When this story began, I had just reached forty years of age and had been married for over twenty years. I met my husband Salim at a wedding in Hyderabad when I was a teenager and he was the first and only man I had ever slept with.
When I was young, I did not think this was a problem but now that I had reached forty, I wondered what it would have been like to have had sex with a different man. I guessed I had to keep wondering as I did not want to jeopardise what we had in our relationship. The sex was boring but we had brought up two wonderful children and had a reasonable standard of living. How could I complain?
Salim was arranging a regional meeting for the supermarket group he worked for (I won’t name them!) and this time around the team meeting was going to be held in our town, Hyderabad. He was arranging hotels for all his colleagues but could not find a hotel for Rehman, the last colleague on his list. Salim asked me if I would mind Rehman staying one night at ours and I agreed. That was fine.
Seeing Rehman
The team meeting took place and Salim came home at 2am in the morning. I was in bed asleep until he woke me with his loud voice and bumping into things. He came in the bedroom and took off one layer of clothes and got into bed. As soon as he got in, I got out, because I did not like him when he was drunk in bed. He was always too rough and wanted sex which I didn’t and he could never deliver. I went down stairs and went into the kitchen and was startled to find Rehman.
I had forgotten he was staying over. Rehman apologised for startling me and also for the state Salim was in, although he said it was not of his doing. I said Salim didn’t need any help getting drunk. I said to Rehman that he seemed very sober and he explained he didn’t drink and was wide awake. I went to the sink to get a glass of water and winced because my back hurt. Rehman asked what was wrong and I explained I thought I’d pulled a muscle in my back carrying the shopping bags a few days earlier. Rehman explained that he did physiotherapy for his local cricket club and offered to help. I was nervous, but accepted, and Rehman quickly dashed out to his car and came back with his bag of tricks.
Rehman said we needed to lay a towel down – it would not be good on the sofa and the floor was too hard. I said we could use the spare room bed that was made up for Rehman to sleep in. We went upstairs and laid out some towels I got from the hot press. Rehman asked me to lay down but I would need to remove my dressing gown. I only had a short nightie on underneath but it covered my main bits anyway.
Starting to relax
I lay face down and Rehman started on my feet. Whatever he was doing was so relaxing. Then he started on my calves. Rubbing up and then down on the muscles. Then Rehman dug his knuckles into my back where I thought the problem was and then slowly rubbed his hands down from the top of my spine to the bottom of my legs over my bottom. I had never had anyone massage me before let alone a man and a complete stranger at that!
Rehman’s hands were very large and yet so gentle. He said he needed to rub some lotion in and asked me to loosen my nightie as he did not want to get it soiled. He then asked me very politely if I would remove it as he needed to rub the lotion in the whole of my back and before I could object, he had quickly pulled it over the top of my head and it was thrown on the floor. I kept really still and kept my legs tightly shut. Rehman rubbed some lotion on my back and I relaxed. He had rubbed so gently that I forgot where I was or what time it was. Before I knew what was happening, he asked me to turn over.
I simply obeyed his instructions feeling very safe and relaxed. He rubbed some lotion in my thighs and lifted a leg up so he could reach my thigh muscles. He rubbed each leg and then my arms until my arms felt they were not attached to the rest of my body. In fact, I could not lift my arms or legs on my own. I was like a rag doll. Then I felt the hot air of Rehman’s mouth on my inner thigh. It was so sexy I did not want him to stop and then he licked my inner lips and I winced, not for pain this time but for ecstasy. I was helplessly laid out naked on a bed waiting to be devoured.
Taking it all in
Rehman asked like a gentleman if it was ok to continue and I nodded yes. I now know what it is like to have another man’s cock. This one was exceptional! So huge and so satisfying, much bigger than my husband’s! Rehman pushed his dick into me slowly and then came out and rubbed it against my clitoris.
He plunged in and out it seemed for hours but was only probably minutes. He turned me over like a rag doll and clenched me from behind holding both my breasts in his enormous hands. He then took me from behind not up my arse I hasten to add but pushed his whole cock in my cunt which was oozing with juice.
The next day Rehman went home and Salim went to work. I didn’t need to wonder any more but that didn’t stop me wanting different cock from now on. Why should I keep to one man when so many men would like to fuck me? I wanted fun before I was too old. I did not want to hurt Salim so I was very discreet. I said I’d started an evening course one night a week but really, I was visiting places…!!
It was not supposed to happen at a colleague’s farewell party, surrounded by mediocre wine and the kind of small talk that makes you want to crawl out of your own skin. But desire has never been known for its sense of occasion.
He was standing by the window when I noticed him properly — not the casual awareness of another human being in a room, but the focused, physical noticing that turns a stranger into a possibility. The way his shirt pulled across his shoulders when he leaned against the windowsill. The way he held his glass — loosely, carelessly, the way people hold things when they are genuinely at ease rather than performing ease.
Our conversation started with the standard questions — what do you do, how do you know the host — and within twenty minutes had reached the territory that usually takes months: childhood memories, recurring dreams, the specific shade of sky that makes you feel briefly, inexplicably at home. He listened with his whole body — leaning in, maintaining eye contact, asking follow-up questions that proved he was actually hearing my words rather than waiting for his turn to speak.
By the time the party thinned, we were the last two people on the balcony, and the conversation had become an excuse to stand close enough that I could smell his cologne — something woody and warm that made me want to press my nose against his neck and inhale until my lungs ached.
“This is the part where sensible people say goodnight and exchange numbers and wait an appropriate amount of days before texting,” he said.
“And what do the other people do?” I asked.
He looked at me then — really looked — and the answer was in his eyes before it was in his words.
The first time we were truly alone — not surrounded by colleagues at a team dinner, not sitting in adjacent cubicles with the pretense of professionalism between us — was a Tuesday evening when she asked me to drop her home because the cab surge pricing was obscene and the Metro had shut down early for maintenance. It was such an ordinary request, the kind of thing that happens a hundred times in any office in any city, and yet we both knew, with the certainty of people who have been lying to themselves for weeks, that this was not about the commute.
My car smelled of the air freshener my wife had hung from the rearview mirror — a detail that should have functioned as a warning but instead became part of the landscape, as ignorable as a speed limit sign on an empty highway. She sat in the passenger seat, and the proximity was different from the office. Here there were no desks between us, no monitors to pretend to study, no colleagues whose presence kept us anchored to the versions of ourselves that didn’t want this. Here there was only the glow of the dashboard, the low hum of late-night radio, and the two feet of charged air between her knee and the gear stick.
We talked about nothing for fifteen minutes — traffic, a project deadline, a mutual friend’s terrible taste in restaurants. Then the conversation lapsed, and the silence that filled the car was so dense with unspoken things that I had to pull over. I stopped on a quiet stretch of road in Vasant Kunj, beneath a streetlight that flickered with the indecision of a man about to do something he cannot undo, and I turned to her.
“I need to say something,” I said, “and once I say it, we can’t go back to pretending.”
“Then say it,” she said, and her voice was steady in a way that told me she had been waiting for this — not with patience but with the exhausted resignation of someone who has been holding a door shut against a storm and has finally decided to let it in.
“I think about you constantly. Not in the way you think about a colleague or a friend. In the way that keeps me awake at three in the morning, staring at the ceiling, replaying every conversation we’ve had and searching for evidence that you feel this too.”
She was quiet for a long time. A car passed, its headlights sweeping across her face and illuminating the expression there — not surprise, not discomfort, but something that looked like relief. The relief of a diagnosis after months of unexplained symptoms.
“I feel it too,” she said simply. “I have felt it since the day you fixed my code at two in the morning and stayed on the call just to hear me laugh.” She reached across the gap and placed her hand over mine on the gear stick, and the touch was so gentle, so deliberate, that it carried more weight than any kiss. We sat like that for a long time, her hand on mine, the streetlight flickering above us, the radio playing something soft that neither of us heard, both of us understanding that we had just stepped off a cliff and the fall had only begun.
You Might Also Enjoy
- The Business Trip
- The Wine Tasting
- Keeping Desire Alive
- How to Seduce a Woman