I Traced Her Out

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As long as I can remember, my parents have been viciously quarreling for the entire twenty-two years of my life. The quarrels did not flare up to nasty bloody nose levels, only because my father is a reticent and inward-looking recluse. With a cold shrug, he used to suffer it all, almost with an innate dignity. This stoicism and detached indifference ofttimes made me wonder who was really at fault.

Their late-night arguments, very often beginning with some petty, trivial domestic issues such as my education, salary bills, remittances, home maintenance, social issues, etc., almost always gravitated to one fissile and incendiary issue, the mysterious girl my father was in love with during his university days. Suddenly my father would barricade himself with his sporulating silence. He would act dead to her verbal fusillades. She would insist that he was still having his liaisons with the slut behind her back.

She, time and again, made me believe that he was a fraud and a traitor, that he was channelizing his hard-earned money for the benefit of an evil lady he is infatuated with, that he goes out of town to have his quality time with his secret lover. In my childhood he used to defend himself, swearing that it was all her imagination, that he had never met her or made an attempt to meet her, after the marriage. His defensive measures would make my mother flare into a fury.

One night, I was suddenly woken up by a racket. They were into it again.

‘If your slut of a bitch has ‘so delicious and perfect breasts,’ why the hell you should bother mine?’ she was ranting. My father suddenly dived under his blanket just like an ostrich. Then, somehow, I got the idea that somebody’s breasts were standing in the way of their relationship and that breasts could play an important role in conjugal life.

My mother, who is a primary school teacher aged forty-five, Is fairly beautiful. She measures 5’6” with a pair of beautiful 34C breasts. She has thick and flowing hair running down to her waist. Her cute round face would certainly qualify her to be a film actress. I have always wondered why my father is not happy with such a beautiful lady.

Theirs was a beautiful life in the beginning. He was a handsome and highly educated college teacher, respected by all, and she was a good match for him. Ours is an old house with huge stacks of books and documents, which are not managed or organized properly. My mother tried to put the house in order when she was married into this family. She had to deal with thousands of books and artifacts, gathering dust, or borrowing by silverfish. Thus, one day she accidentally stumbled on a private diary of my father, the entries were largely in English, but some pages were in Malayalam, which contained compromising information. She viciously memorized many of the sentences and passages and showered them on him as if bathing him in sulfuric acid.

Note: before getting married make it a point to destroy your private notes, to be on the safer side.

They were spicy descriptions of the mysterious woman’s anatomy, especially of her breasts. Anyway, I was conditioned to hate my father tastefully. For more than a decade they have been sleeping in separate rooms. And for the last couple of years, my father is mostly out of the station. He wielded his connections to get a long-distance transfer and is now teaching at a college some 400 kilometers north. Once in a month he would come home and would stay to himself or visit his friends. He immersed himself into his teaching career and was least bothered about home. His inner peace was more important to him, and he was not interested to listen to his wife’s long speeches on her virtues and purity and how he was unworthy of her. Here stormy acidic berating bouts made him more of a recluse. When everybody was dying to get a transfer to a location near home, he preferred the other way!

During my college years, I made it a practice to surreptitiously steal into his notes. I was gnawed by a burning curiosity about how and why this mysterious woman made a difference. My mother could burrow deep into the Malayalam notes only, I could read the entire thing. His hand was difficult, but by practice, I could read it as easily as a printed note.

The woman in question was two years junior to him at the university and she belonged to upper class Hindy community. Whereas we belonged to Syrian Christians, a progressive minority in the state. Probably this religious wall standing between them sabotaged their union. More so, given the inward-looking nature of my father. Many pages of his private journal were filled with politics, social developments, geopolitical analyses, poems, and philosophical thoughts. But in between, in his romantic mood, he waxed eloquent on the charms of his lover. He was very generous in showering praises on her anatomy. Her hair, her eyes, her nose, her lips, her breasts, her hips, her legs, her fingers, her feet, her dress, everything happened to be the subject istanbul travesti of his devoted meditation and romantic eloquence.

From the pen picture he had assiduously created, I gathered that she must be around 5’8” tall, an unusual height for women in the region. The kind of breasts she has, nobody has ever had. Her presence has a profound effect on the people around her.

After my graduation, I joined the technological university in Cochin, the most important commercial and industrial city in the state. Apart from pursuing my M.Sc. course, I had a secret mission to trace out the identity of this mysterious woman, who is purportedly the paragon of womanhood. It was not an easy task. By the end of the first semester, I understood that a girl named Usha Menon did indeed study on the campus, in 1992 she had left the university after graduation. After twenty-three years, I had to retrace a nebulous path, steeped deep in uncertainties. Fortunately, there is a very vibrant alumni association on the campus. But I did not have the connections to contact those people.

The university union elections are a time of dynamic campus politics. The vice chairman’s post is by convention, reserved for women. More than politics, the beauty and charm of the candidate mattered in winning votes. Given my physical charms, one of the fronts chose me as the candidate and I won! This development offered a better chance to burrow deep into the past. After some systematic research, I found out a few people still on the campus as teachers, who were her contemporaries on campus. They have now become professors and deans.

After some soul searching, one of the teachers, recollected that Usha Menon is still in the city, she is a very successful businesswoman, she is an industrialist. I was preposterously zeroing down in on her. She is the CEO of Usha Cotton Limited, a very successful brand, Usha inner wear for women is mostly catering to the overseas market, especially in the US and Western Europe. The brand had been growing exponentially over the past decade and its annual turnover had crossed the hundred million benchmark long back. The company has a head office on Marine Drive, Cochin and the production units were in the eastern suburbs and Tamil Nādu. I was dying to get a glimpse of this enchanting woman.

If she is not on business trips, she would come to her office everyday around ten. So, there was a chance to get a glimpse of this lady. I had to play it safe. After many days of disappointment, I saw her.

It was a vision! I waited at a city bus stop, at Menaka Junction, which offered a view of her office complex. The city was bursting at the seams owing to the morning rush. The whole city was throbbing with life and activity. Then I saw the gate opening, and a luxury car flowing in. My antennae were alert again. The chauffeur opened the door for her, and she stepped out. I saw her Nike shoes, I saw her long black pants, hugging her remarkably long legs, I saw her white shirt, tucked in, and almost a glimpse of the celebrated breast. She had turned as soon as getting out of the car. Now I could see her back and her thick roof of black hair, which added to her regal dignity and charm. The hair freely cascaded down to her shoulders and whispered to her shoulders, it was beautifully styled into a lush U. Her hips gave me a tremor, they were large and beautifully sculptured. Her pants proudly hugged her behind, not bothering to hide their ecstasy. Her body did not have an iota of extra fat, her musculature proved that her body gets regular exercise and care. She had effectively defied time, she looked hardly thirty-five.

Suddenly I realized that I was pallid and trembling as if an apparition had sighted. Also, queer enough, my nipples were quivering and erect. Strange things were happening to my body. I went back to the university, ravaged by strange and unwonted passions. I direly needed a ruse to meet her, to absorb her closely. I was relieved that she was a reality, a palpable reality and a tangible truth.

A few days later I exclaimed to Satish, the union chairman, ‘Satish, good news, I managed to get an appointment with Usha Menon.’

I had suggested that the university could organize an invited lecture by Usha, as she was one of the business tycoons in the region and a successful businesswoman, more over an illustrious product of the university. I had contacted her secretary over the phone and broached this idea, on behalf of the university. A few days later the secretary called me back and suggested to come and meet madam at 4 PM on Friday next. I was thrilled.

I took Satish with me to officially invite her. The security man ushered us to her reception on the 6th floor. The cute and charming secretary asked us to wait, we had reached there by 3 -45, to be on the safer side. Exactly at four, she got up from her seat and asked us to come forward. She opened the huge door to Usha’s chamber and asked us to move in.

I followed Satish. She got up to invite us to istanbul travestileri the seats with a smile, she offered her rosy hand to us. Satish professionally shook hands with her, he is capable of showing off and acting big. Her warm velvet hand fused into mine like a soft feel of silk. We sat down and I furtively clenched my fist to retain the feel of her hand.

It was a spacious and well-maintained room with luxurious furniture and carpets. Usha was seated on a chair fairly high, offering her a commanding position. Her blazer was placed on the back of her chair, and she had put on a thin white shirt. Her hair was gently kissing her shoulders like the September breeze feeling past the rich foliage of the woods. Her eyelids fluttered merrily, and her clear mesmerizing eyes seemed to caress us affectionately. I noticed that she had a cute and small mustard mole on her left cheek, which contrasted with her alabaster skin. Around her neck, there was a moderate chain of beads, and she had moderate-sized gold earrings, my greatest curiosity was her breasts, those breasts that had triggered so many stormy nights at home during the past couple of decades. A blasphemous thrill swept past me by the first sweeping glance. They were round, full and jutting, the nipples were straining against the bra cups. And she had put on a dainty snow-white bra. Altogether the commanding personality that I was in the penumbra of, had me under her spell.

I struggled to find out why she seemed familiar. I tried to look straight into her face to get a clue. She broke into a patronizing smile. Then it occurred to me, she was the Indian edition of Eva Mendes. Yes, Eva Mendes, but Usha’s hair was jet black and richer. The faces almost exactly matched. My adorable Eva Mendes. There is yet another difference, I observed. Eva has a fairly large valley between her strong breasts. Usha had no space in between, the marvelously projecting luscious glands were defying the imperatives of gravity. The beauties seemed to crowd in her bra cups. I was getting excited.

She leaned forward to offer tea poured from a flask and the view offered by that action, exposing the velvet skin just above her shirt line, far above her enchanting cleavage rendered me speechless.

She asked us something, but I did not actually hear it, just a musical chime I heard. I was in a strange world; I was not under my control.

Satish saved me from a very awkward situation.

‘So, you want me to deliver a lecture, and I could choose the topic, isn’t it so?’ she smiled.

‘Yes madam, you are one of the illustrious products of the university and we would be proud and happy to have you there as a resource person. As a successful woman industrialist, you could convey a message to the upcoming young entrepreneurs, especially women. Your presence itself would convey a great message to the younger generation,’ Satish knew how to have his way.

‘All right children, I cannot disappoint you, can I? it is the campus where I spent some of my best years, and I still have many connections there. My secretary will get back to you with a date, time and topic, along with the abstract. Does it serve your purpose?”

‘Absolutely madam, it is perfect. Accordingly, we would arrange things. If possible, we would try to rope in the Vice Chancellor to inaugurate the program, that is if there is no clash of events. And we will make sure that there is a huge participation. You are likely to attract a huge audience,’

‘That is very sweet of you, Satish. But why is it that your colleague, Nisha does not speak anything?’

She showered me with her enchanting eyes. I was petrified for a moment.

‘I was entranced by your beauty, madam,’ I blurted out. We tell the stark truth when we do not have the time to think.

‘You know how to flatter me, young lady,’ she laughed, her teeth flashed like purest pearls.

I watched her sipping her spiced tea, from her cup, I was transfixed when the cup kissed her glossy silken lips. I aped her with my cup of tea.

I did not know when the meeting was over. I mechanically got up when Satish did so, I was still under her blinding spell. When we emerged out from the lift and walked into the hot sunny open, I squirmed and struggled to come back from the trance.

‘Let us wait a bit,’ I said. I needed time to pull myself together. So, I met with the lady who was a strong diabolic presence at home. I remembered the long, long pages in the diary books dumped by my introverted father. I realized that every word he had employed to celebrate her charm was not an exaggeration. I shivered.

When we were pulling together after the tremendous rendezvous, I noticed her car coming to the entrance. Like a whizz of vernal breeze, she came out in her long pants and grey overcoat. She saw us, recognized and waved at us with a warm classy dignified smile and got into the car to melt into the flood of traffic.

Back in the safety of my hostel room, I undressed in a hurry and tried to calm down. travesti istanbul I retreated to the bathroom and checked myself. My breasts were trembling, and the sensitive nipples were furious, the hardened nubs were screaming for some consolation. My pussy was so wet that the moisture had spread to my pubic hair, and even to my thighs. I ran my index finger along the slick valley, and it was bathed in a slicky oily secretion. Before I could do anything about it, my finger was pleasing the throbbing pussy, I visualized the electrifying shape of her bust sweetly wrapped in her bra and expensive shirt and I came with a grunt. I continued to quiver in the aftershocks. I was becoming wicked.

I opened my laptop and searched for Eva Mendes. I downloaded pictures of hers in various postures and costumes. In almost all pictures she took deliberate care to flash a glimpse of her breast. Transfixed I watched the luscious globes sitting radiantly and tried to visualize Usha.

I have never had lesbian ideas, and I had never toyed with such fantasies, I liked the company of boys and we had very effervescent moments on the campus. Strange things were happening to me. I needed to take stock.

We took particular care to make the event of her lecture a landmark one. Her posters were placed at all vantage points on the campus, I was sure that both boys and girls would be fascinated by her mellowed physical charm.

I had proved myself to be a fumbling, bungling fool when we had gone to her office. This time around I wanted to prove my grit. I insisted that I would deliver the welcome speech, I needed that prerogative. My charm offensive worked; I know how to have my way with the boys. I retreated from the venue after the lunch break. The boys would manage everything perfectly. I had to present myself in my feminine best. During the day, the hostel is not crowded, and I had all the privacy to me. I shampooed my flowing load of hair running down to my midriff and took my time to soap and clean the whole body. With a towel around me, I sat on my bed and began my meticulous preparation for the day. I painted my fingers rose and waited for them to dry. I chose to put on a rose saree, which is reserved for important functions. I critically surveyed me in the mirror and took meticulous care to be at my best. I was excited from top to toe, my body sensed that something important was going to unfold. When I put on my fresh rose bra and the closely hugging blouse, my hands inadvertently brushed over the nipples crowning my 34 C breasts, and they were rebelliously sticking out.

Usha came right on time in a fabulous ceremonial silk saree which covered her magnificent and vanquishing bust. She looked majestic and eclipsed the people gathered there to receive her. On her 3-inch heels, the lady looked very tall, given her natural 5’7” height. I shadowed her and guided her to the dais. Her smooth, subtle and very feminine perfume enticingly embraced us all. I could secretly see the outline of her bra through the blouse. Her U-shaped copious cascade of hair reached down to cover the naked skin above her blouse.

Now it was my turn, to deliver the welcome speech. The entire galaxy of academic luminaries, including the PVC, Registrar, the Controller of Examinations, department heads, and teachers were gathered, in addition to hundreds of students. The boys were anxiously there, primarily to feast on me, I have a terrific impact on them when I stand there in my diaphanous saree, which gracefully underscored my curves and added a rosy elegant sheen to my being.

In my fairly long speech, I unraveled her biography, as I had researched a great deal to absorb everything about her. Inter alia, I mentioned that right from my early childhood I had heard a great deal about her, and my parents used to vehemently discuss her at home. I said I was proud and privileged to meet her and listen to her at long last. This information seemed to trigger some curiosity in her, I saw through the corner of my eye that she was frowning. I concluded that she was the paragon of modern women, confident, self-reliant, ambitious, free and progressive. I claimed that she would be the lofty model that the modern generation on the campus will be calibrated against. It was a grand statement.

In her one-hour long speech, which held the audience under her spell, Usha opened up the other side of the moon. She told us that success should not necessarily be the goalpost. Failures add to the spice of life. Her life, no matter where she stands today, was not a bed of roses. When she was divorced after the brief and debilitating marriage, she had nothing to look forward to. The society is conditioned in such a way that marriage is the ultimate goal and everything else is done to set the background for the same. Marriage is not the final destination and if it ends up in a fiasco, it is not the end of the world. We have to be true to ourselves, and to no one else. Each one is born with an inner creativity; each one has to discern what she is good for. We cannot please everybody, but at least we have to be true to our inner call. We could flee many situations and people, but we cannot run away from us. So, the pivotal point in life is self-reconciliation. Once we brought out the best in us, even in failures and fiascos, we will excel.

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