Call of flesh

I ceased being me when I was six years old. My parents had two choices, Shweta or Shravanthy. They went with the shorter one. They believed the shorter it was, the longer it would stay. But my reason for assuming a different identity was, different. I just did not want to be a Rajeshwari among Krithikas and Aarthys. So one fine evening, I left school as Rajeshwari Rangachaari and returned next morning as Shweta Aiyar. 

Some would say I was not true to my new identity either. I would not disagree with them. I was more of a Shweta than an Aiyar and always left a trail of unorthodoxy in my wake, which did not sit too well with my parents and neighbours. But I marched on, unabashed by my wayward ways.

I learnt very early in my life not to heed to the whims of the society. I was just a few hours old then. Appa brought in his prized Canon to take a picture of his beautiful princess, only that the young princess would not look at the camera, let alone pose and smile. In fact, I always pretended to whimper whenever someone pointed the lens at me. And appa went without an update to his profile picture or cover photo for almost three years before my baby brother crawled out of where I once lived and smiled. I never regretted not smiling. I was not born to be a profile picture on Facebook.

My defiance towards societal norms continued into my teenage when I fell in love with a guy outside caste. Murugan was tall, dark and dalit, everything I was not. Perhaps, that is why I was attracted to him. Or perhaps, it was something else. Anyway, it was his company that ended my loneliness and it was his love that answered the calls of my flesh.

Like any teenage couple, we had our own secret hideout – far away from town, buried behind bushes and with some historical significance. I made sure we visited the abandoned palace, or whatever was left of it, at least once a week. And every time we went there, we made love under the sun. The heat and the sweat were an annoyance the first time. But soon, I came to love them and since then, sex has never been satisfying without them. In a society marked by oppressive morality, where sex is confined to the walls of the bedroom and darkness, I felt free doing it in the open. I lost all my inhibitions to his kind touch and passionate kissing. In the next days, our weekly adventure turned into a daily escapade and I loved Murugan more after every visit to the ruins.

***

What began with a defiant Shweta Aiyar, turned into an innocent school girl in the submission

***

His eyes ran wildly through the contours of my naked body, exploring the unseen and the unknown, acquainting with every dip and rise, and memorizing the shapes and the slopes of curves. His hands ached to feel my smooth skin and soft flesh and mine yearned to feel the firm muscles of his broad chest. Yet, when his hands reached for me, I pushed them away. I was not shy. I just loved the tease. Without it, to me, even love seemed like lust.

Undeterred by this feigned hesitance, his hands reached out for me again. But I was not ready, no, not yet. So, I evaded them once more and threw a naughty smile at him. He did not give up. Instead, he gave a warm smile, which melted my heart almost instantly. The next time his hands came out looking for me, I did not resist.

He began caressing my cheeks softly as he stared into my eyes with a fixed gaze. His intense look and amorous touch put me into a trance and as I drifted into a pleasurable limbo, he got more daring. His fingers slid down my neck and traced the outlines of my breast, before they snaked through the deep curve in my waist, to the side of my hip. One little squeeze there and my nails dug into the thick muscles of his back. My arms tried to wrap him in an embrace, but they would not hold. Till now, I had not realized how big he was. Or rather, how small I was. But I cannot complain. I was just fifteen and I already had a lot of men ogling me and my soft spots. Some of them were family - uncles and cousins, the thoughts of whom brought back troubling questions over which I had been pondering for the past few days.

Would I bring shame to my family, doing what I was doing? Would appa be heart-broken when he finds out that I am not his innocent little girl anymore? Would amma hate me for what I am?

As my thoughts strayed away from him, his gentle reassuring touch and the sweet smell of his sweat brought me back into the dark room where he lay on top of me and his lips hovered over mine, ready to consume the pleasure that was in offer.

‘I have never been kissed before.’ I said.

He did not respond with words, which would only have seemed empty and meaningless in front of the comfort silence offered. Holding me in his arms, he placed his lips gently on mine and caressed it with care. For a big looking guy, he had incredibly soft lips and as they moved back and forth on mine, I felt an indescribable ecstasy run thorough my body. I snuggled into him, wanting for more, wanting to feel the shiver that danced up and down my spine when my lips nuzzled into his.

Soon, what began as a gentle brush, turned into passionate kissing. He left kisses on my forehead as he trailed down to my cheeks, my neck, my breasts, my hips and my thighs. Aroused by the heat, I kissed every part of his body, even the ones for which I had no names. They did not need one. And he did not miss an inch. It was the first time I was kissed and I felt loved. And wanted.

But, would I be wanted anymore in class? Would I become the gossip of the other girls? And would I ever feel comfortable there in his presence?

I did not care. I did not want to imagine how awkward I would feel later. All that mattered was now and how far this fantasy lasted. I silently wished it was forever. It did seem like it would when he pulled me closer to him and kissed my breast. It was not a tentative brush against the skin, nor was it a timid smack of a coward and it lacked any trace of softness. In its stead was the raw aggressiveness of a beast - a sign of things to come. I did not cringe at it. In fact, I enjoyed it even better and when he entered me, I accepted him gladly.

Is he doing this just to me or does he sleep with other girls too? And if he does, what am I going to do? And how am I going to find it out?

He continued in slowly, pointing to me every spot that was filled with pleasure, as I closed my eyes and moaned in pain. The song of love filled the room with each thrust and my body relaxed as if it had found peace at last. I opened my eyes and raised my head to see the man who was making love to me. His head was arched backwards, hiding all the streaks of grey. His chest rose and fell with his breath. His legs sat comfortably between mine and his hands were wrapped around my waist  in an endearing hold.

Together, gasping and panting in rhythm, we sailed to a distant land where only love existed and everything else faded to a dot. There, enjoying the warmth of each other’s company in isolation, we strode into the open, eager and vulnerable. Yet, we survived and made ourselves a home of ecstasy, which, to me, is a picture of bliss. And I denied anyone permission to enter it.

But, would he keep his promise and marry me?

(The older man is the teacher)