The Other Men - 1
The First Time
The past couple of weeks have been about quick firing short (relatively) stories. The Fourth Wheel and The Pathologist were initially thought of as Shorts. However, their pace and length made me want to break the story up in distinct parts, to give a better reading experience. In fact, these were the first stories, that I had finished before posting the first parts. With The Other Men, I am back to my usual episodic format. I have a head start, with first 5 parts already finished (sans proofreading). But, I need the time to tie up the story about Usha.
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We start inside a car, on a highway, on its way from Nagpur to Bombay. Usha, who is seated beside her husband, Anand, is anxious about how her new home would feel like. She had lived all of her 23 years in a village near Nagpur, and now she was going away from it, at 100 kmph, on the day after her wedding. She had waited for this day for many years — the day she would get to be alone with a man, the she would get to be a woman.
This story is about Usha and the novelty of a marital life, it is about adjusting expectations, it is about discovering the pleasures of flesh. Usha, starts out as a naive 23 year old virgin, but she quickly realizes that she was wrong about the things she considered sacred and important.
The Other Men will be a multi-part story. Make sure you are subscribed (it’s free to subscribe) to After a Good Date to stay updated with the parts, as and when they are delivered.
1
Usha was seated next to her husband, as they drove over the highway, swooshing past kilometers of uninhabited land on the either side of the road. They were still a long way away from “home”. Usha hadn’t yet gotten used to referring it to home in her mind. After all, it had been only a day since she had been married.
Her husband, Anand, had started the drive with a broad smile on his face. The car, a brand new Honda City, still had the plastic seat covers on the backseat and the headrests. Usha’s father had gifted him the car, making a whole photo-op of handing him over the key. The car still had a mala hanging by the bonnet. For Anand, it was a big upgrade from his 4 year-old Tiago.
They had been driving for the last 5 hours, but the navigation screen on the car still said that it’d take 6 more hours before they were in Bombay. They could have continued driving, but Anand had insisted that he wanted to reach Bombay in the day time, and not late in the night. They had started from Usha’s village near Nagpur early in the morning. And their first stop was supposed to be Aurangabad1.
Anand was lighting up his fourth cigarette of the drive, when Usha asked, “How long will it take for us to reach the hotel?”
“Soon,” Anand said, “Do you need to pee?”
“What? No… I was just asking,” Usha blushed. She wasn’t used to being asked by a man if she needed to pee.
Anand chuckled, and said, “We can stop at one of these places on the highway. They are dirty, but if you really need to go —”
“No, I was just asking,” Usha said. She looked away, out of the window. It was around 1 PM, the sun was beating down hard. Usha didn’t have to worry about her skin getting tanned. She had a dark tone to her. She had never had to worry about the sun. It was the hotel that she was worried about. After all, it would be the first time, she would be alone with a man in a room. And as the Sun kept climbing up in the sky, she was getting closer to the time she’d be behind the closed doors, alone with a man.
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Usha, at 23, was a stranger to a city's chaos, having never ventured beyond the familiar roads of Nagpur. College life was thrust upon her, a reluctant journey shadowed by her mother's cautionary words: a 'good rishta' could mean an abrupt end to her academic pursuits. Secretly, Usha yearned for this escape, finding the college atmosphere stifling, alien, a relentless trial.
In those halls of her college, she was an outsider. Her peers, with their unspoken codes and urban accents, found her rustic Marathi an amusing oddity, her traditional bindi a mark of backwardness. Clad in kurtas that hung loosely from her frame, and salwars which never gave away the shape of her legs, Usha was a shadow among them. Her clothes concealed her svelte figure, her slim arms, and the surprisingly generous curves of her breasts – a stark contrast to her petite build. Her hair, always tied in a bun, would have reached the middle of her back, in their natural wavy fall, if she ever dared to .
Her skin was flawless, a smooth velvety canvas devoid of blemish, worthy of envy, yet this was not the trait sought after by her rishtas.
"Too dark," they would dismiss, ignoring the richness of her complexion.
"Too tall," they critiqued, because their sons were not taller than Usha’s 5'6" body.
Back in her village, friends, unburdened by the judgments of a college, drifted away into their own marital worlds. Marriage transformed them, their conversations dwindling, their tones shifting. Usha would ask them, often the question veiled in a joke, about her friends’ newfound preoccupations with their marital beds.
Most ignored the question, or acted scandalized. And those who did speak of their marital sex painted a raw, unvarnished picture of intimacy — a duty, at times painful, often a chore. Usha's curiosity about the physical act, met with evasive responses, left her imagining sex as a passive, almost mechanical engagement. Her friends' descriptions of discomfort and obligation dimmed its allure. But, she was on the precipice of finding out how it would feel to lay with a man.
Anand, at 28, was five years senior to Usha. Time seemed to have etched its tales more deeply on his visage. Not slim, yet not overtly overweight, Anand carried the hint of a bulge, a testament to a life of indulgence. Standing tall at 5’10”, his presence was marked by the habitual glance at his phone amidst conversations, a signal of his life as a 'high-flying' Bombay professional. That was a lie.
With this perceived status came unspoken mandates. The city's unrelenting pace dictated that he embrace its vices — the cigarettes, the alcohol — tools to combat the relentless pressure, as Usha's mother rationalized.
"Keep him happy, in every way possible," was the mantra imparted to Usha by her own mother. Usha knew little about Anand, which made the expectations from her vague.
Anand left his village at 18, but the imprints of his roots lingered, creating an air of superiority over those who stayed behind. Yet, in Bombay's cosmopolitan air, he battled with a stench of inadequacy. His Marathi-tinted Hindi and faltering English alienated him in college, especially from the girls he was attracted to.
He desperately wanted to know these girls, wanted to text them, wanted to touch them, and kiss them. He would stare at the curves of their asses, studying the way their tight jeans hugged them. He wanted to know how it would feel to rub his dick against the bubbly asses. He wanted to feel their breasts, wanted to know how soft or hard their breasts were. He wanted to know how it felt to be inside them, to be naked with them. But, these were only the things he thought about. There was a great disconnect between what he wanted, and the his reality was.
This disconnect fueled a silent yearning, a chasm filled with unfulfilled desires. Evenings spent at Marine Drive, observing couples in their intimate hugs, stoked a deep-seated longing. The return to his shared room in Mira Road was a reluctant retreat, where it was difficult to find the privacy to even jerk off to his twisted fantasies with strangers.
Post-college, after he landed a job as an accountant, Anand turned to dating apps, his swipes a relentless search for someone who met his exacting standards. Rejection became a familiar echo. The women who matched with him declared his comments to be misplaced, and he was branded as unsettling.
"You creep me out," they would say. But all Anand would have done was comment on how tight their tee shirts were in their display picture.
He thought he would improve with time, but his interactions with women got worse and worse.
The loss of his virginity, was bought with money, devoid of any warmth. At 24, Anand, finally took the plunge, and paid for sex. He had gotten a number online, and he saved up ₹ 5000, to hire a whore.
The whore was slim, her skin discolored, her expression bored, her eyes cold. He had gotten on top of her. She had taken off her bra, and exposed her breasts. Her breasts had marks. Anand had kneaded the whore’s breasts. He was amazed by how soft they were, much softer than he had imagined a breast would feel.
When the time came to penetrate her, Anand had fumbled with the condom and lost his erection. The whore had announced that she could suck him, for somet extra money. He had agreed. He had watched her suck him. It was nothing like the porn he watched. But he felt hard again, feeling her rough tongue touching his most intimate part, wetting his dick with her spit. She had put on the condom, and then, had guided his dick inside her. As he moved his hips, fucking the whore, he looked at her expressionless face, and kept telling himself that he was inside a woman, that he was finally having sex. Anand was done within a couple of minutes.
But, it was the best cumming he had ever had.
At 28, when we meet Anand for the first time, he was a mess. He would drink every other day, he would smoke too much, and he would spend most of the money that he should have saved on whores.
To his parents, distant in their village near Nagpur, Anand remained the successful Bombay professional. When the time came for marriage, his image as a city dweller with a stable job made him a desirable match. Usha's photograph, alongside the promise of a car and gold, sealed their decision. Little did they know of the internal turmoil and the life Anand led away from their prying eyes.
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The car halted, jerking Usha back to the present moment. She felt Anand’s hand, unexpectedly firm, on her thigh, and her heart skipped a beat.
“Leave the suitcases in the car,” Anand instructed, his voice cutting through her thoughts.
She could only manage a nod, her voice trapped in her throat.
As Usha and Anand stepped into the hotel's reception area, she was acutely aware of her attire, a vivid red saree draped elegantly around her figure. The tight-fitting blouse hugged her contours, accentuating the curves of her breasts, a striking contrast to her previously conservative clothing. The saree, in its traditional grace, revealed a tantalizing glimpse of her bare waist, a subtle yet enchanting display of her skin. She embodied the quintessential image of a newlywed woman, each element of her ensemble a testament to her new status as a wife.
Behind the wooden counter, the receptionist, a man in his early thirties with sharp features and neatly combed hair, looked up. His professional smile, initially routine, wavered as his gaze inadvertently fixated on Usha. It lingered a moment too long, taking in the vivid red of her saree and the fitting blouse that showcased her young and ripe body.
“We have a booking,” Anand's voice, steady and assured, broke the silence. Anand gave him the details, and the receptionist typed on his computer for a moment, before pushing a register and pen towards them.
Seizing the opportunity to assert her role as a wife, Usha leaned forward to fill out the form. She felt the receptionist's stare, invasive and unsettling, particularly on her fitted blouse which outlined her form more than she was accustomed to. A blush, born of discomfort and embarrassment, spread across her cheeks. Her hand trembled slightly as she wrote, the weight of the man’s gaze and Anand’s presence equally unnerving.
Finishing quickly, she stood upright. She adjusted her saree, avoiding any further eye contact with the receptionist. Anand, seemingly oblivious to the situation, collected the key and motioned for Usha to follow.
In the elevator, Anand remarked on the hotel's niceness. Usha merely nodded, her mind still racing with the receptionist’s brazen ogling and Anand's apparent indifference. Was such behavior common in cities, she wondered, her heart pounding in her chest.
Entering their room, Usha scanned the space with a mix of awe and apprehension. The simplicity of the decor did little to calm her nerves. The bed, with its crisp white linens, seemed almost too pristine, too inviting.
Her chain of thoughts was interrupted by the sound of the door closing with a definitive thud.
Turning, she saw Anand securing the lock, his movements deliberate. A flush crept up her cheeks as their eyes met. Anand’s smile, meant to be reassuring, only heightened her anxiety.
“You should get comfortable, freshen up. We will order lunch in the room,” he suggested, his voice casual.
Frozen in place, Usha’s mouth parted slightly in surprise as Anand began to unbuckle his belt. Her instinct was to look away, but curiosity and a burgeoning awareness of her new reality as a married woman held her gaze. Anand hummed a tune, a stark contrast to the silence that enveloped her, as he casually slipped out of his pants.
Usha surveyed the room, her nervousness palpable. The heavy saree draped around her felt stiff, accentuated by the weight of bangles on her wrists and the new mangalsutra around her neck – a stark contrast to her usual minimal adornment. The cool air from the AC brushed against her belly, exposed in a way her usual kurtas never allowed.
Seated on the bed, legs to the side, she straightened her saree and posture. Regretting not bringing a change of clothes, she realized the oversight was due to Anand’s insistence on leaving the suitcases in the car. Now, without access to them, she felt unprepared.
Placing her phone on the side table, she turned to Anand, who was seated on the sofa. He, too, seemed somewhat uneasy, in his underwear and shirt. Their limited conversation during the car ride had done little to ease the tension now filling the room.
“You cannot stay in the saree all day. I think you should take it off,” Anand suggested.
“I know, but I don’t have anything else to wear. Should we get one of the suitcases?” Usha replied, missing the implication of his words.
Anand chuckled. “No, we won’t get the suitcase. We need to wear these again tomorrow morning. I don’t want our clothes to get crushed. So, take it off,” he said, rising from his chair.
As he began to unbutton his shirt, Usha’s eyes widened. She watched him hang his shirt neatly on a hanger, the bulge of his dick all too obvious through his underwear. He hand her another hanger. Her heart raced with nervousness more than excitement.
“What if someone knocks?” she asked.
“I’ll get the door, and you’ll be inside the sheets,” Anand replied, smoothing the uncreased sheets.
Usha looked into his eyes, trying to interpret what he actually meant. Was she expected to strip down so openly on their first afternoon together? She felt shy but wondered if she should display her shyness so overtly.
Usha’s only education in seduction had been with the kinds of videos and movies that she has managed to see. And theses videos were mostly porn. In her mind, the girl was supposed to sit with her breasts pushed out, and caress her man. And whenever possible, she should bend over and show her ass, and more and more of her skin. In the privacy of her room, she had tried that, looking at herself in the mirror.
She would strip down, in front of the mirror, her dark shapely figure, with nothing on it. Her pussy was not bald like the videos showed. But, her breasts were like theirs. She started wearing a 34C bra since she was just 19, and over the years, it has only felt tighter around her chest. Usha would try to push her breasts out, and touch her nipples. Her breasts were among the fairest parts of her body, her skin lightening at the curves of her breasts. Her areolas though were the darkest of dark, and when her nipples hardened, they were thick and round like two bolts on her breasts.
She would run her hands on her body, feeling up her buttocks and her thighs. Her belly didn’t have flab, but whenever she bent over, she could see a bulge, which she marked as an imperfection in her. She would bend her body in various ways, trying to look at her reflection in the mirror, and it always looked off. She didn’t understand what extra the girls in the videos did, which made them look sexy, and made the men around them want to fuck them with their hard dicks. She never had a lot of time to keep herself locked in the room, so, there was barely any experimentation, or touching herself while naked. She had more questions than answers about being sexy.
But that afternoon, it was finally time for Usha to strip down in front of a man, her man. She took a deep breath, and decided that it was not the time to by shy. She wanted her man to see all of her body. She got up from the bed, with Anand watching her every move.
She started to turn around, when Anand said, “There’s no need to turn around.” Those words moistened her pussy at the sheer thought of peeling off her saree under his watchful eyes.
Usha was just 18 and few months old, when she heard one of her friends get married. Komal was a close friend. When Usha heard that Komal was getting married, she didn’t know what to say, except a congratulation.
Komal was pleasing to look at. While Usha was tall and dark, Komal was short, and among the fairest of girls. Leading up to the her wedding, Usha often asked how Komal felt about it, she didn’t have an answer for it. She was happy, that’s all she would say. Komal got married, and months later, when she first talked with Usha, everything about her had changed. Komal used to be giggly and goofy, but the woman Usha was talking with was serious, her tone polite, but even. The young Usha had asked her about sex, of course. Komal had shied away, saying that it’s not something she would want to talk about in broad daylight. There was a certain pride in her voice, something which Usha didn’t understand.
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Between her tight-lipped, proud married friends and over-enthusiastic sexual women in the videos who craved for a dick in every orifice of their bodies, Usha started associating being fucked with being worthy.
And that’s when a misguided thought took roots in her mind. Usha started associating pride with being fucked. It was twisted, and there was nobody around her who could untwist that thought for her. And then there was porn, her biggest source of education about sex. Between her tight-lipped, proud married friends and over-enthusiastic sexual women in the videos who craved for a dick in every orifice of their bodies, Usha started associating being fucked with being worthy.
It was a downward spiral from there. Many of Usha’s matches failed, for one reason or the other. When she went to college in Nagpur, the guys maintained their distance from her. And the guys who tried to get close to her, who tried to get her number and talk to her about things other than education, were guys who knew where she was from. She shied away from them, for the fear of social persecution. She couldn’t have risked being seen as someone who talked with men easily. So, she decided not to talk with anyone.
She would be stared at now and then, especially during the times when she would wear a white kurta and would come to college with her hair still a little wet. But she thought those to be stares of amusement rather than attraction. Little did she know that it was a reflection of her deep-seated insecurities about her own sex appeal.
She had waited five years for that afternoon, for that time when she will be with a man, with social consent. She wanted to feel the same kind of pride that her married women seemed to have. She wanted to be enthusiastic to be fucked, like the women in the videos. In her mind, the enthusiasm of the women got themselves fucked in those videos, in every way possible, was not just an act of pleasure but a symbol of their worth and acceptance.
Standing before Anand, Usha hesitantly began to remove her saree. As she pulled the fabric away from her chest, avoiding his gaze, she felt the intensity of his stare on her. The blouse didn’t have a plunging neckline, but it did justice to the curves of her breasts underneath, to their fullness, to their allure. She let the pallu of her saree fall, as she undid the intricate pleat below her navel. The saree slipped away, and she carefully gathered it, mindful not to crease it excessively, and placed it on the bed. Now, only in her petticoat and blouse, she finally dared to look at Anand.
He stepped closer, his fingers reaching out to gently touch her belly. Usha’s skin prickled with goosebumps, in the places where she was touched. He caressed her skin with his fingers, felt it up with his thumb. His nose was an inch away from her forehead. She could feel his warm breath; she could feel that his breaths had become irregular. Usha was looking down at the places where she was being touched, about the way in which Anand was holding her waist, squeezing it, feeling it up.
Anand hooked his finger, and touched her chin, and pushed it up. He moved his face closer, and Usha closed her eyes. She felt his lips on hers. It was the first time she had been kissed. It felt intimate, but unnatural to her, to be touched by someone else’s mouth. She opened her mouth, imitating the women she had seen. But Anand wasn’t expecting it.
After a few awkward tries, Anand pushed his tongue inside her mouth. She didn’t know what to do with it, so, she simply let him be inside her mouth. She moved her body, not because she felt like it, but because that’s what she had seen the women in the videos doing. It wasn’t the most sexual and passionate of kisses, but it was her first kiss. And she knew it all started with a kiss.
Anand broke off the kiss, leaving Usha’s lips moist. He smiled at her, as he reached for the hooks of her blouse. Usha waited with bated breath, as she felt the fabric of her blouse loosen, one hook at a time. When her blouse was off, she adjusted her arms to let her blouse be taken off her.
Anand placed the blouse on her saree. And then, he eyed her breasts, still covered by her bra. Anand ran his finger up her spin, almost tickling Usha in the process. Her lips curled upwards to form a nervous smile. He reached for the clasp of her bra, and he started undoing them. It took him a few tries to get off the last hook of the bra, but when he was done, he stood back. The bra’s elastic shrunk, and Usha held it in place with just her hands.
Usha remained still as Anand reached for the knot of her petticoat. With a swift tug, the petticoat fell down to pool around her ankles. Usha gasped for breath, as she stood in her panty, and her undid-bra in front of a man, for the very first time in her life. She expected Anand to say something, but he simply stepped back, and took off his undershirt, in one swift motion. Usha's gaze involuntarily drifted to a more prominnet bulge in his underwear, a sign of his arousal. Usha felt elated seeing it, seeing that she was making a man’s dick hard, just like the women in the videos did with their mouths.
Anand, now standing mere inches from Usha, observed his young wife, her head bowed down in submission, her fingers still gripping the loose bra. He reached out, his fingers brushing against the clinking bangles on her wrists, gently coaxing her hands away. As her grip loosened, the bra cups lost their hold, slipping away effortlessly. He tugged at the bra, Usha raising her arms to allow him to remove it completely.
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He hadn’t expected to see such big breasts on his wife. Unlike the whores whom he could afford, Usha’s breasts were perky and big. He held her arms, and kept them extended, and he stared at her neck, her bare shoulders, and her bare breasts – a continuous canvas of delicious flesh.
He could feel his dick hardening his underpants. But there was much to do with his shy village wife. Anand had never undressed a woman like that, had never held her hands away so that he can look at her breasts. His whores undressed for him, and would always be moving in suggesting manner. When he paid extra, they will even take his name ask him, and ask him to fuck them. His wife, although much more beautiful than them, just stood there. How would he ask her virgin village wife, to suck his dick?
He had thought about this before asking his parents to find a match. It is not something he could have said directly or even obliquely to his parents, or asked about it during any stage of marriage. He had decided that he will slowly make his wife do the things he liked. But more he thought about it, the more unlikely it seemed. The things that Anand liked seeing women do, it’d be hard to ask his wife do those things. But he had to start somewhere.
He let her hands go, and leaned into her ears and asked her, “Do you know how to suck a dick?”
That question left Usha flustered. She didn’t know how to answer the question. It was a simple yes or no question. She had seen how a dick was sucked. So, she couldn’t have simply shaken her head and said no. But she has never sucked a dick. She had never ever been in her panty in front of another man. So, simply could not have nodded yes.
But there was something else. That blatant question made her pussy warm. Nobody had ever mentioned that word to her. It had always been in her head, but nobody had said it out loud.
Without an answer, Usha simply stood there, in her panty, looking at Anand’s crotch. She felt Anand’s hand on her shoulder, and a gentle push downward. She knew that part, she had seen it happen countless times. But it felt surreal to be part of it. She had seen women take pull down pants, and smile at the dicks in front of them. Usha lowered herself slowly, holding the side of the bed to balance her.
On her knees, she looked up at Anand. She could feel his eyes on her bare breasts. She felt a little more naked then, even though nothing else had been removed from her body. Usha rested her hands on her thighs, and waited with bated breath to see her husband’s dick. She didn’t have to wait long.
Anand placed one hand on her forehead, and another, pulling his underwear down. It wasn’t the smoothest of dick exposes, but he managed to pull down his pant, expose his manhood to his wife. Usha’s lips parted. She didn’t know why he had placed his hand on her forehead. If it was to bring her face closer to his crotch, he didn’t need to do it, because Usha knew that much.
As soon as Anand stood straight, Usha neared herself, and touched his dick. The moment her fingers brushed against his dick, a soft moan escaped his lips. It wasn't a moan of pleasure, but more of surprise and gratification that she had initiated the touch, that he hadn't needed to coax her into it. Usha touched his dick with a tentative finger, caressing its length. He was far from being hard, but still, his limp dick was long enough to be caressed. Usha hadn’t expected him to have all that hair. In fact, she had been worried about her own pubic hair.
In the run up to the wedding, Usha had waxed her body. She had never felt so beautiful, with all traces of her body hair removed. She loved how her underarms felt, and how smooth her legs looked like. Doing that added a shine to her legs. The parlour lady had suggested that she used razors for her legs and underarms, and had also given her a new razor. But, there was no way for Usha to ask her about what to do with the bush between her legs. She had looked it up, but she was too scared to try those things. When she was undressing herself in front of Anand that was one thing she was worried about. Seeing her husband had ample hair on his sex, made her feel a little more confident.
And that’s why; she smiled as she caressed her husband’s dick for the first time.
“You like this, don’t you?” Anand asked her in a low voice.
Usha looked up, and simply smiled at him. Anand took his hand to back of her head, and shook her head, as he asked her again, “You like being like this?” Usha didn’t answer, instead just smiled at him.
Anand’s heart was racing. He knew he was pushing the envelope. He needed her to do certain things for him to fuck her. Usha was an unknown element for him. He should have proceeded with caution. But then again, he had to find her limit.
He raised his other hand, while keeping her head held in place, and slapped her.
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The Other Men - 2
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Aurangabad has been renamed Sambhajinagar now, however, the old name has been retained for the ease of recognition.