Tags

, , , , , ,

The important thing is, to not be nervous. The Taj after all, is home; after a fashion. She told herself that as she composed her thoughts before entering the grand building.

The front-desk attendant looked beautiful and smiled a charming smile as she greeted the young lady. She took in the expensive burgundy business suit, the strong musky perfume and efficiently checked her in.

The young woman collected her key and caught the elevator to her destination, a lushly appointed suite of rooms reserved for a privileged few. She entered the rooms and breathed in deeply, familiar smells rushing to greet her. The bitter-sweet scent of luxury was all around her, intermingling with the soft fragrance of peonies in a blushing shade of pink. She went to the windows and not caring for the air-conditioned room, threw open the windows to let in the humid sea breezes of her hometown.

Yes, she was home alright. Daddy’s reserve suite came into good use when she was city-hopping.

Kicking off her Louboutins, she settled in to wait for her company, her mind drifting off to a time entirely displaced from where she found herself now.

Summers were pleasant back then, South Bombay wasn’t all that crowded and college classes served the excellent purpose of relentless bunking sprees. Exam time was even better. She had more time on her hands and better excuses to sneak into her friend’s house. Study sessions were always encouraged by the parents. And study they did.

From the first heated exchanges on his little couch under the window, to his parent’s bed, studying each other and the way their bodies responded to each other was what they did with a passion.

She remembered the slender-boned youth who was the first boy to kiss her and feel her up under her pinafore with The Ramones gnashing it out in the background. She remembered his awkwardness – it spurred her courage in a perverse way. She was the one in control right from the beginning, only letting go when he would make her abandon all thought of control with his wicked tongue and fingers.

She interrupted this chain of thoughts to light a cigarette and tuck her shirt out and settle herself  more comfortably on the settee near the window. Aah… but it felt so good inhaling the dirty air of Bombay and exhaling all her tensions from this little corner of decadent living.

Once, between a crazy evening of parties and a dishevelled race to reach home before her parents did, she had asked him if what they were doing was right or smart. With unusual vehemence he had told her, “Think of it this way, our parents do it all the time and not with each other too. I don’t see why we can’t have our own fun.”

That answer saddened her somehow and she made him promise her that they would make what they had work even when their own parents were long gone from their lives. Like two innocent birds they pledged themselves to each other for lives that held no stock in pinky promises.

The door clicked open and without turning from the window she knew who her visitor was with a warm certainty. Of course, he would be here. His family had suites here as well.

“What are you doing here?” She asked without turning from her view of bobbing boats and lights sparkling on the horizon to her right.

“I heard you were in the hotel and thought I’d say hi,” he answered her, his hands settling on her shoulders. She could feel that old itch spreading, the twin epicenters his palms.

“Hi.”

“Oh come on, we meet after all these years and that is all you have to say to me?” She felt him draw closer. His front lightly brushing her side. It took a lot of effort to not turn and look up, into his eyes.

“You shouldn’t be here. I am expecting someone really important. In my life and otherwise.” She felt him stiffen though his hands continued their rhythmic stroke. His fingers slowly slipped into the gaps between her shirt buttons. He fondled the lace edging her demi-cups.

“Are they black? I remember you emptying your wardrobe to replace everything in it with black for an entire year. Black looked good on you then. Hmm… I wonder…” And without warning he pulled her off the seat and made her face him. Quite casually, he did away with the buttons. His eyes, when she looked into them, were anything but casual though. He looked decidedly furious.

“What are you doing?” Her eyes nervously flickered to the door. The fool hadn’t even locked it.

“Something I’ve missed doing for too many damn years.” He kissed her then. The years that had come between them fell away. This was no awkward youth. This was a man of the world, confident to the core. She shuddered at that thought, something that felt like excitement putting her nerve-endings on an edge.

She gave in to this man who was handling her like he would readily jump into her skin to get closer to her if it were possible to do so. She tore at his clothes, the body underneath perspiring in response to her fingers and moving just the way she remembered it.

He felt so good. None of the men had come close to the young teenager she had learned to make love with all those years ago. The person she was going to meet in the next hour was no match for her; unlike this man, for whom her body thrummed.

Her mouth twisted in an ironic smile as he surrendered to her. As another woman’s husband surrendered to another man’s wife.

Advertisement