Dean is wearing a fresh pair of shorts, and his leg beside mine tantalises me, begs to be reached out and touched. I feel like a malnourished person put within reach of a particularly juicy-looking, nutritious fruit, taunted by it. How is it, I ask myself, that I have held out this long without giving myself up to someone? I’ve had the chances, many chances, and none of the potential partners has been what you’d call shabby. And the wanking – it’s been good, but it’s only part of the story, of my story. What is stopping me from getting it underway?
Dawn slides away from us like a curtain being parted, revealing a world of wonder. Behind us, Sue is lost to her art, photographing away, gasping as she sees a new animal and tries to capture it from a different angle before it gets away. It’s all she can do to stay on the elephant and not leap down and pursue her prey through the undergrowth. Dean and I are more restrained, though enchanted, and, as hoped, I have the chance to chat to him a little, in an unforced way, about what we see. After a couple of hours, I notice our legs have moved closer together on the elephant’s side. All I need to do is ease mine over a fraction and I’ll be touching him. I do so, and my whole body tingles. He doesn’t react, but nor does he move his leg away.
We return for a late breakfast, without having seen a tiger but satisfied with our outing, and then Sue and Dean declare that they want to take a midday nap after our early start. For a while I stand and watch our driver hose down the elephant, freeing him of mud and dust, then I return to our hut. Dean and Sue’s bunk is on the opposite side of the room from mine; my bed, like Dean’s, is on the lower level. Quietly I lower myself onto mine and lie there looking across at him as he sleeps. A ray of sunlight coming in through the window illuminates his angel’s face like a strobe. I reach down and massage my snatch through my denim shorts. At the same time I feel an incredible weariness seeping through me, an ages-old ache in my bones. I don’t want to do this any more. I want the real thing. I want Dean.
A movement above Dean makes me whip my hand away in any case, and I glance up to see Sue looking down at me, a funny expression on her face – knowing, ironic. I blush, wondering how much she’s seen. Not that she can do anything about me fancying her brother, or about him fancying me, if it comes to it. But I don’t want to make a fool of myself when I don’t know if my feelings are reciprocated. And like I said, I don’t want to scare them away if there’s a chance they may ask me to travel south with them.
‘Hey,’ says Sue after a moment. Sliding her legs over the side of the bunk, she lets herself dangle for a moment and then drops the last couple of feet to the floor, eschewing the ladder. She’s wearing only a pair of knickers, black with little pink polka dots, and her figure is revealed in all its ripeness. As my eyes take her in, I notice that her breasts are dark golden like the rest of her – evidence of topless sunbathing. I can’t help but wonder what’s beneath her knickers, whether she is tanned there too.
I don’t have to wait long to find out: without any warning she bends forwards, slides her knickers down her long brown legs, and stands back up. The beauty of her cunt makes my mouth fall open: pruned, neat and compact, strawberry blond, with a little streak of hair above a clit peaking cheekily, invitingly, out. I look from Sue to Dean. He is still asleep. I look back at Sue, wondering. What does she want of me? Is she merely undressing in front of me, changing out of her knickers, or is she flaunting herself, trying to tempt me? I think back to our conversations of yesterday evening. There was no mention of a boyfriend, either now or in the past, but then again I didn’t talk about myself in that way either. It doesn’t mean she’s a lesbian, just because she didn’t go on about blokes. There are, after all, plenty of other things to think about. And just because she’s standing here stark naked in front of me doesn’t mean she’s on offer. Just because there’s a wet patch in my own knickers doesn’t mean she’s mine for the taking.
And if she was going to do that, would she really do it in the same room as her sleeping brother, who might wake up at any moment? No – no matter how laidback a family they come from, no matter what their attitude was in terms of walking round the house naked, I can’t believe that she’d make a move on me under such circumstances. Rolling onto my back, I close my eyes.
‘I think I am tired after all,’ I say, faking a yawn, and after she doesn’t reply for a minute, I open one eye slightly and look over at her. She’s bending over, her back to me, slipping on a new pair of pants. She was only getting changed after all. I keep my eye open, admiring her sweet pink sphincter.
I do sleep, but it’s a restless sleep, full of visions of brown flesh, tempting me, of golden hair, of eyes on me, waiting for my reaction, for my decision. Though I feel, already, that I’m madly in love with Dean, his sister’s body has intervened to tempt me, to remind me of my indecisiveness, of my duality. Am I destined to forever swing between poles, never to properly live because I’m unable to choose between the lives that beckon me?
I’m almost glad, when I awake, to find that they’ve gone to dinner without me. I cross them in the doorway of the canteen and, telling them I’ll catch up with them later, dine alone, glad of some time to try to gather my thoughts. Should I travel on with them, if they do offer, or will that just be making life complicated for myself? How can I spend time with them, together, if I want both of them? And if something does happen with one of them, how will that leave me with the other? Will my ambivalent feelings just disappear in a puff of smoke if I make a decision one way or the other, or will I always be wondering ‘What if …?’ Always be craning my head and trying to peer down the route not taken to make sure I haven’t made a mistake.
When I get back to the hut, Sue is sitting on the terrace with a book and a drink, legs unfurled in front of her. She has a bikini top and shorts on, and the sweep of her belly glints with the lightest of blonde down in the light of the setting sun. She moves a sarong from the chair beside her, pats it.
‘Siddown,’ she mock-drawls. ‘Sorry we missed you for dinner. I wondered if we should wake you but you looked so sweet, lying there. Like a little girl.’
She’s looking into my eyes and I think I see tenderness there. But is it the tenderness of friendship or is it something more? I hold her gaze, trying to fathom her out, daring myself to confront all my desires and demons, and suddenly she raises one arm at the elbow, then extends it. I hold my breath. Is she going to reach over and touch me? If she does, what am I going to do?
I look around us. There’s nobody here, but somebody could walk by at any moment, catch us at it. And what about Dean? Where is he? If something is to happen between Sue and me, I don’t want it to spoil my chances with him.
But she doesn’t touch me, instead she just lets her forearm and hand hang over the armrest of her chair. Perhaps she sensed my hesitation, my inner conflict, and decided not to push me. In a way, I wish she would – or wish that somebody would. I need a push. Need somebody to force the issue.
After a few moments, she asks me if I want some of her beer, and I say, ‘Thanks but no,’ and make my excuses. Despite the long nap, I feel unendingly weary.
‘Are you sure?’ she says. ‘Dean will be back in a minute. He’s playing pool with a guy he got talking to from another hut. We thought maybe we’d play cards, share a joint?’
I shake my head. ‘I’m feeling a bit dodgy, actually,’ I say weakly. ‘I’d better give it a miss.’
‘Fine,’ she says, turning back to her book, and I walk inside and climb into my bunk with a heavy heart.
I’ve no idea what time it is when I wake up or am woken up, but it’s pitch black inside the hut. I wonder what it was that roused me, and then I know – there’s someone sitting on the edge of my bottom bunk, hand rested lightly on my leg beneath my thin sheet. It’s a warm hand, slightly clammy. It’s a hot night.
I half sit up, throat dry, panicky and yet excited. Of course it could be anybody – the huts are hardly secure. But in all probability it’s Dean or Sue, come to force the issue.
It’s time.
I peel back the sheet. Beneath it I’m wearing a long T-shirt with nothing underneath. I pull it up, giving my snatch a quick rub as I do. Already I’m wet. In fact, I’ve never felt more ready for anything in my life. The hand comes back down, alights on the front of my thigh. Already I’m arching my back, throwing back my head; the anticipation is almost unbearable. I open my legs a little wider, imagine my snatch on display, wide open and juicy. Of course, whoever it is can’t see it, but it doesn’t stop me from feeling daring, provocative. They’ll have sensed the movement, known that I was opening myself up for them.
The hand moves up my leg, infinitesimally slowly, and I reach down and pull myself wider apart, as if I can’t be open enough. Fingertips graze my exposed clit and I spasm, face contorted in the blackness, trying to suppress the moans that are bubbling in the back of my throat. After a moment, as two fingers are slipped inside my hole, I bring my hand to my mouth and bite down on it to stop myself from crying out. But a hand takes it away, and I feel a mouth on mine and submit to a full-on kiss, to the questing of a tongue that prises open my lips. Teeth clash with mine, and I’m lost, lost, falling through space, unable to reach up and feel for my seducer’s hair, which would let me know who they are.
The head pulls away and a line of kisses is planted all the way down my neck and then my torso, in a straight line down to my snatch. While the same mouth that kissed me busies itself with my clit, sucking and licking and flicking, hands fondle my breasts, fingertips squeeze my nipples. My T-shirt is bunched up around my neck. I press myself more fully into the hands; with my clit, equally, I seek the mouth as much as it seeks me. Finally, unable to deny myself the knowledge any longer, I lower my arms from where they’ve been stretched up above my head and clasp the sides of the head at my groin. Long hair.
I come, violently, from the workings of her mouth on me, but as I buck with the contractions of my orgasm she places a hand back inside me, and I hear her whimper with pleasure. It must be more than she can bear for, after a moment, while I’m still in the throes of my climax – it feels like it will never end – she rolls over on to her back beside me. Crushed up against me on the narrow bunk, she brings herself off with her free hand, mouth opening and closing on my shoulder to silence herself as she loses it.
Afterwards, she gets up, lights a cigarette and, lying back next to me, smokes it in the darkness. For a long time we’re silent, and then she rolls over and puts her hand between my legs again, inserts one finger inside me.
‘That was wonderful,’ she whispers, leaning into me for a nicotine-infused kiss.
I return the kiss. I can’t deny that it was wonderful, and I feel like dancing with joy that I’ve done it at last, that I’ve been fucked, and royally so, by this incredible girl. But there’s an undeniable sour edge to it too – a part of me, and a large one at that, wishes it could have been Dean who came to me in the night, who took from me what I so much needed to give away.
Yet as our faces meld, as Sue takes my hands and brings them to those beautiful big breasts of hers, presses her neat blonde bush against mine, I reach down for her with jubilation, and feel, as her legs part, life itself opening up for me.
I find her, the next morning, sitting on the terrace in her bikini top and sarong, looking through the photographs she’s taken on the digital camera. She smiles up at me but doesn’t say a word, instead handing me the expensive-looking piece of kit. On the screen on the back there’s a clear shot of some erotic sculptures on the outside of a temple.
‘Khajuraho,’ she says at last, as I examine it, then leans over and shows me how to scroll through the following images. As she does so, her arm, blonde and downy, brushes mine. My flesh rises in goosebumps despite the heat of the day, already intense.
‘We stopped there on the way down from Delhi – this was one thing I absolutely insisted on seeing. It’s a World Heritage site, very famous. It was covered up by jungle for a long time, and only about twenty of ninety temples have survived. Interestingly, the erotic sculptures are only on the outside of the temples, not inside.’
‘How come?’
‘One theory is that it was a reminder to people to leave their worldly desires outside, before stepping inside to worship. On the other hand, the temples were built by the Chandella monarchs, who were followers of Tantrism. You’ve heard of that, yes?’
‘Only that Sting and his wife were supposed to practise it.’
‘Well, basically, Tantrism holds that the gratification of earthly desires is a step in the achieving of nirvana.’
I feel the weight of her gaze on me as the subject of sex comes up, or is brought up, but I can’t return it. I carrying on staring down at the camera screen, pushing the button with my thumb to advance to the next picture. It’s more of the same, or more or less: this time a blissed-out-looking male stands between two bare-breasted women, one arm round each of them. The following one shows a man taking a woman, bent over at the waist, from behind. I look up at Sue, unable to avoid her eyes any longer, and she’s smiling at me with a combination of tenderness and lasciviousness. For a moment I think she’s going to make direct reference to the events of last night, and I cringe inwardly, shooting a glance back into the room where Dean sleeps on. But then she reaches her hand back out for her camera and, while she’s switching it off, says: ‘We were thinking of moving on today. There’s only so much wildlife you can take, and my arse hasn’t recovered from that elephant ride yet. There’s no way I’m going up on one of those again in a hurry.’
‘But I thought you enjoyed it.’
‘Oh, I enjoy anything when I’m taking pictures of it.’ She fingers her camera affectionately. ‘Sometimes I think I only take pictures to make the world more interesting.’ She glances at me, as if she’s about to say something, and I wonder if she’s seeing me through the lens of her mind, if she’s thinking of me as a potential subject. The thought makes me a little horny, and I realise that I wouldn’t be averse to taking my clothes off for her not only in a personal capacity but as a model. Something about revealing myself in this way, under the cloak of clinical detachment, is a turn-on.
‘Anyway,’ she says, ‘we were talking about moving on, and we wondered if you wanted to travel down to Bangalore with us? It’s supposed to be amazing.’
‘In what way?’
‘It’s the Indian Silicon Valley, one of its richest cities, full of cool bars and lounges. A real head-fuck, apparently. Full of beautiful young things. I’m counting on getting some great photos. The India no one expects, beyond all the commonplaces.’
Asha flashes up in my mind again, and now I’ve tasted Sapphic delights with Sue, I regret all the more my squandered opportunity on Juhu Beach. A beautiful Bollywood actress invites me to lie with her on the sand and I run away. I must have been out of my tiny mind! I’m resolved never to miss out again. When something takes my eye, I will reach out and grab it, grab it by the throat. Life – it’s a cliché but one that rings true in my mind right now – is not a dress rehearsal.
‘Well?’ Sue’s looking a bit impatient now, aware that my mind is straying.
I smile at her. This is not the kind of woman, I’m sure, who would have passed up on a chance with Asha. Sue has unlocked me to myself, after all this time. Sue acts. Perhaps if I stick around with her, some of her decisiveness will rub off on me. And, of course, there’s Dean to take into account. I may have slept with Sue, but nothing has changed the way I feel about her brother. This thing between her and me might only be a passing thing. When the novelty wears off, there’s no telling what might be possible with him. I’m assuming that Sue’s not going to tell him what happened between us last night, that she wouldn’t do so without asking me first. And if and when she does, I’ll explain to her that until I’m less ambivalent about my sexuality, I’d rather we kept things to ourselves.
‘I’ll come,’ I say.
She grins. ‘That’s great,’ she says. ‘I’ll tell Dean.’
&
nbsp; 22
THE NIGHT NADIA left, Chris welcomed me back into his bed, but I wonder now if that was as much out of sympathy as anything else. I was distraught, even though the choice had, at least on the surface, been mine. In truth, I felt I’d been forced into it, had driven Nadia away, and I needed consolation. I’d told him as much at dinnertime, out of earshot of the other women, of course, and he’d said I could come round at ten.
The night was unforgettable, and for a while I did manage to erase thoughts of Nadia from my mind, worries about where she might be and whether she was safe. The mother in me, the one who wondered if it was right for an eighteen-year-old to be travelling on her own in India, was subsumed by the woman, the woman whose appetites had been pent up inside for 25 years, until just a few nights before. I’d rushed to Chris’s room, at the appointed hour, and he’d barely brewed me a herbal tea when I’d dragged him over to the bed and gone down on him with a relish I’d never known before. Halfway through, he’d eased my head away, but it was only for a moment, while he reached into a bedside drawer and pulled out a metal cock ring, which he slotted over himself, explaining that he was in danger of coming too soon and that it would help him hold back.
Afterwards, however, when I brought my head away of my own account, moist for him, he’d stood up and gone to his table, poured me a cup of the fennel tea. Passing it to me, he’d left the bedroom, and from the adjoining room I heard running water. When he came back in, he gestured towards the bathroom.
‘Our bath awaits,’ he said.
I gazed at him, puzzled. Surely the bath was supposed to come afterwards, once we were sated, sweaty, covered by each other’s fluids? But he was serious. Already he was turning and heading back into the bathroom and I had little choice but to follow him if I wanted to retain his attention.
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