She was lying right next to him. On the same bed, under the same sheet. It was around 2 in the night and he had patiently waited for her go to sleep. The night was calm and quiet, but his heart was pounding with anticipation. He feared the sound of his heart beats might wake her up. He was getting a boner just by thinking what he was going to do. He saw the bulge in his Peter and feared that she might see it. So he turned over and lay face first on the bed facing her.

Her young, brown skin shone like a flawless work of art in the moonlight coming through the open window. The smell of jasmine oil in her hair had cast a spell on him, drawing him further and further with each breath that he took. His eyes went over the curves in her body, right from her forehead to her toe, following every drop, rise, bulge, slope and angle. She was lying broad on her back and with every breath, her chest heaved up and down. He was mesmerized by the rhythm of her body and followed it, breathing in and out at the same time she did.

Her long arms showed through her flimsy sleeveless nightie. She had a grey colored tiny mound on the top of her arm, an injection mark from childhood. He liked rubbing the soft bump with his fingers. Her slender neck, sharp clear face, her pierced nose, her soft, perfectly shaped ears with small golden loops in them, her thin eyebrows that formed a neat arc; it made it impossible for him to keep himself away from her.

Her nightie had crawled up to her thighs when she’d scratched her knee. “The maid must have left the windows open in the evening,” he thought and the mosquitoes had gladly accepted the invitation. “These bloodsucking, violin playing, cocky little bastards,” he swore, tightening his jaw. They had chosen to honor him with their most unwelcome presence yet again. But not today. He loved them today, allowing them to sing to him without squashing them between his palms. After all they had exposed her smooth, waxed legs a bit for him to ogle.

His hands slowly inched towards her, but after reaching a point where his finger tips almost touched her nightie, he retreated. He clasped his hands and blew into them and then rubbed his hands together to calm himself down.

“I know you want to do this. It will be great, I promise. Come on now, don’t be a pussy. Come on,” a tiny little voice in his head coaxed him.    

He brushed his fingers against her arms just to make sure that she wasn’t awake. If she got up, he would pretend to be asleep. And she would think that he accidentally happen to touch her. She didn’t move. His excitement had risen to almost a perverse level. His hands craved to touch her flesh like a man drowning craved for air. He licked his lips, took a deep breath and moved his palms towards her like an earthworm. Her thighs were milky white and plump. Not too fleshy, not too skinny, just about right. Just the way he liked them. The moonlight helped him find his way in the dead of the night. He lifted his palms bit by bit and laid them as gently as a flower on her left thigh. His hands were still. The sensation that ran through his fingers onto his body gave him the sort of pleasure that jerking off looking at lesbian porn didn’t.
          
He could feel himself stiffen further, almost to the point where he could sense the throbbing in his shaft, as if the veins would burst any moment. He tolerantly waited to check whether she was aware of his touch. She lay still as a rock. He moved his palm a little further. His fingertips felt the fabric of her panties. He moved his hands up and down, like he was painting and filling in colors. He got a bit confident, moved a bit closer and shifted his left palm to her right leg, moving back and forth on the bed. The cold satin sheet felt good through his cotton shorts. After a while, his hands, his body, his thumping manhood demanded something more.  So he slid his hand under her nightie, keeping it away from her skin and reached for her belly. He still hadn’t landed his palm, staying in a position where he could quickly take his hands off just in case she woke up. She stirred a little, causing him a heart attack, almost, but went back to sleep.

He touched her navel with his index finger, sliding along the perimeter. Then as if playing a piano, he placed each of his fingers before placing his palm.  His hands slithered like a cobra on her skin, angling its way through to her ribs and sliding back to the center.  He moved his hand along the sides of her belly, and squeezed it slightly. He bit his lip in panic realizing his folly. But once he saw that she was lying just as still, he continued exploring her young body.  His hands finally made their way to her breasts, which he called his Disneyland, only free.  He struggled to squeeze through the tight bra. But managed to put his three fingers through and lift the elastic band, exposing her chest. He didn’t reach for her nipples as yet. He liked to play in the area around it, raising his own anticipation ten-fold. When he reached the top finally, he pinched her light brown, delicate nipples with his index and thumb fingers. His breath was getting louder as he kept on playing with her tits.

He was wet. Now all he wanted was to enter her. He got up and pulled her underwear down. After getting rid of his clothes, he entered ever so gently, almost like a sneaky cat. He was proud of his feather touch. He began to move, back and forth. He always feared this part, where he tended to get aggressive. But she lay there oblivious to his sexual fantasies being played out on her. He liked varying his pace like a wave. He would increase it and slow it down and repeat it. When he reached the crescendo, a symphony broke lose in front of his eyes. A bright light clouded his head. He clenched the sheet in his fists; and finally let go. He slumped on the bed next to her, his face glistening with pleasure, and love he felt for her.

He picked up a tissue from a box kept on top of the headboard and was wiping himself, when she suddenly woke up with an expression of familiar horror in her face and he stared, awkwardly.

“What the fuck do you think you are doing?” She bawled, her eyes drilling a hole through him.  

“I..I..” he stammered.                       

 “It’s been six months since we’ve been married. Why don’t we make love like normal couples do? What’s the matter with you?” She questioned, half angry, half concerned, half freaked out.  

“I am trying,” he finally said.

“I am your wife godammit. Why don’t you tell me what you are going through? I asked you the first time you did this and all the times you did after that.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.  “What is it Vijay?”

“I just can’t, ok,” he said. “Leave me alone.”

“Leave you alone? Fine. Then leave me alone as well. I fucking hate it when you make love to me when I am sleeping. It’s disgusting. In the beginning, I thought it was something new you wanted to try, but now I see you are sick. It’s like you enjoy making love to dead bodies. You know there is term for that, its called necrophilia. Oh my god. Go to a mortuary and hump every single one of them, why do you need me then? ” she exclaimed contemptuously, gritting her teeth and looked away.

“Please don’t say that Riya. Only you can help me. I can’t talk about this anyone else. Please. I am sorry Riya. I am so sorry. I don’t know why it happens with me,” he said and broke down. But he composed himself and continued.

“When you are awake, I don’t get sexually attracted to you. I tried and you know that. You also know that I feel terribly bored. Remember once when we were making love and you had asked me if I was having an affair or worse still, if I was gay?” She nodded. 

“I had laughed it off, but I was so scared that you will find out one day. When we had sex the first time, it didn’t do anything for me and I would have told you that, but you seemed so happy that I didn’t want to break your heart.” He vigorously rubbed his face with his palms, and pressed the side of his temples with his fingers. “It is killing me from within Riya.”

“Do you want to talk about it?” she said irritably. Vijay buried his face in his palms and pressed them against his knees.                    

“It started when I was young,” he began unsteadily, looking across the far end of the room. “I grew up in a boarding school and have stayed away from my parents for most of my life. Every night, for 10 years since I was 6 yrs old, the matron would come to our dormitory after dusk to check on us.” He stopped and looked at Riya. “I have never told this to anyone ever before in my life. So I want you to be a little understanding.” Riya nodded.

“She would glance around the room, before stopping at my bed. What was limited to caressing my forehead and pinching my lips and rubbing my chest, grew into more serious things as time went by. She began to get more intimate with me. She would do things to pleasure me sexually. Things I didn’t understand at first. Things that little by little began to control my mind like a remote control. I would be awake, but would keep my eyes shut, because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know whom to go to or whom to tell. I didn’t even know whether what she was doing was right or wrong. I knew my parents wouldn’t believe me, the principal wouldn’t believe and neither would my friends.

Initially I used to be scared of the sensations passing through my body, but gradually I began to look forward to experiencing them. Those feelings gave me a head rush. It took me to a world of colors and dreams and happiness. Reds, blues, greens, yellows, purples, and pinks would all merge together to completely take over my senses. That world was mine. She would go to her room the moment I would have an orgasm. But in the morning, she would behave like nothing happened. She wouldn’t even return my smile if our eyes met. I wanted to make love to her and told her so when I was alone in her room once. She had slapped me and pushed me out of the door. I never asked her after that. But I did make love to her, though only in my imagination. I would take off her clothes, we would take a shower together, and we would have sex amidst a room full of candles.

One night, while she was in the middle of an oral job, I opened my eyes to have a look at her face. When she saw me looking at her, she instantly stopped, stared at me with a violent fury in her eyes, got up and left. She didn’t come to my bed for three nights in a row. It drove me nuts, to the point where all that I did the entire day was cry and jerk off. She came on the fourth night. I did as she expected and kept my eyes as tightly shut as possible.  She left after I came. This went on till I moved back with my parents. Ever since, I’ve had this fear that no one will enjoy having sex with me, if they were conscious. I felt that they would come to hate me eventually and leave. I don’t want you to leave Riya.

Since then, I haven’t had any real relationships. I couldn’t actually. I started taking a liking to girls either way too young or way too old. I did manage to sleep with a couple of them, but I never felt the way I did at the boarding school.  I pleasured myself mostly by imagining women on TV or the movies. Once I tried the same with a distant cousin. She didn’t seem to mind when I touched her in her sleep. That was one the reasons I kept putting off marriage. I thought I would never be able to pleasure a woman. I feel so used, so inadequate, so stupid. I am sorry Riya.”

“You are none of those things Vijay. Don’t feel guilty of anything. You are a little boy who needs love. I won’t leave you. I am there for you. Its ok, don’t worry. We will sort this out. You are just a little sick, you need help, that’s all” she said in an affectionate motherly tone. Vijay laid his head on her lap, his mind, a lost traveler in the middle of nowhere.

“Yes I am sick. Please help me Riya. Please help me,” he said, with his eyes closed. She held him closer, caressing his forehead gently; a smile twisting her lips.

How do I remain so still? Not even a moan? Damn, you are good Riya. She looked at the mirror across the room, admiring herself. The games I’ve played…She closed her eyes, picturing herself in the tiny room and the tiny bed she shared with her brother. Her brother still doesn’t know that she knows.