Firstly
I thank those kind people who have written to me and told me how much they
have enjoyed my writing. You will not know the great pleasure it gives
me to know that, especially for one young couple who enjoyed it together.
I have, I hope, replied to all those who have written…some will be disappointed
that I do not send out photos of myself either nude or pornographic; I
do however feel that I share something much more sensitive and special
with all who read me. I am now on MSN messenger and am usually on line
at 2200-2300 GMT. Please feel free to page me and have a chat, my e-mail
is my ID rachaelrollercoaster@libertysurf.co.uk
INDIA
I was in my local town, Colchester
the other day when I was sure that I saw an old friend. I saw him first
as I walked through the shopping mall but stood and watched him, unsure
that it was he. I am forward, but I don’t approach strangers and I stood
and watched him as he passed along the clothes racks and I was undecided
until I recognised the pose. He stood with one hand across his chest and
the other holding his chin. The class-room memories came flooding into
my mind, the smell of floor polish, the slam of closing desk tops, and
I felt filled with excitement and expectation as I approached him in my
usual self assured way; as he turned and faced me, his eyes moving across
my body, I knew I was right, it was the same man.
"Hello, Saleem," I said with
my head slightly to one side and a broad welcoming smile on my lips.
He smiled, his face a picture
of thought, his memory cells holding him in pause mode. He had aged a good
deal, but it was some eight years since we last met in India. He looked
at me with the same smile that I remembered but slowly it froze and fell
away and he paled visibly before me. My own expression must have reflected
his, for he looked as if he had seen a ghost. He said nothing but his mouth
opened and closed in a sort of mechanical way and then he turned and fled.
He nearly knocked one man over in his haste to depart and I watched as
he, without looking around tried to open the shop door the wrong way in
his panic and at last succeeding he passed through it and fled down the
High street. I stood and watched in amazement and felt so sad for him…there
is a story you see.
When I was about ten my Father
was posted to India as an attaché to our embassy there. There was
a history and some tradition in our family, my Grandmother is an Indian
high caste lady who married my late Grandfather, who was Irish…the result
of their union, my Mother, was born and lived in India until she was sent
back to England to be educated.
My Mother was delighted with
his posting as she loved the country and its customs, and spoke Urdu well.
I on the other hand was not so pleased as I had then to become a boarder
at my school…something I hated. I went to India at the long summer holidays
and my parents came back to see me when they returned from time to time.
My work suffered at school, as I was unhappy there and inclined to be disruptive.
So after eighteen months it was decided, with some relief to the school,
and great joy to me, that I would join my parents in India and be schooled
by the local English school out there.
I was so excited to be there…like
my Mother I loved the country and its people. India I found fascinating,
full of colour and music and charm. I went with my parents to all the wonderful
sites, the Taj Mahal, and many Hindu temples, where I stood in fascination
looking at the erotic sculptures surrounding the doorway. I suppose that
was my first experience of erotic art but there was no embarrassment as
I stood there holding my dear Grandmother’s hand as she explained what
it all meant. Sexuality in India is bound up in the culture and life there.
It is not a separate thing, kept in a locked Pandora’s box as it is in
the West. I became very close to my Grandmother and she talked to me of
all sorts of fascinating things, which I find now to be part of my own
foundation. She was the most elegant, sensual person I have ever met, and
even now in old age she exudes a strong sexual presence. She still has
several admirers who hold her in the highest regard and have promised myself
that I shall return soon. The bazaar’s, streets and the people are an inspiration
there and I was and still am captivated by it. The Indians on the whole
are a passive people, friendly and easy going and the troubles there between
the Muslims and Hindus has been blight on the nation.
But I digress…………………
My education was good; the
teachers there were both dedicated and highly intelligent, furthering the
knowledge through interest and good learning. I was very keen on literature,
especially early English prose and for a girl of now nearly fourteen I
was educated to a very high standard. Then there was one of those times
when everything seems to be changing and there is no stability; the headmaster
left and was replaced by a man who knew less than I did. My father became
concerned and he instigated the hiring of Saleem P****, a brilliant young
man who had won a scholarship to Bombay University and came from a very
poor background. He was then about 23 and I thought he was a prince…my
Prince. His main subject was English Literature and I started to excel
in the subject, he was a good teacher, somewhat hard to understand at first,
but we became quite good friends and he lent me books about Chaucer and
one in particular I remember, " Sir Gawain and the Green Knight", which
I still have on my bookshelf today, the very copy he leant me. He was a
handsome young man too and young girls of my age (just fifteen) were as
susceptible then as they are today to a bit of hero worship. He liked me
too, I knew that and I was mature for my age. I had most of the attributes
of a woman, with the reserve and innocence of a girl…my how things have
changed. I suppose looking back I was a sort of Lolita, with that fatal
charm that has been the undoing of many men. I also knew that I had inherited
my Grandmother’s highly developed sensuality…and she had by now become
my role model…and I tried to walk like her even…I still do.
The schoolroom itself was
a converted military building…nothing special but adequate for the task
at hand. There was Saleem on the staff and an English woman who had stayed
out there when her marriage had broken up. I forget what we were doing
but I seem to remember an essay being at the start of this story. I had
written it and somehow the ink had run, because of the rains one day as
I walked to school, so this must have occurred in the monsoon season. Saleem
called me up to explain something he could not read. His desk was a usual
one, sitting on a raised platform, very old fashioned and traditional,
like a big box with a large top, closed in all around except for the knee
hole between the two sets of drawers where he sat. I went up and he asked
me to explain about this word and then about that word and I stood beside
him explaining what I was trying to say in the essay. I remember thinking
how black and shiny his hair was and how smooth his skin looked, wondering
if it felt like velvet too.
He told me the essay was
excellent and as I stood there talking with him, discussing what effect
Chaucer had on literature during that time, feeling special because we
shared this same interest…when I felt his hand touching the back of my
leg; it ran up over my sock to the soft flesh, then down again, each time
getting higher until it was on the back of my thigh. I was standing on
his left, and looking over his shoulder. I froze at first, but the passage
of his hand upward to my inner thigh was to say the least…absorbing my
attention. My mouth went dry, my temples pounded and I felt a movement
inside me, in my sex, as if an awaking serpent was uncoiling in me. He
carried on talking quite calmly and I continued to stand there, his hand
now at the back of my panties, feeling my almost mature bottom, lifting
one cheek then the other as if sampling them. I felt like jelly, my knees
felt weak, but I did not move away. Even when I felt his hand move between
my thighs I stood there and moved a leg sideways and nearly died of pleasure
as he felt my swelling sex. I was hairy there then at that age and as he
moved through and held all of me in one hand I trembled with excitement
and expectation. I had secretly dreamed of this, he was at the centre of
my very private self-stimulation, although of course he was ignorant of
that. My mouth was so dry and I could not swallow, my head was thumping
in unison with my chest and my left knee started to tremble, just as it
does now when I am sexually excited.
He was just about to pull
the hem aside when the bell went, making us both jump, and his hand was
quickly removed. I shakily removed my books and went back to my desk as
the others all packed up and started to leave and I in my turn gathered
my things and at length looked up at him but he was absorbed in something
and did not look at me. I left in silence, looking back once more at him
sitting there, ignoring me. I removed myself to my room when I got home
to relieve the tension he had built in me. I lay back, naked from the waist
down with my hand working myself furiously…it did not take long and I writhed
and trapped my own hand there as I gasped with an intense orgasm. I suppose
he obsessed me and perhaps it was my obvious charm with him that led him
further. I also used all my young womanliness to my best purpose, my skirts
became shorter and I started to wear a little make-up. My parents put it
down to my age and found it amusing, which perhaps spurred me on too. My
Grandmother knew though, she smiled a warm smile at me, my eyes moving
away from hers’ betrayed me; when I looked back at her again a few seconds
later, the smile returned and I held her gaze and smiled back…she knew
I had an admirer; I wondered if she would approve though of the attentions
I was receiving from Saleem.
It happened again a few days
later… Oh how I ached for his attentions…this time his hand was firmer,
and kneaded my inner thigh and my legs were parted wider for him. My heart
pounded again in my chest and I looked at his hair and fine features as
his hand pulled down my panties at the back, exposing my full cheeks to
the warm air. He caressed me as before, lifting each cheek in turn, parting
them and sliding between, to my most private parts. My leg started to tremble
as I felt his attentions about my soft undermound, feeling through the
hairs there and parting me. I thought I was going to die with passion as
he pushed into me, I was well lubricated with my own desire and I could
now smell my own arousal. His finger removed itself and in one quick movement
he slid right through and found my swollen clitoris, and started to stimulate
me. It was too much, I could not breathe and I felt a red curtain fall
over my eyes and I started to pull away, afraid of crying out with abandon.
He handed me my corrected paper and I gathered it with a trembling hand
as I discreetly pulled up my panties at the back and returned to my desk.
Nothing happened for a week
and I began to wonder whether I had frightened him off with my sudden withdrawal
the last time. My passion was consuming me and I daydreamed things that
I was afraid of…images from the temples…mad intrusions to my body in places
I could not really understand. Another day came and I was standing there
again at his desk and as I stood there as before, he did nothing…I leaned
over him, pressing myself against him…still he did nothing and I felt a
sort of desperate despair. I seemed to be spending my spare time dreaming
and masturbating in private and my Mother asked if I felt all right; I
think I decided then to make a move towards the goal I desired. A few days
later an opportunity arose when I was again standing at his side having
some work checked. He dropped his pencil…the shiny red one that looked
so wonderful against his dark smooth skin as he held it with his delicate
fingers. I dropped to one knee to pick it up, but it rolled under his desk
and he looked under it as I stretched forward to recover it for him. Our
eyes met and in an instant I closed my mouth on his. His response was immediate;
his tongue invading me, his mouth sucking me to him and his hand fondled
my breasts. I gasped at the reaction and somehow still grasped the pencil
for him and when our mouths parted I got up and placed it on his desk,
looking around the class to see if anyone had seen…but no… our secret was
safe. During the next two days I was on a high of sexual expectation…he
still liked me…I wanted him so much.
A day or two later when the
bell went I stayed at my desk until the room was clear, pretending to look
for some lost article. Mrs. Hesketh, the other teacher came into the room
and discussed something with Saleem and left soon after…we were alone.
He calmly rose and went and locked the school door and returned to where
I stood and as I turned to face him, he gathered me in his arms, kissing
me with a passion I cannot describe. I seemed to melt into him…I felt as
if I was being eaten alive. His mouth was everywhere…on my own…my neck…travelling
down to my now exposed breasts…I watched as he sucked on one teat and then
the other…he lifted my chin and my eyes raised to his, he told me to relax
as I felt my pants being removed. I watched as he drew them away and he
lowered to me, I watched as he put his mouth on my sex and his tongue parted
me. I gasped and shook as I still watched him do his magic. I was lifted
to the desk, his mouth still devouring my sex, sucking me out into the
open, my labia like pink petals moving back and forth like sea anemones
in water. His tongue was like a magician’s wand and as I watched him, the
erotic images on the temples flashed through my mind and I lifted a leg
for him, exposing all I had, stretching myself, my head fell back and I
started to gasp as he brought me to a full orgasm. I was consumed inside
and out by him and as he undid his trousers and drew out his stiff penis
I just sat and watched him with my brain in limbo. He approached me and
I lifted my other leg, now draped across my own desk, assuming he was going
to fulfil my dreams. I prepared myself as all virgins do for that one act
in life that changes everything…I spread for him, my sex open and wet,
fully prepared for him, but he did not do as I expected. He drew me from
the desk top and sat me on the seat…approached my face with his fully erect
member and again the images on the temple came to my mind and I accepted
him into me in the other way depicted there. He tasted good and I liked
it and I wanted to please as well. He was slender in size, with well-formed
glans that curled away from his shaft. I looked and memorised the image
of him; I can see his member now as I write. I did what I thought he wanted
and when he placed my hand around him I rubbed and pumped as he indicated.
He seemed to be very intense suddenly and my mouth was full of him, almost
to the back of my throat, his balls swinging against the back of my hand
when he tensed and I felt him throb and pump…the jets of fluid took me
by surprise and I went to withdraw but he drew me fully onto him and I
had to swallow or choke. I swallowed it all…my first taste of a man…I wasn’t
sure I liked it.
He was very gentle with me
afterwards; I wanted to know that I had pleased him and he soothed me,
reassured me. He had a greater understanding than I then knew about and
when I left the classroom and wandered in a daze back to my house…all I
could think about was my fulfilment…how I could please him…my training
had begun.
A few days later I found
myself in an area of the town I did not know. I was there on a pretext
of returning some borrowed books. My Mother wanted me to take a servant
with me for protection, but I managed to dissuade her…as I said it was
daylight and I was now grown up. I knocked on the open door and waited
and soon I heard a shuffling up the hallway…it was Saleem in his slippers.
He looked over my shoulder to see if I was alone and as I entered he closed
the door. The atmosphere was electric, we walked down the short hall into
a pleasant room; the walls were hung with carpets and highly coloured cloths
to hide the mud walls. He moved slowly it seemed at the time towards the
shutters and closed them, the room immediately became cool and dimly lit.
As I stood and watched him throw some pillows on the floor everything seemed
to be in slow motion…I was in a sort of trance, but somehow totally calm.
I looked about the room it was poverty in the extreme…with a strange atmosphere
of something behind it all, a hint of cinnamon reached my nostrils as I
was then consumed with a raw, natural, erotic feeling and the images on
the temple came sharply into focus. This was going to be sex…a raw unabashed
sex…like thick rich paint mixed on an artist’s palette…the primary colours
strong and vibrant. He pulled me down to him and we joined in a passion
of discovery…he of me…and me of myself.
When I look back as I do
now…I truthfully cannot remember what happened in detail…the sequence of
events is blurred into a crazy picture of images. I remember being pierced
by him, my virginity carried away on a single thrust; my lip bitten and
bleeding as he did so. I remember his mouth at every opening, his tongue
in my bottom as I lay there on my front, my bottom lifted and offered to
him. I looked in front of me, open eyed at a shaft of light dancing across
the floor…something exploding inside me, like the birth of a new passion.
Then his penis invaded my bottom and I did not balk at it, rather embracing
the wild passion of the feelings and I remember doing the same to him with
my finger and his thrashing as I did it. I remember his straddling me,
his penis between my breasts, my hand pumping him furiously, his bomb like
explosion as he scattered his seed over me, splattering into my face and
over my breasts…saving me from the worry of pregnancy. I bathed in him
literally and I look back and thank heavens that my first experience was
so dynamic and vibrant…how lucky I was. It was nearly dark by the time
I arrived back home and there was a panic on for my safety but I was in
such a serene state of sexual satisfaction that it all passed over me and
I went to my room and slept for hours. I awoke the next morning a woman…a
woman with new needs and desires.
Saleem for his part was not
so fortunate or so careful in his choice of lovers. He was caught in a
compromising situation with the wife of a senior Official and was lucky
not to have been severely punished. The feeling was that he was led astray…I
think not, but I did not voice my opinion at the time. He was vilified,
shamed and dismissed and left the area, much to my own sadness and I have
not seen him again…until the other day. I am sad and upset that he feels
as he does…I feel nothing but gratitude and warmth. Perhaps we might meet
again and talk awhile…but what happened can never be repeated, and I hold
dear those memories of my first great passion…I have them forever, they
are mine and I treasure them.
Email the author: RachaelRollercoaster@LibertySurf.co.uk
