personal location. I need to cancel with Jaya again but I am sure she will understand what I need to do and why I need to do this urgently. I call Jaya. She is of course not happy but of course she understands. She is Jaya. She is a good friend. I don’t call my mother about coming home. I leave it as surprise for her though I know she knows that I will get my ass home for my brother’s birthday. Otherwise there was hell to pay in the form of my mother never letting go of that one time when I did not show up for an important family event. She would never let me live it down.
So there I was at my brother’s birthday party that included only the four family members. But the cake my mother ordered, a layered one of chocolate and vanilla, was big enough for a party of fifteen! We might as well invite the neighbors and their families to the party so we can finish the cake. I can’t resist so I take a swipe of the icing with my index finger and put it in my mouth. I know its bad manners but I couldn’t resist and my mother knows it too and she couldn’t resist slapping my hand as her way of reprimanding me. I don’t care.
I take another swipe at the cake with my index finger before quickly turning away to get some plates and forks for everyone. And I run smack into a familiar chest. What the fuck? What is he doing here? This is a family thing. Since when did he become family? Of course! My brother invited him. The two cannot live without each other. He is at my parents’ place almost every evening! So it cannot be the cake that brought him here. Even though I could go anywhere and do anything to get a piece of this cake.
“Ms. Sharma, how nice to see you. I hardly ever see you anymore.” His hands are holding mine quite firmly and he has that smile on his face like he knows my most terrible secrets. (I just have one secret—him! But let’s not tell him that, the arrogant fool!).
“Good, thank you!” I say without meaning a word and then exaggeratedly shake off his hands to sidestep him. I need to get those plates and forks out before everyone just decides to eat the cake using their fingers. I need to keep my hands busy and my brain fucking functioning to solve the world’s hunger problem if I had any chance of surviving the evening with him in my parents’ home. Damn! Why is he here? Well, the “why” is inconsequential since he is here and he is not leaving with his pound or rather piece of cake. All my good intentions of coming home to re-evaluate my situation at Vasant Kunj vis-à-vis the man in question are now safely buried. By appearing in my safe space, the epitome of warm and fuzzy and familiar, he was making me feel nervous and tight in all manner of speaking—from my grey matter to my vagina. I don’t need to feel this way at home. It just doesn’t feel right. It feels wrong, even sacrilegious.
Really? My functioning brain mocks me. Okay, maybe I am a drama queen. I have of course masturbated in my room multiple times. So this talk of inappropriateness is a little hypocritical. So I tell myself to not go there. But pleasuring oneself leaves no tell tale sign. It is as if it doesn’t exist. But the presence of someone who wants to pleasure you under the threat of a family member finding this out comes with fear of penalties—of being reprimanded, even grounded. And I was afraid that he would push the boundaries in this forbidden/ forbidding zone to dangerous levels.
So I keep clear of his proximity. I just need to eat my cake and then excuse myself. Maybe I could get some writing done too. I have grabbed the plates and forks by now. I avoid his eyes as I return to the cake. Everyone sings the boy his song and then my mother proceeds to slice up sizeable portions of the cake for all present, including him. I again avoid his eyes as I hand him his plate of diabetic concoction.
I know his gaze has not wavered from me since he walked in. Damn him! I take my plate and mumble a quick “excuse me”
So there I was at my brother’s birthday party that included only the four family members. But the cake my mother ordered, a layered one of chocolate and vanilla, was big enough for a party of fifteen! We might as well invite the neighbors and their families to the party so we can finish the cake. I can’t resist so I take a swipe of the icing with my index finger and put it in my mouth. I know its bad manners but I couldn’t resist and my mother knows it too and she couldn’t resist slapping my hand as her way of reprimanding me. I don’t care.
I take another swipe at the cake with my index finger before quickly turning away to get some plates and forks for everyone. And I run smack into a familiar chest. What the fuck? What is he doing here? This is a family thing. Since when did he become family? Of course! My brother invited him. The two cannot live without each other. He is at my parents’ place almost every evening! So it cannot be the cake that brought him here. Even though I could go anywhere and do anything to get a piece of this cake.
“Ms. Sharma, how nice to see you. I hardly ever see you anymore.” His hands are holding mine quite firmly and he has that smile on his face like he knows my most terrible secrets. (I just have one secret—him! But let’s not tell him that, the arrogant fool!).
“Good, thank you!” I say without meaning a word and then exaggeratedly shake off his hands to sidestep him. I need to get those plates and forks out before everyone just decides to eat the cake using their fingers. I need to keep my hands busy and my brain fucking functioning to solve the world’s hunger problem if I had any chance of surviving the evening with him in my parents’ home. Damn! Why is he here? Well, the “why” is inconsequential since he is here and he is not leaving with his pound or rather piece of cake. All my good intentions of coming home to re-evaluate my situation at Vasant Kunj vis-à-vis the man in question are now safely buried. By appearing in my safe space, the epitome of warm and fuzzy and familiar, he was making me feel nervous and tight in all manner of speaking—from my grey matter to my vagina. I don’t need to feel this way at home. It just doesn’t feel right. It feels wrong, even sacrilegious.
Really? My functioning brain mocks me. Okay, maybe I am a drama queen. I have of course masturbated in my room multiple times. So this talk of inappropriateness is a little hypocritical. So I tell myself to not go there. But pleasuring oneself leaves no tell tale sign. It is as if it doesn’t exist. But the presence of someone who wants to pleasure you under the threat of a family member finding this out comes with fear of penalties—of being reprimanded, even grounded. And I was afraid that he would push the boundaries in this forbidden/ forbidding zone to dangerous levels.
So I keep clear of his proximity. I just need to eat my cake and then excuse myself. Maybe I could get some writing done too. I have grabbed the plates and forks by now. I avoid his eyes as I return to the cake. Everyone sings the boy his song and then my mother proceeds to slice up sizeable portions of the cake for all present, including him. I again avoid his eyes as I hand him his plate of diabetic concoction.
I know his gaze has not wavered from me since he walked in. Damn him! I take my plate and mumble a quick “excuse me”
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