Adult Education

Amateur

The clock in the room was chiming ten when the buzzer sounded. Mr. Ram’s heart was racing as he went to the door. The girl was standing against the opposite wall of the corridor. She was about twenty years old, of medium height, slim, and with excellent figure. Her sharp nose had an attractive bend at the ridge. She was carrying a home made cloth shopping shoulder bag in which were visible several children’s alphabet books.

“Mr. Ram?”

“Yes,” he said.

“I was directed to come here.”

“Please come in.” As she walked past Mr. Ram noted her well-rounded hips.

The girl wore blue cotton churidhar and matching dupatta. She removed her dark glasses to reveal lovely large eyes. Mr. Ram approved with one exception; the shopping bag and its contents collided with his sense of style.

“Please permit me to change,” she said and disappeared into the bathroom with a paper packet she took from her bag.

The girl soon reappeared in a sari.

“Stunning,” said Mr.Ram. He looked at her without blinking. The sari was of soft synthetic material, a delicate mix of pink and blue. The blouse of the same material clung tightly to her body with no bra to disturb the smoothness of the lines.

The hotel room was large. They sat side by side at one end of a curved sofa in front of the scenic window. A large double bed hidden by heavy velvet curtains was at one end of the room.

“What should I call you?”

“My name is Geetha,” she said.

“Hope you won’t mind if we spend some time getting to know each other.”

“Thanks; no one has ever given me that option. Most men are in a hurry to squeeze in as much action as possible in the allotted time.”

“I know a person,” said Mr.Ram, “who calculates the amount per minute and when the figure is large he gets so agitated that he loses concentration for the job.” Geetha laughed.

“That person must be a blood brother of my husband.” She laughed again.

“Ha, ha, ha,” joined in Mr.Ram. He stopped suddenly in mid laugh. “Does your husband have to pay you for the services?” The girl laughed but not the tinkling laugh of the previous occasion but a laugh with more body to it. Mr. Ram joined in the laughter but once again stopped in mid laugh.

“You have a husband?”

“Why not? But this has to do with my silk saris. For every one I have he has calculated the amount expended per wear. The figures are naturally high, and it is amusing to see the misery on his face when he is working it out on his calculator.”

Mr. Ram took a sip of juice. His throat was dry. He was not thinking of saris. Geetha noted his discomfiture.

“Any objection to married women?”

“No,” he said. Mr. Ram was aware that the oldest profession has long since spread from its original home in a particular caste to the show business, to nurses’ quarters, offices, working women’s hostels, students’ hostels, and finally to the sanctum sanctorum, the home itself. But Mr.Ram was meeting a housewife call girl for the first time. He felt uncomfortable, and strangely the feeling of discomfiture had a pleasant tang to it.

“Reception told me that you dislike alcohol and tobacco.”

“Yes,” she said, “no one wants to be with a man who smells of alcohol, and as for tobacco, the smell clings to me. It is difficult to get rid of it before my husband returns from work.”

“Something to drink?” asked Ram

“Yes, but I’ll do the serving.” She went up to the fridge.

“Orange or cola?”

“Your choice.” She chose cola. She brought the drinks on a tray.

“To us,” said Mr.Ram with a flourish and they both sipped from their glasses.

Mr.Ram looked admiringly at Geetha.

“You should be in the movies,” he said.

“I tried and failed.”

Mr.Ram had touched a tender cord. His attempt to retrieve the situation made matters worse.

“May be you did not have connections.”

“On the contrary,” said Geetha, bursa escort “I went with the brevet rank of daughter of the producer himself. The line separating utter failure from dizzying success in movies is a very thin one. I was unlucky not to cross it. I am reconciled to the failure. I look upon the time I spent in the studios with real pleasure. It was fun as long as it lasted.”

“In that case you must tell me your story,”

“Thank you for giving me that chance. But it’s going to be the most expensive story you have ever listened to.”

“Please go on. It is money well spent.”

But the girl did not like her customer lose quality time. She removed the pallav and exposed an extensive valley.

“Fondle me as I narrate my movie experiences.” Mr. Ram obliged with the utmost delicacy. She closed her eyes as if to savour his touch.

“At the time of his death,” she said, “my father was a technician in the colour lab of a film studio,” said Geetha.” One afternoon his chain-smoking habit caught up with him. He collapsed and died in the lab itself. I was in high school then.” Geetha stopped. Large drops of tears fell down her cheeks. Mr.Ram took hold of her hand.

“If it makes you miserable you don’t have to go on with the story.”

“Please let me,” she said. “So far I have been a rag doll to the men I have been with. For once in my life a man is not treating me like merchandise. Please permit me to tell you my story.”

“Certainly,” said Mr.Ram. They sat close together, thighs touching thighs. He had never felt hands as smooth as this girl’s, hands that had never done a bit of housework.

“The producer for whom my father was working at the time of his death felt that he was in some way responsible for his death,” said Geetha. “My father was working day and night at that time to meet a deadline. The producer undertook the expenses of the funeral, and many other things besides. The day after the funeral when I was in a corner of my room weeping my eyes out he came in and told me to consider myself his daughter. He made me call him dad and not uncle as I used to previously. To his kindness my mother and I have to be eternally grateful.

“My father and mother both had some property. That and the money that came after my father’s death were enough for our needs even without what my adopted dad was providing. He was an industrialist who came into movie production in spasms—when he had money to spare. He told mother that immediately after I completed school I was to join him in movies. It did not happen that way. He was not taking pictures then, and I had secured a merit scholarship that I did not want to waste. I went to college. While I was in college he called me one day to the studio to take a screen test. He was now back in movies.

“The test was successful. If your Dad is the producer only good things happen in the studio. I had a good role with lots of dialogue including an emotional scene. Our movie fans judge acting ability by the way actors handle emotional scenes. That was easy for me. I had to think of my father, and my emotions flowed like a dam burst. That movie was never completed.

“He launched another. This one was a very ambitious one with well-known actors in leading roles. I was a second heroine, and had a song sequence all to myself. I saw the rushes and I liked it. My song had a tilting rhythm of the type that climbs the top ten charts. It was during the making of this movie that I lost my virginity.”

“Daddy?”

“Yes,” said Geetha. She peeled off her blouse to display a splendid pair of breasts. She took hold of Mr. Ram’s hand and placed it on them. “My adopted Dad had the reputation of being a womaniser. He was not so. During the nine months I was with him he had me but thrice. There were many starlets whom he never touched, to their intense disappointment. He released the movie with much fan fare. It bombed comprehensively. çanakkale escort The producer went back to his industry, and I came back to earth. If the movie had been even a moderate success or the song had made it even to the bottom rung of the hit parades I would now be a star. It was at this time that I got married.”

“My husband is in the sales department of a large store. He sells neckties though I have never seen him wear one. He did small businesses as well. Dad was in charge of the wedding arrangements and he did everything to make my wedding a splendid affair. I really think of him as my father even when I am in bed with him. If I enter films again he is sure to sleep with me, but not otherwise. In school our teacher told us that a falcon and sparrow in a cage might be friends. If, however they open of the cage the sparrow will fly and the falcon seeing a bird in flight will instinctively charge and kill it. It has something to do with release of inhibitions. It is so with Dad. The sight of me on the floor with makeup releases his inhibitions.”

“How about married life?” asked Mr.Ram.

“My husband enjoyed the first night counting the money that had come as gifts. He did not leave me out of it. From time to time he read out a name from his list and then followed it up with a snort. Apparently whoever it was had given much less than what he had expected him to. My husband is a great snorter. So many things and persons displease him that when you are with him his repeated snorting makes you feel as if you are in a stable. I had an undisturbed sleep on my first night.

We had it the next night. My part in it was minimal. It lasted for not more than probably five minutes. I don’t think that even today he knows that women are also in it for pleasure. The third night he studied stock market reports. He tried to get me interested in it. My husband has very little interest in sex. I don’t know the reason, for he is physically quite normal. In the beginning it was about once a week. Nowadays it is quite infrequent.

“He never gave enough money for expenses. He expects me to cook, wash the clothes, and do the dishes. Mother, out of her own money, employs help for household work. I got nothing from my marriage—no money, no love, no companionship, no sex, and no babies. The impression created in India is that once a man ties the sacred yellow thread round a woman’s neck he becomes her lord and master for life. That is arrant nonsense. If he does not play his part an Indian woman deals with him like any other woman in any part of the world. Thanks to my earnings we have some money. We need a lot more to buy a double door fridge.”

“To spend time I joined the local Adult Education Group. We go singly or in a group to local slums and teach women to read and write. I like this work. Good deeds bring rewards. Many will not agree that what I get is reward. When I joined this other thing it came in handy. I just had to put on a cotton churidhar and take up my bag with alphabet books and no one asks me where I go. Very important when you live in a large apartment block where everyone’s sole interest is in knowing what the neighbours are doing.

She hugged Mr. Ram and kissed him. She held his head and brought it to her breasts and asked him to suck and when he did so she moaned.

“It was at this time that a former neighbour of ours came up with this call girl thing. Her daughter was in it; she canvassed persistently. A hefty commission must have dangled in front of her eyes. Owing to my movie experience I was not totally ignorant of this business. And so here I am. I don’t propose to waste any more of your valuable time.

She stood up and dropped her sari. She stood before him naked and unashamed. Mr. Ram eyes seemed to protrude. Her waist was narrow and hips broad. Her vulva had puffy lips with a clitoral hood of the perfect size adorning the top of the cleft. She took çankırı escort Mr. Ram’s hand and placed it on the vulva. Mr. Ram hugged her hips and buried his face on the vulva.

Mr. Ram was panting. To him who had met only falsely modest women this was dazzling. He vowed to do something she would remember him by. He licked her to orgasm and then he fucked her and gave her more than one.

They had lunch and went back to bed. They cuddled under a blanket, their clothes lying haphazardly on the carpet enhancing the excitement.

“We must meet again,” said Mr.Ram.

“No,” said Geetha, “no adultery for me.”

“You mean all that we are doing now is not adultery?”

“That’s right. For you it is release of tension, a therapy, for me it is business. Next time it will be passion for me and adultery for you, oops! Sorry adultery for both. Instant love,” said Geetha, elaborating,” is a physical mixture; married love is a chemical reaction. That’s how they should remain.” She threw the blanket away, pinned him on his back, climbed over him and said quite simply,

“Now I want to commit adultery.”

She held Mr. Ram’s penis and she gently let herself down as she impaled herself. She had to energy to get them another orgasm.

“It’s going to be three. If I do not hurry I may change to a pumpkin.” She got up and disappeared into the bathroom. When she reappeared she was in her churidars.

“What are your plans for your future,” asked Mr.Ram.

“In a couple of years I’ll retire, and then I’ll have a baby, and become a model of motherhood, or I may be seriously into this adult education programmes and end up receiving Presidential awards. How do you like this for positive thinking?”

“Splendid,” said Mr.Ram “but are you sure it is good bye for ever.”

“Absolutely, and please Ram,” she said, calling him tenderly by that name for the first time, “please don’t ever try to meet me again.” She took her bag and was ready to leave.

“I won’t mind if my dress should get crumpled.” She dropped her bag, let her arms hang loosely, and looked into his eyes with her large eyes glistening. Mr. Ram held her head in his hands and delicately kissed her on her lips not disturbing a fold of her dress or a hair of her head. The clock started chiming. The girl placed her cheek on Mr. Ram’s chest as if to savour his warmth. She kept it there till the chimes stopped. Mr. Ram opened her bag and thrust in a bundle of currency notes into it. She protested.

“For your expenses,” he said expansively. When the clock stopped striking the hour she looked up with her tear filled eyes, opened the door just wide enough for her slim body to slip through, and was gone. Mr.Ram moved back to his bed. He lay down and was soon asleep.

*

Mr. Ram woke up two hours later. He bathed and changed and went down to the bar for a cup of cappuccino. He needed a strong restorative. He sat in a corner and allowed his mind to dwell on his adventure of the afternoon. The girl’s story he found very interesting. His generous gift made his mood up beat.

He suddenly shot up in his seat. At the bar counter a foreigner was having drinks with a chic thing in a sleeveless blouse and mini skirt that went up as high up as local laws permitted. There was something oddly familiar about the girl. Mr. Ram went closer. Yes, it was his girl. That faint dimple and the dot mole above it were quite distinctive. She was sipping wine, and in her hand was a cigarette in a holder. She happened to look his way; they made eye contact. He expected her to pretend she did not know him but she did nothing of that sort. She smiled faintly and there was a perceptible eye lid movement that can only be described a wink. He moved away. He would have given much to know the story she would tell this customer to enhance her value.

Mr. Ram was surprised at his reaction to her deception. It did not annoy him in the least that he, a most astute businessman, should have allowed himself to be taken for a stupendous ride by a shrimp of a girl. He smiled a bemused smile. He felt like a class batsman bowled neck and crop by a ball that turned the other way—not angry for failing to spot it; just appreciative of his opponent’s mastery of the art.

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