Chapters (23)
‘I swear she is clean-shaven man, no fuzz, rewind it dude,’ an excited voice said outside the door. I was unshaved. The Fucker started moving faster then. For some reason I thought of the previous day’s class, the microeconomic theory of demand and supply.
At the precise moment one of the voices outside started shouting ‘Dickhead, stop rewinding, get on with the movie!’ the Fucker, grunting now, violently shook his head. Rivulets of sweat were running down his face, dripping off his chin, on to my breasts. As he tried to shake off the sweat, a steady stream of saline droplets dribbled off his nose and fell into my eyes. It made my eyes water.
‘Don’t cry baby,’ Fucker said, still thrusting, grunting, somewhat strained. ‘I am … about to … come.’
I turned my head into the pillow and screwed my mouth and eyes shut. I didn’t want any more of his sweat. In fact I wanted him to get off me. My thighs were tired and hurting. The kind of pain you get when you cycle too much or do a lot of aerobics. Demand-supply-demand-supply went on in my head as he started moving faster, panting harder. Then he collapsed on top of me. He was heavy, it was difficult to breathe. A minute later, he rolled off and walked into the bathroom. I could hear Sharon Stone saying something like ‘I’m sure we can arrange that officer’.
The Fucker came back, a towel around his waist. He asked me if I wanted to have a shower. The water from the overhead tank was boiling hot. I quickly wore my clothes, stuffed the now torn bra in my jeans and walked out into the drawing room. None of the boys looked at me. The Fucker walked me to the door. As I got on to my bicycle he asked, ‘Was it good for you?’ I said yes. It was my first sex lie.
There have been many fuckers since that day, many lies. Never love. Even that first time wasn’t love. Why did I do it? He was available and willing. I was curious and impatient; and I didn’t want to wait for a husband chosen by my parents.
That first evening, I waited to bleed. There was nothing. I was a virgin, but I didn’t bleed. It’s been eighteen years since that day. I still wonder why I never bled. I don’t recall the boy’s face, but I still remember the theory of demand and supply. I am not scared of holding ‘it’ now and I don’t shut my eyes anymore. I also, as a rule, never fuck without a fan.