Play With Me

by Ananth

  I leaned over and kissed her, gently this time.

  ‘No, I mean it. You are completely mad,’ I repeated. ‘I haven’t had so much fun with anyone or enjoyed being around someone so much. I haven’t known anyone to be forever ready for sex as you are. We haven’t met in three days and we come home and you fuck my brains out. I absolutely love it! But I also feel guilty, like I am just using you, without treating you wi—’

  She leaned over and covered my mouth with her hand, stopping me mid-sentence. ‘Sid, not another word. Why do we have to dress up, find a nice restaurant for a quiet sit-down meal, treat each other nicely, share a joke or two, give each other knowing looks and come back home – and I know that one or both of us will do that with a tinge of un-admitted embarrassment, simply out of decency – and then make love. I like you, I love your body, love the way you look at me, the way you make love to me, the way we make each other moan and come hard . . . the way your body shudders through an orgasm.’

  I kept staring at her.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Nothing. Go on.’

  ‘Can I be vulgar?’

  I smiled.

  ‘I love the way your hard cock feels in my mouth and how you close your eyes and stop breathing when I suck you. I love it when you grab my ass tightly and drill into me. I want you to do it all the time. There are times in the office when I know you are looking at me and it makes me so wet that I go to the loo and rub myself until I come. I love sex, Sid. I love it! So next time, you just have to say it.’

  She stood up and continued, ‘There’s nothing wrong in that, is there? Are you squeamish about this?’

  I shook my head. ‘I am sitting here, on this cold marble floor, butt naked, after a night of incredible sex and all I can think of is making love to you all over again. Squeamish, no. Lucky? You bet!

  She smiled back, stuck her hand out and said, ‘You want to shower with me?’

  27

  It must have been two in the morning. We were in the balcony, in a world away from the world. Fresh from a shower, Cara was wearing a shirt and panties. I had pulled on a t-shirt and shorts. She often joked that I was always overdressed. From inside the apartment music was playing. We were lying on a quilt under a clear, dark sky, the constellations visible in the distance. I had poured us both a glass of wine each.

  Just when I had begun to follow the lyrics, Cara spoke up.

  ‘I make prize eggs,’ she said, unbuttoning her shirt and rubbing her lower abdomen.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean if you want to make babies, I’m your best bet, these are prize eggs.’

  I nearly choked on the ‘if you want to make babies’ bit. Leaning over her, I asked again, ‘What do you mean prize eggs?’

  ‘I mean genetically superior.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yes, I have awesome parents, who are both seriously intelligent, and I know I am in great shape so my eggs will make really good babies, provided the man has strong swimmers.’

  When she turned to me, as if to make sure I understood, she looked so inviting that I unbuttoned her shirt entirely and kissed her, toying with her nipples.

  She pushed me back a bit and said, ‘Stop distracting me.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘I haven’t told you about my parents at all, don’t you want to know?’

  ‘Of course I do, babe.’

  ‘My dad’s a career diplomat. He’s served all over the world. He is Indian, you know.’

  ‘I hadn’t assumed otherwise.’

  ‘My mom is Turkish.’

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah! I am half Indian, half Turkish.’

  That explained where she got her looks from. And it struck me again that I was probably the luckiest bastard this side of the world.

  ‘Where did they meet?’

  ‘My dad had gone to Istanbul on work, some inter-government collaboration, and he and mom were meant to liaise. You can figure out the rest.’

  ‘They liaised and you popped out?’

  She burst out laughing. ‘Exactly!’

  ‘What does your mom do now?’

  ‘Dad took a teaching assignment in NYU, foreign policy, and mom is the Islamic Art consultant at the Met.’

  ‘Don’t tell me?!’

  ‘No, really! Dad and I were thrilled when she got the appointment.’

  ‘That is so cool!’

  She nodded proudly. ‘And she is one hell of a woman. She has five sisters, all of whom live in Istanbul and are married to rich fat Turks. This woman fights her father, puts herself through college, discovers a love for art, fights again to get on a plane to London to study at Oxford, goes back to Turkey to learn her history and that of all the major Islamic cultures, meets my dad, fights even harder to marry him and here I am.’

  ‘Amazing! Man, I’d love to meet her.’

  ‘You should. We can go to New York together sometime. I thought I’d ask you to visit them when you went with Nat but wasn’t sure.’

  ‘Next time.’

  ‘That’s why these are prize eggs, baby,’ she laughed, patting her stomach. ‘You’ll get the brains and the looks, and he or she will definitely be kick-ass in bed too!’ She laughed again, her breasts jiggling.

  I kissed her again, this time running my hand down her stomach and inside her panties, touching her. She moaned but then grabbed my hand firmly.

  ‘Okay, stop. I want to talk.’

  ‘C’mon!’ I complained.

  The song came back into our consciousness.

  ‘I am going to change the music. More wine?’

  I kept looking at her. I was still lying down and from there a standing Cara, in her unbuttoned shirt and panties, was a sight that would give a dead man an erection. I let out a slow sigh.

  ‘What are you staring at?’

  ‘Are those panties legal?’ I asked.

  She laughed. ‘You are such a dork! I love them. They fit beautifully and don’t need more cloth than they have, and are perfect for home. It’s almost like I am not wearing anything.’

  ‘That’s precisely why I am asking.’ I grinned, and all of a sudden was reminded of the time I had bought panties for Nat and then realized she wanted comfort over sexy. ‘Are they comfortable?’

  ‘Yes, though unless you are a cross-dresser, you will never find out. By the way I am a panty connoisseur. I have one for every occasion.’

  ‘Is that right?’

  ‘Hang on,’ she said and disappeared into the apartment. She came back carrying with her a beautiful patchwork bag which she put down next to me, before vanishing again. The house went quiet for a bit as the music stopped and then some jazz came on. She returned with the bottle of wine we were drinking from and refilled our glasses.

  ‘What’s going on?’ I asked

  ‘Lean back and enjoy the show, mister,’ she told me.

  I propped myself up on one elbow and watched her take a step back.

  ‘What I am wearing now,’ she said, posing like a lingerie model, ‘is a Victoria’s Secret V-string. It’s super sexy, as you can see, and feels almost like I am not wearing anything, which I love about this.’ She began a slow dance, rubbing her hands up and down her thighs, slowly taking her right hand all the way up her torso, caressing her breasts and then sucked on her middle finger. I drew in a sharp breath and watched her slide that hand down her body and into her panties.

  ‘This is not fair,’ I complained.

  She gave me a cheeky grin. ‘Okay, now give me another.’ I shoved my hand into the bag and pulled out the first one I grabbed. It was fascinatingly soft.

  ‘Nice choice. These are boy shorts, in lace. Let me show you,’ she said and proceeded to step out of her V-string. ‘Hey! You can’t look at me like that! Look away or close your eyes when I change.’

  ‘C’mon, you are almost naked anyway.’

  ‘It’s not the same thing,’ she whined, pulling on the boy shorts. ‘Please?’

  I aver
ted my eyes for a moment and then turned back to her.

  ‘So these are the boy shorts. Next.’

  ‘What? That’s it? Come here,’ I commanded.

  She took a step towards me as I sat up and, grabbing her hips, brought her closer to my face. I could smell the mildly fragrant detergent as I sniffed her through her panties and ran my hand around, cupping her ass, squeezing it.

  She let out a long sigh, and then stepped back, saying, ‘Okay, you’ll have to wait.’

  I loved the boy shorts more than the V-string and imagined her lying face down on the bed, in a pair of boy shorts and nothing else, with the sun streaming into the room. Against her pale skin, this pair of panties in pink would have looked delicious. I looked in the bag again and seeing something in white pulled it out. I had always had a fetish for white panties. When she took it from me, she found two different types in her hand and threw one back to me. It looked like a ball of strings.

  ‘Don’t look at that yet,’ she said, as she stepped out of the boy shorts and wore the white one I had thrown at her.

  ‘This is the classic panty, which is the only kind every woman owns and the only kind she will probably wear all her life. Nothing wrong with it, must have been invented ages ago.’

  ‘And this? I asked, bored with the classic version and curious about the strings I was holding in my hand.

  ‘Perv! That thing in your hand is a Tanga,’ she replied as she stepped out of her panties and stood there naked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘T-A-N-G-A,’ she spelt it out for me and began to laugh. ‘Rhea and I bought these bikinis in Rio. They’re so fucking sexy I was wet just walking on the beach in it. These should be declared illegal!’ she said, as she took it from me and wore it.

  ‘Fuck!’ I exclaimed.

  ‘Cool, no?’

  ‘Come here.’

  She came and stood over me. I grabbed her hips, pushed her panties aside and began to lick her.

  ‘Mmm,’ she moaned.

  I became harder just hearing her sigh. ‘Fuck me,’ I demanded, yanking my shorts down and pulling her on to my lap. She began to rub her wet pussy on my cock, moving in circles, lubricating me.

  ‘Cara!’ I groaned as she leaned forward and kissed me, crushing her breasts against my chest.

  Just when I thought I was going to come, she took me inside her and began to ride me, slowly.

  ‘Come, baby!’

  I held her by her hips and helped her move up and down my cock.

  ‘Oh! Come on, baby!’

  We fucked like that, and the more vigorous she got, the more focused I was, thrusting my hips up and into her, as she rode me, pulling herself up only to push herself down on to me again.

  ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ she whispered into my ear.

  ‘Aah. Cara!’

  She began to ride me hard, ‘Now. Now!’ she screamed. Holding her, I rolled her on to her back on the quilt and pounded into her until I came.

  ‘Fuck! That was so good,’ she said, catching her breath.

  I pushed her hair away from her face, saying, ‘Thank you.’ ‘Why thank you?’

  ‘That was awesome.’

  She smiled smugly and said, ‘One can’t have an academic conversation with you without Johnny coming in the way.’

  ‘Johnny?’

  ‘Coming,’ she replied. And we both burst out laughing.

  ‘Tell me, have you had girlfriends before?’

  ‘Yes, a very long time ago.’ As I said this I realized that it had indeed been a very long time. After Kay, I had been on occasional dates. I had dated a model once, for three weeks, and then had a brief affair with my neighbour, but had avoided anything serious. It indeed had been a very long time.

  ‘How long?’

  ‘Does it matter?’

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘Let’s say I got busy with other things.’

  ‘Ah! She dumped you,’ Cara concluded. ‘How was she to look at?’

  ‘What do you mean?

  ‘What’s your ideal girlfriend type?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . fair, beautiful hair, a great body, intelligent, funny, tall, hazel eyes are a plus—’

  ‘You are such a look-ist!’

  ‘What?!’

  ‘Can she be chubby?’

  ‘No. I don’t do chubby or fat.’

  ‘Asshole! So you are a look-ist and a sizeist!’

  ‘Hey, you can’t call me names!’

  ‘I can. By the way, that reminds me, you know I have been making notes of all the strange names I bump into here, in India.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I mean, really strange names for people.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Bhaktavar Bhamboat.’

  ‘No?! Poor guy.’

  ‘Yes. And it’s a girl.’

  ‘Bloody hell! Who else?’

  ‘Er . . . HoiHoi Vaiphei.’

  ‘That’s not a name.’

  ‘It is. But we shouldn’t make fun. It’s a north eastern name.’

  ‘You’re right, but c’mon, how do people call her if she is far away? Parents should really think about what they want to name their children.’

  ‘Exactly. I am so thankful to my parents. Some of the kids I went to international school with had really weird names.’

  ‘Like?’

  ‘Mary Malhotra, Belinda Bharadwaj, Poornima Van Dyke, Samantha Juneja.’

  ‘Fuck!’

  ‘And George Janakiraman!’

  ‘Fuck me!’

  She was in splits.

  ‘I got away. I’m really thankful my parents called me Cara.’

  ‘Hey, what does your last name mean?’

  ‘Fey? Mom chose Fey, it’s Irish, means fairylike.’

  ‘Which you are,’ I said, before leaning over and kissing her.

  ‘Have you heard of Behati Prinsloo?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘She’s such a gorgeous Namibian supermodel—’

  ‘But which way to the loo, Ms Prinsloo?’

  ‘You’re such an ass!’ She shoved me, laughing. ‘I love Rhea. I mean I love that she’s called Rhea. You know I call her Rhi.’

  ‘I know.’

  ‘I . . . she wants me to come back to New York so we can start a design studio,’ she said, taking a deep breath.

  ‘Really?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s why she came here, to ask me to come back.’

  ‘And?’

  ‘I don’t know. I am thinking about it. I do love her—’ (And this is where my head started to get muddled again.)

  ‘—and it’ll be great to be in New York, with her and my parents, and do stuff.’

  I was stumped.

  ‘In fact I was going to ask you to join us in New York.’

  ‘Huh?’

  ‘Yes. Why don’t you move to New York with me and we’ll see how this works?’

  ‘How what works, Cara?’

  ‘Our new studio, living in the US for you. I know you have been in New York before but living there every day is different and the three of us can hang out, we could even find an apartment together.’

  Was she really suggesting a three-way relationship?

  ‘Are you serious?’

  ‘Kinda . . . ’ she paused, ‘I like the idea of being close to Rhi, and you will be there too, if you come.’

  If I come?

  ‘I don’t know, Cara, isn’t this all too sudden? I mean, moving to the US? I have a life here.’

  ‘I know that. I know it is going to be an important decision for you. I am just asking.’

  Just asking?

  ‘Can we talk about this later?’

  ‘Yes. Come here.’

  I rolled over on to my side, and lay my head on her tummy, facing away from her. She felt like an under-stuffed pillow, soft but not quite comfortable. I could smell her sweat, our sex, and noticed the little goosebumps on her skin from the cold air in the balcony. I ran my fingers through her bush, feeling
its roughness.

  ‘Don’t start something,’ she warned, as she ruffled my hair.

  I turned around, moved up her torso and playfully bit a nipple.

  ‘Ouch! Stop it.’

  I didn’t. A craving was building deep inside me, and the need to take control of my life came out masquerading as lust. I wanted to make love to her, sweat through every pore as I pounded into her, screaming, ‘Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!’ from the intensity of the impending orgasm and as an expletive at my own fate.

  So I didn’t stop, and she surrendered to me, all of her, all through the darkness.

  28

  I had no idea what time it was when I stirred awake. On the bed was a large suitcase; Cara was throwing clothes into it.

  ‘Hi!’

  ‘Hi. What’s happening?’

  ‘I’m packing.’

  ‘I can see that. And?’

  ‘I’m going back home for a bit, I told you.’

  I was wide awake. ‘What? Now? Cara, you said you were thinking about going back home, not that you would leave this morning!’

  ‘Whatever. How does that matter anyway? I told you Rhi wanted me to come back but I wasn’t sure, and then I asked you, but you didn’t want to go either. So I thought I might as well.’

  ‘WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?’

  ‘Nothing, Sid. Nothing. I’m going back to New York, back home, my home, for a bit, okay? I miss my mom.’

  ‘How did you get a ticket so quickly?’

  ‘I have an open ticket all the time, so this morning I called and confirmed. It was easy.’

  I sat up on the bed, holding my head. ‘This is just too fast for me, Cara!’

  ‘I know, and I am sorry!’

  ‘What are you sorry about?’

  ‘I don’t know . . . Sorry that I am leaving . . . that I am leaving you . . . that . . . Nothing . . . ’

  She climbed on to the bed and sat on my lap. She was still naked, as was I, and we sat there holding each other.

  29

  We drove to the airport in silence. I parked the car and walked her to one of the gates. We kissed.

  She pulled away slightly, ‘This has been the most beautiful time of my life.’

  ‘Cara, you are going back to see your mom, you aren’t going away forever.’