“Not really. We were never that close, after all.” I could have said more, but didn’t, fearing that we would end up exchanging some hot words, raking up an unpleasant past that had troubled me in my college days.
“We could meet, you know,” Megha said rather plaintively. “I am now in Delhi, staying with my aunt at Vasant Vihar.”
“Oh.” Even as I made that noncommittal sound, I felt my pulse going up and I felt very hot, even though I was sitting in my air-conditioned office. “I thought you were calling me from your home in New York or is it Chicago?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“Vineet, my husband, is now staying in New Jersey,” Megha told me, and then said: “When do we meet, then?”
“Tomorrow, I go to Mumbai for a couple of days to attend a business conference. I will be back on Thursday morning.”
“In that case, we can meet on Thursday evening, right?”
Megha’s authoritative tone, which had once impressed me, now galled me. So I said: “I will be busy during the week. I am now an assistant manager with Tata Consultancy Service… in case you are wondering why I am not free on Thursday evening.”
“I know a little about your present occupation… and also about your single status… Neha told me. In fact, I got your number from her.”
So Megha’s old confidante and roommate at Miranda had done this little mischief. I would have to warn Neha not to share my personal details with anyone. “I wonder what we will talk about now,” I said. “Frankly, Megha, I don’t fancy reviving a friendship that was never there… if you know what I mean.”
“A lot of water has flown down the Yamuna since we met last time, Priya,” Megha said. “Maybe we can talk about that. How about Saturday evening? You can choose the venue.”
Megha was insistent. I took a deep breath, then said: “Seven thirty at Flora, Nehru Place.”
“That suits me. Thanks.”
It was Neha, my classmate at Miranda College, who had originally introduced me to her pretty, snobbish roommate. Megha came from a rich, conservative and politically influential family in Lucknow. Her family owned a mall and several large estates in and around Lucknow and her father was a cabinet minister in the government of Uttar Pradesh. Apparently, Megha, who studied psychology and was senior to me, was not interested in boys, so Neha thought I could perhaps meet her and find out if she was a “queer” like me. I initially declined to be a part of her dubious project, but when Neha introduced me to Megha and she gave me a tight hug (I fancied she was trying to assess the size of my breasts) and a captivating smile, I was tempted to know her a little more intimately. Neha suggested that a dark auditorium would be the right place for our courtship, so she booked three tickets for a matinee show at Eros, a single-screen cinema, which was showing a mushy Bollywood musical. We sat according to Neha’s plan: Megha in the middle and the two of us on either side of her.
The movie theater darkened after the promos, but nothing happened in the first half hour because, experienced as I was in the art of seduction (I had had three lovers—one steady and two casuals—in my senior grade at school), I didn’t think it prudent to touch a girl I hardly knew. Neither did Megha show any inclination to take the lead. So, an exasperated Neha, who loved as much to spread news as to create it, volunteered to play the pimp/facilitator: she picked up my left hand (I was after all a leftie), placed it on Megha’s right hand and then hissed: “Now start, you dumbos!” I tentatively stroked Megha’s long, tapering fingers and then leaning sideways I tried to kiss her, but Megha moved away her face, denying me this privilege. “Sorry, I am not yet ready for that,” she said.
“You are a pretty girl, Megha, and I like you,” I whispered in her ear.
“Thanks, just carry on,” Megha whispered back.
I pushed my hand under her top and discovered to my delight that she wore no bra and her boobs were small but firm.
“Please don’t rough-handle me, Priya,” Megha mumbled and then leaned back. I assured her that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.
And true to my words I didn’t hurt Megha; in fact I handled her body like one handles a newborn baby, stroking and nuzzling her breasts and then sucking her taut nipples. As Megha softly moaned and clutched my hair, I thought we had reached a stage when reciprocation was absolutely necessary. So, I took her hand and slipped it under my top to caress my embarrassingly large boobs. Megha cursorily fondled them a little and then withdrew her hand. I asked her if she was disappointed with my tits. Megha said she just wanted to concentrate on the pleasures I was giving her and didn’t want to distract herself by engaging in mutual fondling. At this point, when I was debating in my mind if I should extend my field of exploration below Megha’s waist, Neha, the pimp, grabbed my hand, pulled the zipper of Megha’s trousers and thrust my hand under her panties. I stiffened, expecting the conservative Megha to evict my eager fingers from her crotch. But she obliged me by spreading her legs. Her smooth, clean-shaven pussy was already swollen, hot and moist, which only showed she was awaiting her spasms. Slowly, I masturbated Megha, stroking her labia with my index and middle fingers and rubbing her clit with my thumb till Megha climaxed, clamping her thighs hard on my wet palm. “Thank you for your good work, Priya,” she whispered when I finally withdrew my fingers awash with her cum from her crotch.
“So when are we going to meet again, honey?” I asked her when we came out of the movie theater.
Megha arched her finely drawn brows. “Now, aren’t you going a little too fast just after a groping session, Priya?” she said with the superior air of a benefactress who had given alms to a beggar. “I need some time to think about it.” And Megha suddenly looked very somber and thoughtful.
I realized belatedly that Megha had used me as a guinea pig to find out what a lesbian couple do to each other when they are left in the dark. I was a fool to let her know that I was besotted with her, and got snubbed for my overture. But unable to banish her from my mind, I buttonholed Neha a few days later to ask her about her roommate.
“Sorry, Priya, she’s not going to join your club,” Neha said, rolling her eyes. “I told you Megha comes from a rich, conservative family and girls from such families have inhibitions, taboos and whatnot. So forget her and find a new face among the freshers.”
“Thanks for your advice,” I said tartly, “but I think I can handle my libido pretty well.”
Two weeks later, I saw Megha in the college canteen, munching samosas with two of her classmates who knew that I was a “queer.” Megha turned away her eyes to avoid meeting my gaze and that irked me. In a moment my thwarted love turned into pure hate and I decided to spoil Megha’s reputation as a nice, clean, hetero girl before her friends.
“Honey, you enjoyed what I did to you the other day in the movie theater, didn’t you?” I asked Megha, beaming.
“It was okay,” Megha said stiffly, looking slightly scared. “Want some samosas?”
“No, thanks. Well, Megha, you have a great body and I enjoyed fondling you,” I chortled, twinkling at her friends’ bemused faces.
“You never told us you went on a date with our pussy-loving Priya,” one of Megha’s friends pouted.
“It was a mistake,” Megha said drawing her breath sharply. “You don’t really need an extra pair of hands to… pleasure yourself. That was not real sex.”
“What’s real sex, then, sweetie?” I said, pinching her cheek. “And where do you get that?”
A plump girl with braces said: “Wow! What a question! Of course, you need a six-pack alpha male with a reasonably firm dick to give you that kind of experience.”