Losing My Virginity and Other Dumb Ideas

by Madhuri Banerjee

  She shrieked again and gave me another hug while her mother shouted out from the living room if everything was okay. Aditi assured her that all was in place, shouting back.

  Honestly I didn’t know how Aditi could have had so many men given her strict upbringing, the constant watch of her parents from a few feet away and a full time servant in the same house to boot!

  I smiled.

  Just then Nandu came in with my coffee and I started sipping it not knowing how to explain the part that I was deliberately leaving out. Aditi sensed something was up and asked then, ‘So what’s wrong? Why are you not telling me everything?’

  I knew I would have to tell it all, so I took my time, ‘I think he’s great and all and I’m completely in love and he’s also smitten, but …’ I paused.

  ‘But?’ she prodded. I didn’t want to ruin the moment but it would have haunted me if I didn’t tell her right away. But the moment I said it, I knew that I would regret it for the rest of my life.

  ‘He’s married.’

  ‘He’s MARRIED?’ she hollered, throwing her hands up in the air characteristically, the drama queen.

  ‘Shhhhh. Please!’ I said, hoping her mother wouldn’t come rushing in now. I so wished we weren’t having this conversation with her parents in the other room. Especially since I felt that I had sinned deeply in front of people who thought I was a ‘great influence’ on their daughter’s life and let them down.

  She looked at me and gave me a very disapproving look. She shook her head and said, ‘Leave him now. Before you get hurt.’

  I couldn’t believe this! Here was my best friend who had slept with men indiscriminately, being completely unsupportive when it came to me. The least she could do was to have asked if he was getting a divorce—which he had promised me. Somewhat. So I told her about his situation and that he had promised to get a divorce and be with me, but since our relationship was very new, he was taking it slow with me but that he did see a future. Maybe he hadn’t said divorce and future so explicitly but I could feel it from him and added it to Aditi to make a more solid argument for me being ‘in love with a married man’.

  ‘Kaveri,’ she spoke, with authority and contempt, ‘married men do not get a divorce. It’s an urban myth.’ She enunciated every word as if I needed to be taught this valuable lesson about life.

  ‘That’s not true! Some people do. But anyways, I know what I’m doing and I want you to be happy for me.’

  She stuffed the rest of her clothes back in her wardrobe and shrugged her shoulders. I knew she was angry with me for going against her laws of finding men.

  It was my turn to get annoyed. ‘Okay, why do you say it’s an urban myth?’ I asked rather hurtfully.

  ‘Because I’ve been there. I’ve been with a married man. Don’t you remember Sanjay? That was precious time of my life that went to waste, Kaveri,’ she shot back.

  I had always been a little defensive around Aditi. Our relationship was one of mentor and student and there had been times when she had had her heart broken and I had made her rum cake with Irish coffee, but I had never doled out advice about men to her. I had always listened. Then again, what could you really tell someone who was inconsistent and erratic in relationships in any case?

  But this was the first time that I didn’t want to listen. I wanted her to be happy for me. Just because her love hadn’t worked out didn’t mean mine would not as well.

  Besides, our ‘mission’ had been accomplished. She should have wanted to celebrate. But here she was, acting like an aggrieved parent whose star child had decided not to pursue the chosen path.

  So I kept quiet. And looked away from her. I could not argue with her. I didn’t have too many explanations myself, but I wanted her to be happy for me. I was crestfallen.

  So all I could say was, ‘Not all married men are the same.’ And I prayed that she would believe me.

  It was five minutes of awkward silence before Aditi softened up, ‘I’m sorry. It’s your life. I was just being protective. Of course, I’m happy for you. Just keep one thing in mind, treat an affair as it is—an affair. Have minimum expectations and do things according to your convenience, not his. Okay?’ She asked, assuming the mentor’s role again.

  I nodded.

  She came over and gave me another hug and we made up. But deep down I could make out that she really hadn’t forgiven me. I knew that maybe I should not tell her too much. I wanted to prove her wrong. Love did change people. Married men did divorce if the right person came along. It was no longer an ugly word, no longer a stigma in our society. I thought I would show her what a ‘perfect relationship’ could be by breaking her myth, or what she had termed as ‘urban legend’.

  Fifteen

  Over the next few weeks, I met Arjun almost everyday. He would pick me up from home or a conference and we would go out for drinks and dinner. Then we would go back to my place and make love a few times before crashing out on either side of the bed, both of us needing our space in between. It was heavenly. We got to know each other so well that it felt like we were married. Maybe the reason for that was because he stayed over so often that he had become a part of my daily existence.

  I knew what Aditi had been talking about now, when she’d said, ‘You know when you really feel “love”, all the clichés come true, the happiness and the pain, the longing and the celebration. Until you have that, you’re not really in love.’ I could now understand the people around me who spoke about love and relationships. Until now, it had remained an elusive figure from a distant land.

  As I got to know Arjun better, I realized we had many differences. Sure, he liked art and was a klutz like me, but that’s where the similarities ended. When he wanted Italian, I would have a craving for Mughlai. He loved the mountains, I loved the beach. He liked jazz, I liked Madonna. He wanted to watch TV, I wanted to read. He wanted to go out, I wanted to stay in and order food. It seemed at every stage we were finding new subjects to differ on. But it was a new experience to know someone so different from me, who I was so hypnotized by. We listened to each other explaining what we liked and why we liked them. It gave us a new perspective to things. Here was a man I could finally look up to. I admired his sure way of taking charge and giving me the peace of not arranging things that I had done all my life.

  For so many years I was the one who had decided everything, my move to Mumbai, my translating projects, my apartment, my maid, my daily groceries, paying bills, taking broken things to repair shops. To make so many decisions on a regular basis at every minute of your life for someone as laid back as me had been taxing. I could finally surrender to someone who wanted the best for me. And Arjun did it so well. He made my home, his home. He would call the grocery man and have things delivered. He would order food when we had a hard day at work. He would tell the maid what to cook and Bharat Gas when to come. He took control. And he controlled my life.

  The maid was a little flabbergasted at first seeing a man who had almost taken over the apartment with his clothes in the washing machine and his razor on the bathroom sink. But soon she warmed up to him and they would chat up. I did not mind this in the least, as I felt that the two most important people in my life right now were connecting somehow. It was a weird thought since Arjun and I had never met each other’s families and they should have been the most important people judging us. But for now this felt right. He even bought her kids new uniforms for their schools and became a big hit in her circle of friends who came by with some home-made pickle or banana chips from time to time.

  Then like all couples do, at times we would fight over small things. I would tell him to leave and go back to his own place. And it would be my maid who would say things like ‘good men are hard to find’. And I would invariably call him back into my apartment and she would be happy since he would bring her gifts. It was a weird equation.

  But there were days when he was not around that she would also mention things that I didn’t want to hear. ‘Baby,’ that was wh
at she called me, ‘I hope you know that the people in this colony are talking about you.’

  I was a little taken aback, ‘What are they saying?’ I asked. She shrugged her shoulders as she changed the faded blue sheets on my bed with bright paisley ones, ‘Oh you know, the usual, like, “Has she got married?”, “Who is he?”, “Living in is illegal”…’ she trailed off. I presumed she wanted to know more about the relationship than the nosy neighbours, but I wouldn’t feed her with gossip.

  ‘Who is asking?’ I demanded to know.

  ‘The lady in apartment 201. You know they all sit downstairs every evening discussing people in every apartment, na?’ she said, while walking into the kitchen, knowing fully well that she had me deep into this conversation. ‘I don’t really care since I think Arjun baba is wonderful. But I thought you should know,’ she said, while taking things out of the cupboards to make lunch.

  ‘Well, I don’t care!’ I said indignantly, and she looked at me strangely. I did care. I always cared about what people said and thought about me. That’s why I dressed conservatively when I walked out of the apartment, that’s why I studied so much, so that people would not think I was a bimbette, and that’s why I preferred art to movies, just so that ‘society’ would see me with respect. So that my parents would be proud of me. So that maybe I could be as accomplished as them. Maybe.

  This conversation would plague me for a few days till Arjun came back. I invariably wanted to know why we couldn’t hang out more at his place. I told him the dilemma I had about him living in with me. But he didn’t seem to bother too much about gossip. He was adamant about us not going to his flat. The repeated arguments we had about the subject went something like this:

  ‘Arjun, I think we should stay at your place for some time. I can work from there and you can come home to all your belongings. It would make us get away from Martha and this building for some time.’

  ‘No. That’s not a good idea. Kaveri, can you move while I see the highlights of this match? Sachin scored a century and I missed it!’ he said, while craning to move me away from the television.

  ‘Why not?’ I asked while moving to a chair close by.

  ‘Because, baby,’ he also called me that, ‘there are photos of my wife all over the place and it would make you uncomfortable.’

  ‘Then put them away!’ I would demand with my hands on my hips. But eventually he would pull me into his arms and say he would soon and if I could just please think of better things to talk about since he had had a hard day. And I would feel guilty and change the topic to his work.

  The thing that kept us connected was the sex. That was the best part. Our sex was, to say the least, a white lightening, mind-blowing, and ‘Jesus’ invoking astounding piece of work. Let’s put it this way, if I was a German, it would have been more exhilarating than the Berlin Wall coming down. If I was a basketball fan, it would have been like a day spent with Michael Jordan. If I were a nonstarter in the film industry it would have been like having a bigger hit than Shah Rukh’s on an opening weekend. Every moment was amazing. And that’s where our differences evaporated. We liked the same thing. We wanted it the same way. We wanted it always. And we were always satisfied.

  After one particular fight we had, Arjun and I had incredible make-up sex. Now the thing is ‘make-up sex’ is always better than regular sex. It’s probably because there’s a sense that we could have broken up or it could have been our last time together. Hence, the passion was raw, deeply intimate and, bordering on violence, even. Completely invigorating!

  But back to our conversation. We were lying in bed when I broached the topic of my virginity.

  ‘You know Arjun, I was a virgin when I met you.’

  Arjun was quiet for some time and then he said, ‘Really?’

  I turned over to look at him and said, ‘Ya. You didn’t know?’

  He shook his head.

  ‘That’s ridiculous. How could you not have known?’

  He shook his head and put his left palm on the back of his head and said, ‘Okay, I figured.’ And he smiled and I looked at him thinking a million thoughts. I was quiet. The notions of what a bride feels like on her wedding night came back to me. The night I was with Arjun in Goa for the first time was good, but painful. But after that, it unlocked the treasure chest of pleasure for me. I could never have enough. I was the one who always wanted more, even if he was tired. I was the one who ‘kept count’ and made him laugh in delight. Just because I hadn’t ever done it didn’t mean I hadn’t ever read about it. And knowledge is a powerful weapon.

  ‘What did you do before that?’ he asked suddenly.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Well if you hadn’t had sex, how did you know about it or feel it?’ I thought about that. I had read about it and I had spoken about it with Aditi, but I had never really wanted to do something on my own. A solo plane ride was not fun for me. I needed to fly commercial.

  ‘Nothing, really,’ I replied.

  He was shocked. ‘What? You never pleasured yourself?’ he asked with one eyebrow raised.

  I shook my head. No.

  He continued, ‘But didn’t you want to? Weren’t you frustrated because you didn’t?’

  I said, ‘Well, once or twice I tried it. But it did not work for me. Aditi told me to use the hand shower in the bathroom, but the water was too cold and it never did anything and I got bored.’

  ‘But there are far more things to try out than a hand shower, aren’t there?’ he asked.

  Yes, there were. There were dildos, your finger and bubble baths, candles and romantic music while lying on your bed, watching porn and imitating the women. There were hundreds of things that people did, but which did not give me pleasure. I didn’t feel the need to. Maybe it was because of my conservative upbringing. As it was, I had too many things to deal with. On top of that, the one or two times I tried, I was too disgusted with the whole concept. And it never led anywhere in the time frame I gave it, which was five minutes, so I left it forever. I was impatient. It was something I didn’t need to learn or master.

  ‘I never felt like it,’ I said plainly.

  ‘You mean to tell me that for thirty years you never had sex and you never even masturbated?’

  ‘Nope, and can we cut the topic please? It’s making me uncomfortable,’ I said, trying to busy myself with some papers.

  ‘That’s incredible.’ He mumbled and went back to reading a book.

  Suddenly I felt stupid. Maybe I shouldn’t have brought up this topic. I was making myself vulnerable to him. I wanted to tell him I was a virgin so he would think this relationship was special. Like I did. But instead, he asked me about pleasure and passion. A topic that I had never confronted myself with. I wanted to put on my clothes and get away from him. I tried to get out of bed, so I and muttered, ‘Do you want some coffee or ice cream …’

  He pulled me back in, realizing my discomfort and said, ‘All I meant was that for someone who never had too much sexual experience, you’re quite good in bed!’

  I smiled, ‘Do you mean that?’

  ‘Yes, baby. I do.’

  Then I felt a little better and opened up a little more. ‘I think that was the main reason why I wanted to get laid on my thirtieth birthday. I remember thinking that I was getting old and I didn’t have a man in my life. But it was not only to fall in love, it was to have the sexual encounter that I hadn’t been able to provide myself.’ Then, after a pause, I added, ‘Maybe if I had been satisfied with myself, I would not have felt so desperate.’

  He put his arms around me and kissed my neck, ‘Do you regret sleeping with me?’

  ‘No, baby’ I said, ‘I’m in love with you. I’m happy I did it with you and not that random nerd at the bar.’ He looked at me questioningly, and I shook my head trying to erase the memory of the double date with Aditi that night.

  We cuddled for some time before he asked, ‘So if you had to go back to being single, would you shag now or wait to be with
a man again?’

  I got up in shock.

  ‘Are you planning to leave me?’ I asked with fear.

  ‘No, pumpkin,’ he said, pulling me closer. ‘I would rather die than leave you. All I’m asking is what would you do now say if I went on work for a month somewhere?’

  I hadn’t thought about that. Had my viewpoint changed? Not really. But would I want to just hold back and wait for him to come back or would I pleasure myself? I didn’t know. It is said that once the orgasm is a part of you, you can’t let it go and you need it like an addict.

  But masturbation was not just about an orgasm for me. It was a feeling of an intimate moment with a deep part of you. And like I needed to fall in love with a man to sleep with him, I needed to fall in love with that part of myself to be able to be intimate with it. I know that’s confusing, but think about it. If you were truly not happy with another person, would you go hug him? No. Would you strip bare in front of him? No. The same thing applies to our inner and outer selves. I was uncomfortable with my outer self. It was just skin. I did not fall in love with who I was. I just accepted the nicest part of me was my eyes. So why would I touch myself when it felt awkward even to me?

  I looked at Arjun and deflected the topic by saying, ‘I’m not letting you go anywhere!’

  Arjun pulled me closer and started moving his hands down my back. I knew what was coming. He started murmuring softly the fantasy that was playing out in his head. And then he held my head with his right hand and kissed me passionately.

  Why would I need anything more when I had him every night?

  Sixteen

  If we pay attention to the universe, there are always signs of what will happen in the future along the way. Women in love choose to ignore it because they don’t want to bring in ‘rational’ into ‘happy’. And that’s the mistake. If I had seen the signs early on … But for now, I was happy.