Hot Summer Made Cool
That was one hell of a summer. Friends had gone away. All I could do was watch TV, DVDs, read, and masturbate. Masturbating was enjoyable but after a point it becomes painful, physically and mentally. And still one gets the erection and has to do it. It’s damn frustrating. I thought, “There must be a better place to release my semen than the drain.” It’s not good to be young and alone in a lonely top room of an empty house during summer when sun is pouring fire all day long and all one can do is wait and pray for the passing away of summer. The maid, Malati, who used to come to clean my room, prepare meals etc became a victim of the summer too. She quietly announced one day that she wouldn’t be coming from the next day. At my request she promised to send another maid. But there must have been some sweet angel or an invisible ‘jinn’ for me. I was very much doubtful about the maid’s word but when there was a knock on the door and I opened it next morning, all my doubts were removed. Not only was there a maid, but a maid as gorgeous as a maid can be. I could see that she had well-set features, full lips, tight and ripe breasts, and a great figure. She had a skin that had a glow, a fair skin, that had taken a slightly dark shade but that was due to sun and I found it sexy. She was not more than thirty. She said, “Malati has sent me.” I said, “Come upstairs.” I kept at her toes while she was working, giving her instructions now and then. She didn’t mind and I thought she was very simple and docile, but after another of my instructions about sweeping well under the television cabinet she suddenly turned to me and looked me right in the face. There was a mocking smile on her face as if I was a fool to consider her inexperienced at housework. After that I had to think of a different strategy for observing her. When she was cleaning the utensils I started shaving. In the mirror, I could see her sitting, her front exposed to my view. Her pallu was down and, oh, it was a confluence of two peachy breasts, the shade of the flush down them was just hypnotizing. As she turned to pick and wash the utensils I saw that she had a flat belly, not flabby. Oh, how I wished I could take her shapely waist in my hands! Her arms were even, not pudgy, slim but full. I saw more clearly now that her fingers were well shaped and her skin was spotless. Her large eyes I had already encountered. When she finished work, she asked, “Jaun?” I said, “When will Malati come?” for the first time hoping that Malati took her time to recover. She said, “Why, don’t you like my work?” I suddenly whispered ,”I liked her work only, but with you….” She pouted and smiled, her eyes staying once more on my face. That was my signal. When I went down with her to close the door after her, she was struggling to open the door’s latch, which, for the first time I was thankful for it, was quite tight. It was the moment to strike, my hand slid on hers, feeling her silky skin, getting entangled with her fingers and the latch. She laughed as she said, “Opening the latch or opening my fingers?” I could see this was a woman who was not conscious about her social position or mine. The next day or the next days were even better. Watching the rise and fall of her breasts as she kneaded flour for chapattis was a treat. In fact, every move that she made held my eyes, captivated my heart. She carried herself as an equal, as a real individual and that challenged me, thrilled me. Every day she would ask after finishing work, “Jaun?” (shall I go?) with a smile and everyday I engaged her a few minutes more asking about her, or telling her one or two more tasks to do. One remarkable thing about her was that she was neat. Her name was Vinita and she had studied upto class 12th. She was married but refused to say more about her marriage but I understood all was not well. Yet, she appeared to be happy coming to my place. She took special interest in the books that lay open, browsing through them. By now I had started calling her ‘Vinita’ and not ‘Bai’ and she didn’t mind that. Every day there would be new touches. The day the cylinder was delivered, I asked her to help her carry it up to my room. The way up had the speed breakers of me touching her hands, holding her from behind tight, pretending to help her. A new version of the old rhyme came to me: Jack and Jill went up the stairs carrying a cylinder; Jill was smart and Jack got hard and then they had a good time. When we had to push the cylinder into its place it was so cramped that I literally hugged her from behind. On one occasion I collided with her as she was entering the room and in the process holding her a few extra seconds. My thigh positioned against her, I could feel the soft firmness of her thighs. Holding her, I extended my hand over her back, my fingers sliding through her blouse. Her blouse was wet under the armpits with sweat and holding her so close to me, I could smell that sweet fragrance, the scent of a woman. The next day there were no chapattis to be made as I was eating out that day but I didn’t want Vinita to leave any sooner. So I said to her, “Vinita, today climb over the loft in my room and let me sort out the things and books there.” She said, “How will I be able to climb?” I asked her to use a tall wooden stool that was in the angan downstairs. As she struggled to climb, I placed my palms on her waist and lifted her. On the top of the stool she started looking through the things on the loft. Then she said, “I don’t know what you need, I can’t sort out these things from here. And I am afraid of the lizards there might be.” I said, “I am coming up to help you.” Now the stool top was about one square feet, hardly enough for two to stand together. But it was quite enough to get close. She was pressed between the wall and me now, my front pressed against her buttocks.