Supriya - The innocent girl
Arjun was 27. Tall, confident, and successful, he lived alone in a modest but stylish apartment in Chennai. A structural engineer by profession, he was smart, efficient, and charming. The kind of guy people looked up to at work and liked to invite to parties. Yet despite the constant swirl of activity in his social life, there was always a part of him that felt untouched. Alone. One late evening, he was lounging on his bed, lazily scrolling through Instagram, when a WhatsApp notification popped up. “Hi” No name. Just a number he didn’t recognize. Curious, he typed back. “Who’s this?” The reply came within seconds. “Supriya. Do you remember me?” He blinked. The name struck something faint in his memory. “Supriya?” “Mami’s niece. I met you when you visited our village years ago.” And then it clicked. She had been a kid then — maybe thirteen? Back when Arjun was a college student and had gone to attend his maternal uncle’s wedding. She was that quiet, dusky-eyed schoolgirl. She lingered in corners, too young to mingle with the adults but too poised to be ignored. She had delicate features, long black hair, and a kind of innocence that had made her stand out even back then. He remembered a moment — brief but oddly vivid. She had been sweeping the floor in her home. He’d been sitting nearby, bored. The way her top shifted as she bent made him glance more out of idle curiosity than anything else. He had noticed how flat her chest was. Her breasts barely developed. He quickly looked away, feeling awkward and guilty for even noticing. Now, she was texting him from a college in Chennai. Apparently, she is in her third year. He smiled a little to himself how life looped back in strange ways. “I was bored,” she typed, “and didn’t know who to message.” Arjun, still unsure where this was going, replied politely. She was sweet, shy, and, from what he gathered, a little naive. She didn’t know much about the city, and her texts were filled with small questions. What do you usually do when you’re bored? What do boys do alone? Why do men stay unmarried until 30? At first, Arjun found her conversations bland. She came across as sheltered like someone still figuring out the world. But something about her persistence, her quiet curiosity, began to interest him. Not in a sexual way, not yet. But in that space between boredom and the unknown, where something new starts to form. Days passed. They kept texting. And then, one day, he was in the shower, watching porn on his phone, stroking his cock lazily. Her message popped up. “What are you doing?” Frustrated, panting slightly, he typed back without thinking: “Masturbating.” A moment passed. “What’s that?” He stared at the screen, blinking. “You don’t know?” “No. What is porn? What’s masturbating?” He stepped out of the bathroom, wrapped a towel around his waist, and called her. “Are you seriously this dumb? Or just trying to mess with me?” Her voice came through the speaker, soft and sincere. “I really don’t know. I didn’t grow up with all this internet stuff.” He sighed. “Then Google it.” She did. A few minutes later, his phone lit up. “Yuck. Why do you do that?” “Because I get aroused,” he typed, now a little amused. “What does that mean?” “It means I’m turned on. I’m a man. I have a dick. It happens.” Then, as if wanting to push the edge further, he sent her a porn link. There was silence for a while. But from that moment, something shifted between them. From that day on, their chats became more personal. Intimate. And confusing. Supriya didn’t shy away from asking questions. She was like a child with a forbidden toy — scared of it but unable to stop reaching it. Every day, she texted him: “Did you masturbate today?” “What porn did you watch?” “Do men really do that every day?” At first, it amused Arjun. He’d respond lightly. “Yes.” “No.” “Going to do it now.” But then, something changed. One evening, she asked him if he was aroused. He replied honestly — “No. Not today.” “Why not?” “Just not into porn right now.” “Then what would make you aroused?” He hesitated. Then, he typed slowly. “Seeing a real girl. Feeling her skin. Her boobs. Her pussy. Everything.” He stared at the message before sending it. Once it was out, his heart thudded. Would she back off? Block him? But she didn’t. Instead, she wrote: “What do you want to do to her?” That text made his cock stir instantly. And just like that, it began — an unspoken dance between experience and innocence. He described things to her. What a blowjob felt like. What a girl’s body looked like when she undressed slowly. What it was like to bury his face between her legs, to hear her moan. He told her, one night, that he was masturbating to the thought of her asking him those questions. Her reply was short but telling: “I feel like I did something right.” Arjun should’ve pulled back. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. She wasn’t teasing him. She was learning from him — and liking it. And part of him, the darker part, loved watching her awaken. It was a long weekend coming up. Both of them were planning to visit their hometowns — by coincidence, on the same day. When he asked how she was travelling, she said by bus. Early morning. “Skip the bus,” he offered. “Ride with me. I’m driving.” She hesitated. Then agreed. They planned it for 3:30 a.m. when the city would still be asleep. Fewer eyes. Fewer questions. More space. When she stepped into the car, fully covered, hair tied back, her breath visible in the chilly air, Arjun’s throat dried. She smelled like soap. And innocence. She smiled at him, unsure but trying to hide it. They drove in silence for a while. Roads were empty. Lights dim. The inside of the car felt like a bubble, separate from the rest of the world.