Fling by Abhilash Gaur Read Free Book Online Page B

“It’s
complicated,” I would say, and had told her the real reason too. We
were only friends with benefits, not committed lovers. Marriage was
not a possibility between us. “Fuck off,” she would growl, “what
century are you living in?” I would do her with my hand then and
she would be fine but not completely satisfied. “It’s not the same
thing,” she would say, and she was the best judge.
    But it was good
enough, I guess, because she kept coming back for it. For me, there
was satisfaction in holding her close. The feel of her warm, supple
skin on mine soothed me. I liked the way my fingertips raised
goosebumps on her thighs and the down on her back and neck. And of
course, the way my tongue could tease into existence two turgid,
throbbing, mutinous rocks.
    We met in my room
every second evening unless we got back from work very late.
Sometimes, she cooked for us afterwards, and then I felt a pang of
guilt. It was hypocrisy, of course, to remain a virgin while going
the whole hog digitally. Couldn’t I marry her? Why not? Of course
not, she wasn’t my type. Really?
    I didn’t want her to
cook for that reason.
    One afternoon—it was
nearing the end of the rainy season and the sunlight felt like a
blowtorch—we walked to a cinema down the road to catch a new movie.
It was a B-grade Hindi movie about an advertising executive who is
30 and desperate to lose his virginity. I didn’t have a clue about
the story and she kept nudging me and giggling all through it. When
we were walking home, she said it once again. “Why can’t we do it
properly? You’ll like it too.”
    She said it calmly,
earnestly, and it was the first time she said it out of bed. I
couldn’t dismiss it as a symptom of arousal.
    “Buy rubber, please,”
she said.
    “Yes,” I blurted
out.
    I went to the market
after dark, and realized that buying condoms is the toughest thing
a man can do. Every time I queued up at a chemist’s window I lost
nerve at the last moment. I had bought four or five Crocin and
Disprin strips by the time I found a self-service shop. Even there,
everybody’s eyes seemed to be upon me, and I waited for the counter
to empty before rushing with a tiny, card-size three-pack. It was
the smallest, most unobtrusive size that I could carry home in my
trouser pocket. My heart was thudding as I paid cash and didn’t
calm down till I had walked several blocks away from the shop.
    She came late that
night but I lied I hadn’t bought them yet. The next night, and the
night after too. I would chicken out at the last moment. It was my
commitment phobia, of course. I feared that if we had sex I would
get trapped. She sensed it too and the third night she came with a
three-pack, the same brand that I had bought.
    I felt ashamed for
having lied, but refused to use them. I couldn’t do it to her
because I wasn’t going to marry her. Period.
    She left in a rage,
and didn’t come back for two weeks. I missed her but didn’t regret
my decision. I knew I wouldn’t be able to handle the consequences,
the bitterness and the recriminations that would come when we broke
off.
    But I had six condoms
lying in my room with no use whatsoever. And if she came back some
day and I still had them around, maybe they would weaken my
resolve. So, I decided to get rid of them. I tried on one because I
was curious, and for a few moments the oily aseptic feel of the
sheath made me consider using it. With it on, it would still be a
perfectly virginal job, no? No.
    I filled another with
water at the bathroom tap to see how much it could hold. A
surprising lot, I realized. The rest went unopened into the
dustbin, wrapped in a sheet from a newspaper, of course.
    ***

Appraisal
    I was trying to get
used to life without her, and intimacy. She had stopped travelling
with me. If we reached the bus stop together, she didn’t take the
bus. So, I started leaving a little later. At office she looked
right through me. We didn’t sit at the same table over