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Hello, guys. This is my first attempt at writing erotic fiction. Any words of encouragement/constructive criticism will be highly appreciated. Note that this is intended as the first chapter of a series concerning the exploits of Divya (the narrator) and her brother. I will write more chapters depending upon the responses I receive.
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My name is Divyalakshmi, although, almost everyone calls me by my pet name, "Divya". I am 28 year old Hindu housewife from Mussoorie, not the US state of "Missouri", but the beautiful hill station situated in the far off exotic land of India.
Mussoorie lies in the district of Uttarkhand and is renowned for its natural beauty, both in terms of parnoramic view and its women.
This is the story of my late teenage years and early adulthood growing up in this enchanting place, finding my true love and finally succumbing to the taboo and heartbreak that it brought with it. As with every coin, there is also a second side to this story: that of my tryst with the age old Indian tradition of "kamasutra" or 'the art of lovemaking'. Without further ado.......
I was born and raised in a Hindu household devoid of a mother as she had died in childbirth when my younger brother was born.
And as it turned out, my brother and I ended up being raised by our widower father who hardly ever took care of us. I am only one year older than my brother, and so do not recall what kind of a lady my mother was, but I'm sure if she were around things wouldn't have been so difficult growing up.
It wasn't the basic amenities that we were lacking, as dad made sure that we went to the best schools in town and always had the better, more "stylish" clothes than the kids next door.
No, that wasn't the problem. Instead, what we missed the most in those years were love and emotional care. Having taken to drinking after mom passed away, dad was never there for us when we really needed him.
Perhaps this was the reason why I bonded so closely with Hari in those tender years. Hari is my brother, short for HariKrishnan (another one of those Hindu pet names, necessary to cut out the excess). He was truly a bright-eyed boy right from childhood. Although, he was junior to me by one year, there was never an end to the praise I had to listen to, heaped on him by the teachers in school. I remember how hard it was for me back then to take in how blessed he was by genetics; he was everything that I was not: brainy, intelligent and good looking, while I was just the thin, pale and average-looking girl who went unnoticed wherever she went. However, these apparent differences in our abilities never got in the way of our relationship.
Successful as he was outside the house, he was just a very needy and emotional kid, inside.
Without parents to tend to his need, I was mother, father and sister to him. He clinged to me for almost everything, forming what a casual outsider would describe an "unhealthy attachment". We were two kids growing up who only had each other for company. I took care of him and took great pride in doing so. After all, he was my little genius brother. I dressed him up for school, scolded him whenever he got into trouble, slept beside him whenever he scared himself by watching a horror movie and also during the winters when the temperature in Mussoorie would dip near the freezing point.
We also took many road and camping trips to the hills with our dad and Uncle in tow,but ended up keeping each other company by telling stories and jokes, as the two elders made themselves busy by drinking booze and stargazing.
Things went pretty much the same way as the years passed by. Time has a tendency to creep up on you and before we knew it, we hit adulthood.
It was around the time, when I was nineteen and Hari had turned eighteen that my story really takes off.
In the years leading up, there was a slow but certain change in a few things that we had previously taken for granted. For one, I wasn't the "ugly duckling" of our house anymore. I had grown into, what a guy would describe to his pals as a "head-turner". My erstwhile flat bosom had also transformed into a rather embarrassing size for a young girl to deal with. In short, I had turned from a 'tomboy' who people used to jokingly call the 'first boy of the family' to a real woman.
Although not sudden, this change surely had its fall-outs. For one, by this time, I was being forced to avoid a few of Hari's friends who I too had been really close with from childhood. The reason being that they were pulling all stops trying to 'woo' me even to the point of teasing me for a quick kiss and initiating raunchy conversations with double entendres.
I didn't mind the attention that they were showering on me yet I had to keep myself in line because of two simple reasons: I lived in a very conservative locality, unlike the western countries, for an unmarried girl to be hanging around with a guy here would set the heads rolling and gossip mills churning overtime, and the second and major reason for me withholding being Hari himself. The poor guy was conscious about this problem and was trying his best to keep his pesky friends from coming to our house and I wanted to avoid any embarrassments for my little brother.
These events, although they caused a bit of uneasiness in our daily interactions, never really resulted in anything else.
This was until that fateful evening on November the 8th, a week after we celebrated Hari's eighteenth birthday. It was a bitter and cold evening in Mussoorie, but a really special one for me, as I was out on my first date. Couple of weeks prior to it, I had accepted a proposal given to me by a senior in my college.
