[This is a work of fiction, set up in an Indian environment. It tells the fictitious story of a twenty-nine-year-old housewife who is eager for motherhood when it remained elusive even after six years of marriage. In the run up to that fulfillment, she falls into the clutches of a perverted friend of the family head, a man who is almost double her age.
The story is planned to be concluded in two chapters, of which this is the first. As stated in the beginning, this is a work of fiction and hence no relevance to any living character. Neither does the story contain any character who is underage.
It falls into the adult category, and there are explicit descriptions of sex. Take this into mind before you begin reading. Also, although this has been categorized under 'Erotic Couplings' genre, a greater part of it has scenes of Exhibitionism and/or voyeurism.
The aim of the writers, who are a couple, has been to lay out a story in good, readable English. But there could be minor errors here and there, including wee bits of Hindi (local language for flavor) for some dialogue. Translations for such usage has been provided alongside for all to comprehend. This deviation may be excused by readers.
It is hoped that readers would find the story enjoyable and will be indulgent in their ratings. This is our fervent request - please rate it. Nothing encourages a writer more than appreciation. Thanks.]
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I got to know Mr. Vinod Reddy much before my marriage and, that too, in a town far away from my future sasural (in-laws place). The circumstances that had led to such acquaintance were far from pleasant. Rather, it was my teenage folly that had created this most stressful and unwanted acquaintance.
At that time, Mr. Reddy was a neighbor, living just a couple of houses away from my father's place. He was married to a rather plump wife, was the father of two sons, worked in a bank and, almost always, gaped and stared at me whenever I was around. He started visiting my father under some pretext, got friendly with him, and sometimes picked up unusual subjects to draw me into conversation.
During this time, however, a private tutor was engaged to coach me on one or two of my weak subjects. Immature infatuation during my teenage soon put me in an uncomfortable relationship with the tutor. He was of dubious character and almost double my age. He too was married but he exploited my weakness and I had, foolishly, succumbed. There was an element of physical relationship too with the tutor.
Eventually, my parents got to know of it and, almost forcibly, that ignominious relationship broke under threat and strict vigilance. Unfortunately, the relationship could not be kept a secret, and quite a few neighbors got to know of it too. Mr. Reddy was one of them, someone who thrived on getting this sort of information.
He seized the opportunity to visit us even more, won my father's trust and, while I was still in college, arranged my marriage to the son of one of his seniors in the bank. My relationship with the tutor was, obviously, held back from my future in-laws at the time of negotiation. Mr. Reddy, thankfully, cooperated in that deceit.
A few years passed away since then. My married life went along smoothly, and I was loved by members of my new family. The dark episode of my teenage was forgotten and buried. I was now almost twenty-nine.
Imagine my surprise when this neighbor from the past walked into my father in law's house one day. He informed us that he had been transferred to our city recently. My FIL was overjoyed to have an ex-colleague visit him, to remind him of his active days and reminiscing the past.
Soon, Mr. Vinod Reddy became a frequent visitor to and almost a part of my husband's family. He was, however, younger than my FIL. Still in the mid-fifties, he was in active service while my FIL had retired a year ago.
Affectionately, my husband and others who were young, addressed him as Chachaji because, being a friend of my father-in-law, he was an uncle of sorts. I too called him Chachaji, as I did in my teenage days when he was a neighbor. However, there was a lurking fear that he knew my past and, were he to ever disclose the episode involving my tutor, it would possibly be the end of my marriage which was now more than six years.
Yet, in all those six years of marriage, despite my longing, and yet much to my embarrassment, the cherished motherhood was elusive. There was nothing wrong with either of us, my husband and me, but it was just that case where nature seems to sleep over what should be the logical outcome in a marriage.
Coming back to Chachaji, it was during one of his visits to our house that he raised the topic of my motherhood with my father-in-law. But the latter, at first, avoided talking on this sensitive and embarrassing topic. I understood his feelings, he was sparing me the uneasiness that usually overcame me in such moments.
"She is still young. What's the hurry? Everything in due time," my father-in-law said protectively, trying to hold Chachaji at bay.
"No, no, Mehta Saab, complications arise if you defer childbirth too much. It could affect your bahu's health as much as the baby's." Chachaji said, and then looking at me, "Bahu, tumhe der nahin karni chahiye. Aaj mai Prakash se bhi batein karunga. Kitne baje lautega woh dafter se (Bahu, you should not delay. I will talk with Prakash today. When is he expected back from office?)?"
Now Prakash is my husband, and he feels bad that we don't have a child of our own till now. And he feels agitated when this topic is broached by anyone, be it family, friend or even colleague.
I blushed, but just fumbled in saying anything other than an inconclusive, "Ji."
I kept looking at my FIL, as if my replies would be coming from him rather than me.
Luckily, my FIL changed the subject, and they started talking about their days in the bank when they worked together.
I was fortunate, however, that he left a bit quickly that evening, as he had some work at home. I heaved a sigh of relief when I heard the door closing after him downstairs.
When he had left, my FIL asked me to sit down beside him. He consoled me in the face of my embarrassment just a while back. The, he came up with a suggestion that filled my heart.
"Look Bahu, it is not your fault. So, throw that guilty feeling out of your mind. Listen carefully. I have heard about this temple in the south where they say the lord fills the womb of those who come to worship on a specific day every year. It is a very auspicious day they say, and that day is just three days away.
Prakash never gets holiday, not at least during this time of the year. So, we both, you and I, will catch the flight day after tomorrow. I'll tell Prakash to book the tickets today itself." He smiled, and I felt grateful to him.
The next day Chachaji was back in the evening, coming directly to our place from office. I had opened the door when I heard the chiming of the doorbell and there he was, standing with his portfolio bag in hand. He was a bit heavily built, but he was tall and dressed well, and looked quite smart.
I could be wrong, but I felt that he had that look on his face that made me feel instantly uneasy. It was almost like the ones that he used to give during my teenage days. Nonetheless, I greeted him respectfully, informing that my father-in-law was ill and was in his room, taking rest.
"Why, what happened? Does he have temperature?" He asked.
"Yes, it's around 102˚ and the doctor has suggested certain tests, because there is malaria lately all over the city."
"I am very sad to hear this, bahu. Chalo unse mulakat kar loon, phir chala jayunga. (Come, let me go and meet him and then I will leave)." He said.
We were already near the staircase and, wanting me to lead, he pointed a finger to say, "Pehle tum, bahu. (You first)."
I turned to hold the railings, but just then Chachaji too went towards the stairs. In one fleeting second, we bumped into each other. I felt my breasts push into the lower part of his chest and embarrassingly, turning red in the face, I hurried to jump the stairs.
I wondered if it was accidental. Or was it intentional? Why would he try to get onto the stairs first when he had indicated to me to go ahead?
Chachaji quickly held my hand, and almost in a tone showing much concern he said, "Careful, careful!" As if he had done something to prevent my falling.
I wanted to rush up the stairs. But he spoke again.
"Bahu, one must be careful. You will hurt yourself if you rush on the stairs. Carelessness hurt you when you were a teenager, remember?"
