A Knot for Two - 1
The Intrigue
A Knot for Two is about Meera, and her journey to find out that sometimes, you have to be vulnerable to be strong, that sometimes, all it takes is one little leap of faith.
I usually give a longer introduction to a new story, but this one, I would let you find out. It’s more than a kinky story.
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1
The rain was falling in a steady drizzle, pattering against the windows and turning the streetlights into hazy, yellow orbs. Meera sat in her bedroom, alone, her fingers tapping restlessly on the arm of her chair. It was barely 0630 PM, but it was already dark outside and inside. This was around the time when Meera would go around the house, switching lights.
But it was a Sunday. She was alone. Her father, Rajeev, was out with his Gymkhana friends, having the Sunday drinks and catch-up. He wouldn’t be back until 8. Another hour and a half, that Meera could spend, watching the July rain, and thinking.
Meera sighed. She got up from her chair. The house was silent. It had been raining all day, making it chilled enough not to require the fan. Her dog, Polly, was sleeping peacefully in the living room. She walked past her, to make a cup of coffee. It was her third of the day. It was bad for her. More caffeine meant that she would stay up longer at night, sifting through all the things that kept her awake.
She put the water to heat up, took two spoonfuls of ground coffee beans in her French press, and waited. Her phone buzzed. It lit up the little corner of living room, which was their kitchen. She ignored it. She poured the hot water into the French press and waited for it to brew. She leaned over the kitchen top, to watch the brewing. Meera liked doing it, to see the gradual process. It was peaceful, almost mesmerizing to see the tiny coffee beans, move around turbulently in the hot water, just like how her mind was — always in motion, always turbulent.
Her phone buzzed again.
Meera sighed. Those were messages from Vijay.
“Maybe we should meet one last time,” one message said.
“I can explain what happened last time,” the other message said.
Meera kept the phone away, deciding to ignore his messages. She didn’t want to meet Vijay one more time. Not because he was a horrible person, not because he hurt her, but because he was a waste of time.
She knew Vijay from college. He was a year senior to her. After she graduated and had some time between college and starting her job at the law firm, the same law firm where Vijay worked, Meera had some free time. Vijay would text her, and she would reply. They would talk on the phone. Eventually, they met for coffee, and then for dinner.
Vijay invited her for an evening of movies and drinks at his place. He lived in Mulund, which was quite a hike from Worli. Meera remembered paying 700 for an Uber.
When she reached Vijay’s place, only to find out that there wasn’t any particular movie to watch. It was just his large TV in the living room, with Netflix on. Vijay had asked what she wanted to drink, and she had replied that she wanted some beer. Vijay had his vodka with sprite, and she had her beer. He browsed through Netflix, his profile prominently filled with movies that were about sex. Netflix doesn’t show the same art for the same movie to everyone. It changes what is shown to a person, based on what they liked. Meera knew that, from her incorrigible habit of staying up late and browsing obscure subreddits.
From what Meera saw on Vijay’s profile, he liked women being fucked from behind, because a lot of media art on his Netflix, showed a woman facing the camera, bent over. He finally decided on a movie, Loving Adults, and settled into drinking.
They ordered some food. There wasn’t much to talk about. They had been on dates before that, but alone in his place, Meera realized that apart from both of them being young lawyers, they didn’t have much in common. Vijay owned the apartment he lived in. His parents lived in Thane, and even though he didn’t tell Meera. she guessed that the apartment was a coming-of-age gift for him.
His apartment was sparse, but the aesthetics were loud. For a bachelor, who liked to invite women over to watch movies, with scenes of women being fucked from behind, Vijay didn’t have a muted taste. The couch that Meera was sitting on, was dark red, the entertainment unit on which Vijay’s 55-inch TV rested had a glossy finish, and the beer glass that he had given to Meera was straight out of a Thor movie.
Meera and Vijay were quietly watching the movie when the first sex scene came. It was not really explicit, just a man, touching a woman’s crotch, rubbing her over her pants, at a construction site. An illicit affair. Meera was watching it, with rapt attention, not because it was a hot scene, but because of the way the man held on to the throat of the younger woman, as he ran her hands over her crotch.
Vijay was getting uncomfortable, he would shift on the couch, putting his leg down and raising it again.
When the second scene, came, which had the same woman, being fucked from behind in an office, Vijay made his move.
“Meera,” he said.
She had turned her head, to find Vijay close. Very close. He was leaning in for a kiss. Meera had put her hand up. She spilled some beer on the couch, and almost dropped the beer mug on the floor.
She had gotten up. Vijay apologized. Meera had collected her things and said, “It’s alright. I will get going though.”
Vijay had insisted on walking her to her Uber. It was an uncomfortable elevator ride down, with Vijay shuffling on his feet, trying to find something to say to her. When the elevator door opened on the ground floor, Meera insisted that he should go up. But, Vijay, being Vijay, had stayed back, till the Uber came. It was an uncomfortable 10 minutes.
Meera took her coffee and went to her bedroom. She sat down in her armchair. She sipped her coffee, as she scrolled through her phone. After a few full-length scrolls of her phone, she sighed. She looked around the room.
She took another sip of her coffee. The bitter warmth filled her mouth, bringing a brief moment of solace. She continued to browse through her phone, scrolling through endless feeds of meaningless content. The only sound in the room was the pattering of raindrops against the window, accompanied by an occasional rumble of thunder.
The darkness enveloped her like a warm blanket, yet she felt a tinge of melancholy that she couldn't quite shake off. It was as if the rain had brought along a wave of nostalgia, reminding her of a time when things were simpler, and life felt less complicated. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath, letting the scent of the rain wash over her. For a brief moment, she felt like she was transported to another world, where the only thing that mattered was the sound of the rain and the beating of her heart.
Meera furtively glanced at the time, her phone’s screen was a harsh glow in the darkness. It was 7 O’clock, still an hour before her father came back. She wasn’t very close to her dad, but having someone home, helped Meera to avoid her own mind. A mind, given enough time, that spiraled down a path, that was darker than the darkest of rooms.
Meera was 23 years old, fresh out of law school. It had been only a couple of weeks that she had been going to work, only a couple of weeks of the real world. It wasn’t particularly harsh for her. The commute from Worli to Churchgate, and then a taxi to her firm in Colaba, was simpler and shorter than people, much older than her, who traveled from Virar.
Meera’s father never spoiled her. Meera studied in a posh school, and had friends who would get practically unlimited pocket money. Meera’s father though had a strict limit on how much unaccounted cash she had. Even in college, when she could have spent entire semesters high on meth like some of her classmates, she had decided to study. Not because it was impossible for her to get the drugs, or go to parties, where the only rule was to come without underwear, but because she wanted to be good at something.
It was hard for her, to find comfort in company. Meera would go to college, attend the classes, politely turn down requests for hangouts, and overtures for a date in the Marriott and come back home, open her legal pads, and write the assignments which weren’t due for weeks.
Since she started working, when she talked with people with lives, people with kids, wives and girlfriends and boyfriends, she realized that she has missed out on a few things in life.
“I cannot believe, you are single!” a colleague was bemused. Zoya was only two years older than Meera, and would often unabashedly tell her about her two boyfriends, about the dilemma of choosing the right one.
Meera had only smiled at the remark, almost a blush.
Meera was attractive, by all standards. She was young, of course, but she also had a body, that demanded attention. Meera was short, at 5’4”, but it also meant that you could see more of her in one glance. A thick pair of thighs, which often jiggled in her tight leggings, and an ass that was so bubbly that, even her formal long kurtas would surrender to its curves. She didn’t have the slenderest of waists, but the plump torso perfectly complimented her breasts, which were just the right size for her. Round and natural-sized, Meera often wondered how she would have looked if her breasts were as large as her bottom. She was, by all accounts, bottom-heavy.
Meera had a distinct style. She didn’t follow the fashion trends, didn’t have a horseshoe nose ring, or the horn-rimmed oversized cat-eyes which were popular among the women her age. She did wear glasses, but they served the purpose of vision and not of style. The only piece of jewelry she wore, was a nose pin. It was a gift from her mother. It had a tiny diamond on it.
“A diamond for my diamond,” her mother had said while giving it to Meera for her 18th birthday. Meera had cringed at the cloying comparison.
Two years later, a day after her twentieth birthday, her mother killed herself.
Whenever Meera was sad, she would often touch her nose pin. She missed her mother, like every girl would when she was sad. In the three years after her mother’s death, she and her father never sat down to talk about her. They cried in their rooms, they mourned her in their own ways. They never talked about why she killed herself.
Meera told herself that she has processed the grief. That she didn’t blame her father for it. She didn’t blame herself. That she didn’t blame the entire fucking world, to make it so miserable for her mother, that she had to kill herself. Denial is a powerful thing. And when you are 23, when you are attractive, and when you have people smiling at you, it’s easy to deny things.
Nobody in her college knew her mother. Nobody in her college, asked her if they can come over to have her mother’s pani puris. When her mother died, Meera was absent for two weeks. When she came to college, nobody asked Meera, why she was suddenly so quiet. She had classmates in college, but no friends. And she didn’t stay at a hostel. So, it was just the classes.
After her mother’s death, she distanced herself from the circle of her school friends. Her clique of girls — Srishti, Claire, and Heena were still in the city. The first couple of times she met them after her mother’s death, she experienced pity. She started avoiding them, and when you are young and have a brand new life, it’s easy to drift apart.
So, on that rainy Sunday evening, alone in her bedroom, in the darkness, Meera touched her nose pin. Her phone buzzed.
World’s a harsh place. You wouldn’t live long enough without defense mechanisms in place. Meera had her own. Detachment. She lost her virginity at a relatively late age, compared to her clique of friends. It was a couple of months after her mother had passed away.
He was a classmate, Niraj. They used to sit together in some classes. He was neither the boldest of flirts nor was he the biggest of studs. He would brush his hand across her thighs, in the pretense of adjusting the way he sat. He would smile at him, and Meera would smile back. She never told anyone about her tragedy. Don’t tell, if nobody asked you.
In those days, Meera returned home with a genuine intention to study. She'd lock herself in her room and sit down at her desk, but every time she tried to focus, memories of her mother would intrude. The evening snacks, the suggestions to straighten her curly hair, the encouragement to get LASIK to reveal her beautiful eyes – all of it came flooding back.
“You have such lovely eyes, and these glasses hide all that,” her mother would say, squeezing her cheek. She was an adult and yet, like all mothers, she was still a little girl to her mother.
So, in her locked bedroom, after classes, she would try to study, and these things will swirl in her mind. She would expect a knock on her bedroom door, her mother asking her why she needed to lock the door. But there was no mother to ask her that. Meera’s vision will get blurred, her eyes will water. She would blink away the tears, sniffle, and tell herself that she has to study for her lectures tomorrow. That there was nobody to disturb her with innocuous requests, that there was nobody to admonish her need for privacy.
And, a tear will streak her glasses. Meera would sob quietly. She would look out of the window, she would try to listen to the bustling traffic below her. Everything seemed fine. The Earth went round the Sun, the Moon round the Earth, all indifferent to Meera’s sobs.
She would shut her books, she will turn off the lights. She will sit in the bed, and unlock her phone.
She would browse to Pornhub. She would click to the fourth or fifth page because she would have already watched all the porn in the first few pages. She would tap a video, and seek the part, where the camera would be on the girl, moaning in pleasure. She would slip her hand beyond her waistband, then inside her panty. And she would touch herself.
On the most difficult evenings, Meera would strip naked. She would stand near the window, but never dare to peer out of it.
It would be dark inside her room, dark outside her window, and darkness in her mind. And yet, she relished the feel of the air on her naked body. She would touch her body, and try to feel her own fingers touch her. She would caress the place between her pubis and thighs, she will caress her nipples, hardening them.
She would lie down on the bed eventually, and fire open a random porn video. She would spread her legs wide as the women did in the videos. She would circle her clit, and then caress her slit. The video didn’t do much for her — to see a woman, fucked from behind, to see a woman cry of pleasure. Her eyes would still be wet from sorrow, but her pussy, her pussy eventually responded to her touches.
She would rub herself, and stop when she was close to cumming. She would caress her nipples, and pinch them. She wanted to feel something other than the sorrow that she felt at her desk. And then, she would go back to touching herself, between her thick plush thighs, through her slightly trimmed bush.
In the moments leading up to her orgasm, she will feel nothing. It was still better than what she was feeling at her desk. Her body will shudder, she would arch her back and raise her heavy hips above the bed and let them fall back. She will let the wave of her orgasm pass over her, a feeble attempt to sanitize her sorrow.
It would be 0830 PM by then. She would dress herself up. She would turn on the lights. She will look in the mirror, and adjust her outfit, for she had to go out of her room. To have her dinner. She smiled at the mirror, for that’s how she will smile at her dad, who would have started microwaving the dinner, at 0830 PM sharp. She will wipe away any traces of tears from her eyes. Sometimes her fingers would brush past her nose, the smell of her sex, the smell of the only ephemeral pleasure that she could manage to feel.
She would look at herself one last time, do a twirl to see if the pant fit her well, that there were no signs that she had put them back on hastily. She would unlock the door of her bedroom. She was venturing out. The room was her sanctuary. It was her prison.
After a Good Date is a reader-supported publication. The only way I have continued writing is through the support of my readers. If you liked reading so far, and want me to continue producing content like this, consider making a small anonymous donation at my Buy Me a Coffee page. You can also check out my published eBooks and buy one of them to support me. Please and Thank You!
So, when Niraj asked her one evening, after the last class of the day if she wanted to hang out, she only thought for a moment and said yes. Niraj was not from Bombay. He lived in a 1 BHK apartment with three of his friends.
“We can go to my place, my friends are away for the entire week,” he said.
It wasn’t the cleanest of houses.
Niraj and Meera sat on the couch, for some time, talking about classes, talking about careers.
“I have liked you for a long time,” Niraj said.
Meera smiled, pursing her lips. If she smiled a certain way, there was a dimple in one of her cheeks. It was a practiced smile.
Niraj leaned forward and placed his hand on her thick thigh. His hand, though large, seemed not enough for her thigh. Meera looked at his hand and then up at him. Niraj leaned in for a kiss. Meera still had her hands clasped on her lap when he kissed her.
She kept her lips shut, as she felt his kiss. It wasn’t her first kiss ever, but it was certainly the first time she was being kissed behind a locked door.
Niraj broke away and looked at her. Meera’s face a mix of nothing. She was quiet. Niraj leaned in again, this time, with more of his body, and his hand on her waist.
Meera loosened her hands too and kept them on his shoulder. She remembered opening her mouth, to let his tongue in. But she couldn’t remember how he tasted.
They kissed for a while, Niraj’s hand slipping inside her top, to touch her bare torso. His touch was hurried, but gentle. He kept pulling her to him, but she sat there, only for him to lean over her.
“Let’s go inside,” he had said, holding her hands.
Meera had nodded.
The bedroom was as shabby as the house, nothing unexpected for a group of three college guys. He sat Meera down on the bed and went to the hem of her top. Meera felt her top being raised, and she raised her arms, to have herself disrobed. And then, he unclasped her bra.
Niraj’s eyes darkened, his eyes firmly fixed on her breasts. He leaned in to kiss her breasts. It was the first time Meera was kissed there. She liked the wetness in his lips, around her nipples. Niraj was hurried with her breasts too, kneading them instead of cupping them. It hurt more than it titillated her.
Niraj tried to kiss her entire bare breasts. He tried to kiss every inch around her nipples, the place between her breasts, under her breasts. Meera watched him kiss her, his eyes closed, his head moving as he roamed his tongue around her naked breasts.
It wasn’t long before he pushed her into the bed. He was on top of her, he licked her neck, and he kissed her shoulders. Meera had closed her eyes, feeling every touch she could feel.
He tugged at her jeans, and fumbled around her button. Meera unbuttoned her jeans for him. He pulled it down, and then her panties.
She had been naked inside a locked bedroom countless times before, but it was the first time she was naked in a room, with someone else. She had always thought that it would feel different. But she didn’t feel anything. But, it was still better than what she felt most of the time.
“Wow,” Niraj had said.
He had stripped down his pant and had fumbled through the drawer to find a condom. Meera watched him, struggle for a moment, to tear open the packet, and then, watched him stroke his dick. Niraj groaned and moaned as he stroked himself. He wasn’t looking at Meera’s eyes, but at her bare body — her perky round breasts, her parted legs, her soft thighs, her sparse bush. When he was sufficiently hard, he put the condom on his dick. It was the first time Meera saw that in person. The porn videos she watched usually skipped this part.
With his condom-clad dick in his hand, Niraj stroked himself a few times, before going to the bed, between her spread legs.
He whistled and made sounds as if he had eaten a chilly. Meera was quiet and watched him rub the top of his dick, more like the tip of the condom against her slit. She wasn’t wet.
Niraj spat on his fingers and smeared the spit across her slit. Meera felt something, close to pleasure. She gasped. Encouraged by her gasp, Niraj, did more of that, before her pussy was slathered with Niraj’s spit and some of her own wetness.
The penetration was unremarkable. She felt it of course, but she didn’t feel the need to cry out like the women in porn. She spread her legs and watched with rapt attention as Niraj slipped his dick inside her. It was painful, the first intrusion. But Niraj pushed in, focused on his erection, focused on staying hard.
Once he was inside her, he looked at her and started fucking her. He pinned her down, with his body, and hammered away. Niraj was enthusiastic, she has to concede that. But all that time, Meera didn’t feel the need to moan, to cry, to ask him to fuck her. She remembers putting her hand on his chest, and Niraj increasing his pace.
The sparks of her pleasure were short-lived. She felt him expand inside her. She gasped for air, her face starting to contort as she felt the first thrusts of pleasure, with his dick expanding inside her. But right then, Niraj thumped her one last time, crying out loud, as he finished inside the condom, inside her.
Out of breath, he had held the base of his dick, pulled out, and then peeled his condom away. Meera saw his cum inside the condom. All this, for that much cum. She wished to touch herself then, she wished that those sparks of pleasure that she was starting to feel continued longer, much longer.
“I’ll throw this away and come,” Niraj had said.
When he was away, Meera dressed up.
He told her that they should go for a cup of coffee, because there were restrictions on female guests beyond 8 PM in his society.
“Umm, I would go home. My dad would be expecting me for dinner,” Meera had said.
“Oh, okay. How would you go? By the local?”
Meera had sighed and nodded.
Meera collected her bag and said her goodbyes. “You were amazing,” Niraj had said, holding the door ajar, and looking around the corridor, paranoid about someone seeing her. Meera had smiled, that one-dimple smile.
She walked out of the society, feeling the stare of the security guard on her ass. She had gotten into a Kaali Peeli and reached home, just in time for dinner.
Three years, since she lost her virginity, and her taste in pleasure had evolved. She didn’t just watch blowbangs and double penetration. She was part of communities, silently reading about dead bedrooms and erection problems, about cheating wives and whoring for cams, about young bhabhis and swingers clubs.
That Sunday evening, while it rained outside, and she waited for her dad to come back, Meera was browsing through bondage porn. She had her hand inside her pants when she saw a post about a shibari workshop. In Bombay. She blinked to make sure she was reading the place right. She saw pictures, of women clothed, but tied up, in beautiful knots. She tapped the post.
Exclusive Shibari Workshop
Hey there, fellow Shibari enthusiasts! We're excited to announce a discreet and intimate 2-day Shibari workshop in Mumbai, catering exclusively to adults. To maintain a comfortable and balanced learning environment, we're only accepting 10 participants, with a 1:1 ratio of men to women. Please note that this workshop is CLOTHED, and any sexual advances will result in expulsion without a refund. We're here to learn the art of Shibari and foster a safe and intimate atmosphere.
Details
Instructor: Vikram
Entry fee: ₹750
Government ID required for age and gender verification.
The address of the workshop location will be sent via a QR code, emailed to you two hours before the first day of the workshop. To reserve your spot, follow instructions in the link.
Don't miss this unique opportunity to learn the art of Shibari in a safe and intimate setting! Remember, spaces are limited, so act fast! See you there, and happy tying!
Meera had seen her share of weird things on the internet. She googled Shibari to be sure it was what she was thinking it was. She raised her eyebrows. Bombay offered a lot of things. But, this seemed like something that would never come to fruition.
She tapped on the link for the website. It seemed legitimate. She paid the fee, and followed the verification process. She got an email, an autogenerated email, but it was signed by Vikram, and it had a link to his website.
Vikram looked handsome, and the email was casual and friendly. It had his WhatsApp number, and an offer to be available for any queries related to the workshop.
The doorbell rang. It was her dad. As she walked to the door, switching on lights, she was thinking about this workshop that she signed up for. One moment she was touching herself, and another she was taking pictures with her Aadhar card. It seemed weird. But different. She practiced her smile before opening the door. It wasn’t as difficult to smile then, as it usually was. Intrigue, curiosity and the unknown — the trifecta.
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After a Good Date is a reader-supported publication. The only way I have continued writing is through the support of my readers. If you liked reading so far, and want me to continue producing content like this, consider making a small anonymous donation at my Buy Me a Coffee page. You can also check out my published eBooks and buy one of them to support me. Please and Thank You!