then cliché number two when she said I had misunderstood. Like fuck I had. Cliché number three when I mimicked her saying, “Your fingers work magic,” and chucking something else at her. She leant against the door jamb, arms folded and finally, quietly said she’d been trying to tell me.If I had lost it before, I totally lost it then. “You sat in my sofa with your legs apart and came all over my face, screaming the fucking house down then, two minutes later, told whoever she is you’d never cum so hard.” Mimicked her again, “No darling, not even with her.” “Fuck off.” She did. I descended into my own version of hell which was mostly located in a bottle and stayed there until Mags, my saintly, patient and loving friend hauled me back despite all the invective and insult I threw at her.So, here we were in Mysore. Separate rooms but together, not a couple but a pair.I had a shower and relished the warm water cascading through my hair and over my body, cleansing the sweat of the day. I walked into the bedroom from the shower, a towel around my waist and stood almanbahis casino by the open window looking out over the lush gardens with the pool, blue in the evening sun, trees like something out of the Jungle Book, grass freshly watered and exotic flowers in well-ordered borders. I watched a woman dive gracefully into the pool, barely a splash as she entered the water. She surfaced and languidly and efficiently swam several lengths before easing herself, seemingly effortlessly, out of the water to sit on the pool’s edge. She was wearing a black one-piece which contrasted with her short blonde hair and well tanned and toned body. Her breasts were high and firm.I turned and dressed, dried by the early evening warmth and donned a long, pale blue skirt and a white silk camisole; sandals that were fresh and clean, not those I’d worn during the day. I looked out of my window again but she’d disappeared.Mags was waiting for me in the garden bar. She’d freshened up too and looked, as always, fresh and healthy, her auburn hair pulled back into a lustrous, loose ponytail. She was wearing a long skirt too; far better, I’d advised her, to wear long and keep the mosquitoes away. We talked about our plans for the following day: the zoo, the Sultan’s palace and a lot of people watching from the little cafes and bars along the wide boulevards. Drinking gin and tonic (my problem with drink had resolved itself into a cautious friendship) we chattered away until I saw over Mags’s shoulder the swimmer. Now wearing a pair of loose dark blue trousers with a long white shirt that was almost a dress, a long necklace of large red beads dangled between those tits. Closer to her now I could see she had sparkling blue eyes. Fucking gorgeous and about forty.“I strongly suspect a good-looking woman has arrived.”Shaking myself mentally, I smiled and apologised. “You’re right, sorry.”To my horror Mags turned and looked and smiled at the blonde. Without turning back she said, “I can see why you’d lose concentration!”

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