Erotic Stories for Punjabi Widows

by Balli Kaur Jaswal

  A moment later, the bathroom door opened. His wife appeared, wearing just a towel. The man began to understand now but he still just wanted to be alone. He held up his hands and waved his wife away, chiding her for interrupting his private time. The wife paid no attention to his protests. She raised her arms, letting go of the towel. As it fell onto the floor, the man could not help noticing his wife’s body and he tried to remember when he last saw her standing in front of him completely naked like this. He turned around to turn on the shower and felt her drawing close to him, her nipples hard against his bare back. The water splashed on their faces as if they were dancing in the rain but they were actually moving very slowly. Her delicate hands ran smoothly across his body, wiping away the grit and soil from his work in the depths of the earth, so removed from small luxuries like the first drizzle of clean water after a punishing hot day. He shuddered as she moved down to his large shaft and began stroking it. She kissed his face, his lips, his neck. Her strokes increased in speed to match his short, sharp breaths. He pumped his organ into her palm. With the other hand, she scraped her nails lightly against his back. Her fingertips spelled out words of adoration in the sheen of water on his skin. He jerked suddenly into her hand with a throaty moan. ‘We’ve never done it like that,’ he gasped. She smiled and buried her face in his hair. There were many things they had never done together.

  When it was his turn to return the favour, he was very attentive. She stood with her back pressed against the wall and parted her legs. He flicked his tongue against the tight bud at her centre. The water continued to fall on them. Her legs shook with the intensity of pleasure and she clutched his hair, feeling waves of warmth radiate within her as she came closer and closer to bursting. It was almost painful – her skin tingled with the sensation of the water on her skin; every part of her was suddenly aware and sensitive. She cried out loudly. ‘Don’t stop,’ she called. ‘Don’t stop.’ He didn’t.

  The class applauded. Preetam blushed. It was an unusual story for her, Nikki thought, and then she noticed a detail missing.

  ‘What are the names of the people in your story?’

  ‘They don’t have names.’

  ‘Oh, give them names,’ Arvinder said pityingly, as if compelling her to give sweets to a child.

  ‘John and Mary,’ Preetam said.

  The room broke out in a mix of giggles and protests. ‘Give them Punjabi names. Or Indian ones at least,’ Bibi urged.

  ‘I just can’t see Indians doing this kind of thing,’ Preetam said.

  ‘How exactly do you think babies are made?’ Arvinder asked.

  ‘Not that,’ Preetam said. ‘This couple isn’t making babies. They’re just pleasuring each other.’

  ‘Where did you get the idea for this story from, Preetam?’ Tanveer asked, squinting slightly at Preetam.

  ‘From my imagination,’ Preetam said.

  Tanveer turned to Nikki. ‘Nikki, what is it called when you present work that isn’t originally yours? You can get expelled from university for it – Satpreet Singh’s son got caught doing it. There’s an English word.’

  ‘Plagiarism,’ Nikki said.

  ‘Yes,’ Tanveer said. ‘I remember that word because nobody knew what it meant; even Satpreet Singh was confused. He didn’t think the punishment would be so severe for copying a few paragraphs from a library book – “my son was using his wits,” he kept saying. But the English are very fussy about the truth. Preetam, you have done plagiarism.’ The word was mangled by her accent.

  ‘You’re mad,’ Preetam said, but she did look a bit worried. ‘I can’t read English books. Where would I get this story from?’

  ‘Channel Fifty-Six at 1 a.m.’

  Surreptitious glances shot about the room. Nikki didn’t have to ask what was on Channel Fifty-Six at 1 a.m. because their knowing smiles told her everything. ‘There was a movie on the other night about a couple. The man came home wearing one of those fluorescent vests – he was a miner or something, and then he said something in English and his wife led him into the bathroom. They did exactly what you described.’

  ‘It wasn’t in English,’ Arvinder said. ‘It didn’t sound like English; it was French or Spanish I think.’

  ‘The German ones are the best,’ piped up Bibi. ‘Their men are so sturdy looking.’

  ‘Your secret’s out, Preetam,’ Tanveer said with a grin.

  Preetam squirmed. ‘There’s nothing to watch on the Indian channel late at night,’ she protested.

  ‘Maybe we should move on,’ Nikki said.

  ‘I’ve got the rest of my story now,’ Tanveer offered.

  ‘The one about Rita and Meera?’ Arvinder asked. Tanveer nodded.

  ‘Yes, please, tell us what happens,’ Bibi said.

  Rita led Meera to her bed. The sheets were lightly tousled from the night before but Meera refrained from telling off the young girl for not making the bed. She felt a strong and urgent pulsing in her loins as she lay down on the bed and closed her eyes on Rita’s instructions. Rita’s breath was hot on Meera’s skin. They kissed passionately, playfully flicking their tongues. After unbuttoning Meera’s top, Rita gave her nipples gentle bites through the fabric of her bra. Meera gritted her teeth. The sensation of this young woman teasing her flesh made her want to scream with ecstasy but she knew there was even more pleasure to come. Rita stroked the peach between Meera’s legs. There was such heat radiating from Meera that Rita knew she was ready. She peeled off Meera’s clothes and put her fingers into her wet, swollen centre. Meera whimpered with delight. Her whimpers became deep moans in rhythm with Rita’s steady movements. Rita’s fingers rotated gently in a circle, preparing Meera for what would come soon. The clay stick lay on the bedside table. Meera glanced at it occasionally. Rita shook her head. ‘Not yet,’ she said firmly. She knew it was cruel to withhold pleasure from this woman who so badly wanted it but Rita wanted to prolong this experience. She had great power over Meera now. She could get her to do anything she wanted. How Rita managed this moment could determine the course of the rest of her life in this home.

  Rita pulled away from Meera and took out a bottle of coconut oil from her dresser drawer. She and her husband had used coconut oil together on their first night, and sometimes, to surprise him, she rubbed it all over her body and then waited in bed for him, naked and glistening. She made a show of it now, stripping for Meera, who watched her every move. Then she tipped the bottle of oil into her hands and rubbed them slowly over her breasts and stomach and thighs. She was aware of how sexy she looked – a goddess with glowing bronze flesh. She returned to bed and reached for the clay stick, which she rolled over her body, from her neck to her stomach, till it was slick with oil. Meera enjoyed the show. She turned on her side and watched Rita, mesmerized. ‘Show me what you do with it,’ Meera said.

  Rita lay down and spread her legs and slipped the stick into her silken folds. She guided it in and out of herself, bucking and sighing the way she did with her husband. With one hand, she clutched at her naked breast, twisting her hard nipples between her fingers. She met Meera’s gaze. ‘You get it now?’ she asked.

  She drew the stick out and sat up. ‘It’s your turn,’ she said. ‘Lie down.’

  Meera shook her head. ‘You keep going,’ she said.

  ‘Oh don’t tell me you want to stop now.’

  ‘I don’t want to stop.’

  ‘Then what is it?’

  Meera cast a shy gaze over Rita’s naked body. ‘All this time I spent envying you, I was actually lusting after you. I want to keep admiring your body.’

  It was Rita’s turn to go shy. ‘I had no idea,’ she said. ‘I thought you resented me.’

  Meera pressed her lips to Rita’s. They shared a long and passionate kiss during which Meera reached down and wrapped her hands around the stick. She slipped it into Rita and began to pump it slowly. ‘What do you want me to do?’ Meera asked.

  Rita’s eyes flew open in surprise. She never thought she would be in
the position to ask anything of Meera, yet here the older woman was, ready to serve her. ‘Go faster,’ Rita commanded. Meera obeyed. ‘Faster,’ Rita said. She groaned and tipped her head back. Meera’s feverish movements were making her thighs quiver. She raised them so that the stick could be driven in deeper. ‘Ah! Ah!’ she cried. Beneath her, the sheet was soaked in her sweat and her juices. She pulled Meera’s face to hers. ‘I’m very close,’ she whispered.

  Meera pulled out the stick. She lay on top of Rita and rubbed against her. The feeling of Meera’s hot flesh against Rita’s made her excitement mount quickly. She wrapped her legs around Meera’s waist. Each grinding movement made her gasp and moan. Both women clutched each other, trying to prolong these sensations. Their climax arrived quickly. Meera shuddered and dropped her head to Rita’s collarbone. Rita stroked her hair. In this short moment, both women were closer than they had ever been but they were also lost in their own thoughts. Meera was wondering if she would ever be able to go to bed with her husband after experiencing Rita. Rita was thinking about the order of Meera’s life that she had just disassembled. From now on, I will decide where everything belongs, Rita thought.

  ‘My, my,’ Arvinder said. ‘A chilling twist.’

  ‘Very good,’ Bibi remarked.

  ‘Thank you,’ Tanveer said.

  ‘Don’t you think it’s a good story, Preetam?’ Arvinder asked. ‘It’s very original.’

  Preetam, who was feigning a sudden preoccupation with her nails, muttered a quiet ‘Yes.’

  After the women were dismissed, Sheena hung back at Nikki’s desk. ‘I have some news about Manjeet.’

  Nikki had noticed that Manjeet was absent for the second class in a row. ‘Is she all right?’

  ‘She’s left Southall.’

  ‘What? Why?’

  ‘Her husband had another stroke last week and that nurse girlfriend of his decided she wasn’t cut out to take care of him any more. She left him. When Manjeet heard that he was sick and alone, she packed up everything and went up north to take care of him.’

  ‘She’s gone permanently?’ Nikki asked.

  Sheena shrugged. ‘This is only what I heard from one of her daughters who came to the bank the other day to transfer some money over to them. She said Manjeet was talking like everything was back to normal, like he’d never left.’ She shook her head. ‘After everything he put her through! And she’s staying in that house that he bought with his girlfriend in Blackburn. I don’t know whether to consider her a loyal wife or a huge pushover.’

  Both titles sounded like the same thing to Nikki. She surveyed the empty classroom. ‘I wish I’d had a chance to talk her out of it, or at least say goodbye. It’s a good thing we’ve added Tanveer and Bibi to the class. With Tarampal and Manjeet both gone, it will start to look like we have too few students to continue running the classes.’

  ‘Yeah,’ Sheena said. ‘There’s something else I need to tell you.’ She hesitated. ‘You have to promise not to be angry.’

  ‘Whatever you did, I’m sure it’s nothing which can’t be fixed.’

  ‘You won’t be angry?’ Sheena prompted.

  ‘I won’t be angry.’

  Sheena drew in a breath and released her confession in one rapid stream. ‘I made copies of the stories to show to a few more friends.’

  ‘Oh.’

  ‘Are you angry?’

  Nikki shook her head. ‘I suppose that’s to be expected. The stories would probably have got around by word of mouth, so a friend reading them isn’t so bad.’

  ‘The thing is, my friends were really into the stories, especially the one about the tailor. They made some photocopies for their friends. Their friends might like to come to class as well.’

  ‘How many friends are we talking about here?’

  ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘Three?’

  ‘More.’

  ‘Five? Ten? We need to make sure that we don’t raise any suspicions.’

  ‘More. Women outside Southall want to come to the class as well.’

  ‘How did this happen?’

  ‘Emails. Somebody scanned a story and all of a sudden they were being sent to mailing lists everywhere. One woman who approached me at the temple today lives all the way in Essex.’

  Nikki stared at Sheena. ‘You promised not to get angry,’ Sheena reminded her.

  ‘I’m not angry,’ Nikki said. ‘I’m shocked. I’m …’ She looked around the classroom, at the empty seats, and remembered the anticipation with which she had arranged the tables on that first day. ‘I’m sort of impressed,’ she said. ‘I thought about compiling them into a book, but it never occurred to me to just make copies and send them around like that.’

  ‘I must admit, I didn’t intend for the stories to get around either. I just made that first copy for my friend who dropped in for a visit from Surrey because she was grumbling that she didn’t have anything good to read. She called me up right away and said, “Send more!” I scanned a few more but I made a mistake. I left the originals on the copier at work. Guess who returned it to me?’

  ‘Rahul?’

  Sheena blushed. ‘He pretended he hadn’t noticed the words on the page but they must have caught his attention. At lunch the next day, he said, “You seem to have quite a colourful imagination.”’

  ‘Ooh,’ Nikki said. ‘What was your response?’

  ‘I just smiled mysteriously and said, “There’s a blurry line between imagination and reality.”’

  ‘Very smooth.’

  ‘Rahul won’t tell anyone,’ Sheena said.

  ‘I’m not worried about him,’ Nikki said. ‘My concern is that we won’t be able to keep these stories a secret from the Brothers.’

  ‘Mine too,’ Sheena said. ‘But if we hide, we’re letting them have all the power, no?’ The question was tentative but a new and noticeable strength edged Sheena’s voice.

  ‘That’s right,’ Nikki said. She opened the cassette player and pulled out the tape rather too enthusiastically, leaving a trail of brown tape caught in the machine.

  ‘Here, spool it back,’ Sheena said, handing Nikki a pen. Nikki took a closer look at the tape. ‘I’ve ripped it,’ she said. ‘Bloody hell. Tonight’s stories are gone.’

  ‘It’s all right. I can remember most of the details. I’ll write down what I can and I’ll read it aloud to the group next time,’ Sheena offered.

  ‘Thanks, Sheena,’ Nikki said. She gathered the unspooled tape and wrapped it neatly around the plastic casing. ‘That was my last cassette too.’

  ‘You don’t have any spares?’

  ‘I must have left them in the box I took to Tarampal,’ Nikki said. She was met with a questioning look from Sheena. ‘I took some story tapes to Tarampal’s house last week because I felt bad about not teaching her English. It was an apology of sorts.’

  ‘How did Tarampal react?’ Sheena asked.

  ‘She’s still keen to learn English but she refuses to come back to our class. I tried to persuade her but—’

  ‘Don’t let her come back,’ Sheena said. ‘It’s better without her.’

  ‘You dislike her that much? I know she’s a little more traditional, but I thought you all were friends.’

  ‘Tarampal isn’t anybody’s friend,’ Sheena said.

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  The seconds ticked by almost audibly as Sheena studied Nikki, deciding. When she finally spoke, her voice was firm. ‘Whatever I tell you stays in this room, all right?’

  ‘I promise.’

  ‘First let me ask you something. Did you go inside Tarampal’s house?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘What was it like? Your first impression.’

  ‘It was really nice,’ Nikki said. ‘Everything looked recently renovated.’

  ‘Did you ask her how she paid for all those renovations?’

  ‘No, I thought that would be rude. I was curious about it, though. I got her contractor’s card and when I recommende
d those services to my boss, he said they were very expensive.’

  ‘I’ll bet they are. You’d only use top-notch contractors if other people were footing the bill,’ Sheena said.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘The community,’ Sheena said, gesturing at the window. The curve of the temple’s dome was visible in the window. People milled in the car park, their chatter rising to fill the pause. ‘Anyone with money is paying Tarampal to keep quiet about their secrets.’

  ‘Tarampal blackmails people?’

  ‘She doesn’t call it that,’ Sheena said. ‘She considers it a form of help. It’s the same thing her husband used to do.’

  ‘Has she ever asked you for money?’ Nikki asked. ‘Would she try to blackmail us over the classes?’

  Sheena shook her head. ‘Very unlikely. She only targets the wealthy.’

  Nikki remembered Arvinder holding out her palms and saying Tarampal wouldn’t be interested in them. Now she understood what Arvinder meant. They were empty; there was nothing to take from a widow. ‘She knows it’s not worth it,’ Nikki mused. ‘How do you know all of this, Sheena?’

  ‘For my birthday last year, I decided to pamper myself with a manicure from Chandani’s. The girl doing my nails told me about it. She said that Tarampal’s main victims are also the salon’s regular clients – those rich women we saw in the langar hall the other night. Tarampal’s husband left behind a list of people in the community who had consulted him about their indiscretions. He had records of what people told him and the prayers he prescribed to them. Tarampal uses the list against people. Maintaining an honourable reputation in this community is worth a lot of money to those families, especially those who can afford it. Like the parents of Sandeep Singh – that boy who picked her up in the white car after she stormed out of class that night. He’s gay. His mother had approached Tarampal’s husband to get him to adjust his behaviour somehow. Sandeep often drives Tarampal around to pay off his debts.’