Her name is Vrinda and she was hot. Fair, short startured, voluptious. Breast sizes to die for. And she loved to dress up, make up, lipstick and the full works. One day in colourful tight churidar, next day in half saree exposing her sexy midriff. Ufff. Everyday coming to the office just to see her hot self, talk and have coffee and some touch here and there.She was very close to me. We used to watch training videos in a dark room and the touchings followed. The bike rides to Sangeet theatre and the usual braking by me. It was heaven. New city, new girls, new money and what not. Only problem was that I was not very good in reading signs. Always my strategy was accidental touchings but never any deliberate action. It was much later many years hence when I analyzed her actions, her words I understood she wanted me and I just didn’t create any situation to take advantage of it. Was happy with a movie, a jhuta sandwich from her and masturbate in the night thinking of her.Eight months. I could see the the twinkle of those soft brown eyes. I could feel the gentle curve of her cheek and the soft strength of her chin under the caress of my fingers. I could taste the sweetness of her kiss when our lips met. The memories of her so fresh, so painful. I remember the public her, the little black dress that had the men drooling, queuing up in a long line for a simple dance with my gorgeous wife, the smile that lit the room and infected everyone with a joy of life and a lust for living. I remembered the envy others directed toward me, for simply being with her and I felt the pride, pride for having had her choose me for her partner. The pain rolled through my soul as I recalled the private woman, the girl who so casually cuddled her nude body against mine, sending thrills through me, as she smiled that smile that turned my insides gushy and warm and so filled me with content. I could almost hear the giggles of adults at post sexual play, a gift shared between us, never to be.
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