Best Lesbian Erotica 2013

HOMECOMING Anamika

“Is that Priya Agarwal?”

The voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t immediately tag a name to it. My automatic response was: “I am rather busy right now, could you ring me after some time?”

“Priya, this is Megha Singh, your old classmate from Miranda.”

I took a deep breath and my index finger poised on the mouse stiffened. The last I’d heard about Megha from one of my college classmates six years before was that Megha had married a rich hotelier and migrated to the USA. Since we were never on good terms, Megha had not invited me to her well-publicized marriage reception party at a five-star hotel in Delhi where (as one of my friends later reported) caviar was served and a Bollywood item girl was invited to entertain the guests with her acrobatic dancing. Why did Megha call me now? I wondered. “Well, Megha, it’s nice to hear from you,” I said, keeping my voice as cool and courteous as I could manage.

“You didn’t expect a call from me, did you?” Megha asked.

“Not really. We were never that close, after all.” I could have said more, but didn’t, fearing that we would end up exchanging some hot words, raking up an unpleasant past that had troubled me in my college days.

“We could meet, you know,” Megha said rather plaintively. “I am now in Delhi, staying with my aunt at Vasant Vihar.”

“Oh.” Even as I made that noncommittal sound, I felt my pulse going up and I felt very hot, even though I was sitting in my air-conditioned office. “I thought you were calling me from your home in New York or is it Chicago?” I said, trying to sound nonchalant.

“Vineet, my husband, is now staying in New Jersey,” Megha told me, and then said: “When do we meet, then?”

“Tomorrow, I go to Mumbai for a couple of days to attend a business conference. I will be back on Thursday morning.”

“In that case, we can meet on Thursday evening, right?”

Megha’s authoritative tone, which had once impressed me, now galled me. So I said: “I will be busy during the week. I am now an assistant manager with Tata Consultancy Service… in case you are wondering why I am not free on Thursday evening.”

“I know a little about your present occupation… and also about your single status… Neha told me. In fact, I got your number from her.”

So Megha’s old confidante and roommate at Miranda had done this little mischief. I would have to warn Neha not to share my personal details with anyone. “I wonder what we will talk about now,” I said. “Frankly, Megha, I don’t fancy reviving a friendship that was never there… if you know what I mean.”

“A lot of water has flown down the Yamuna since we met last time, Priya,” Megha said. “Maybe we can talk about that. How about Saturday evening? You can choose the venue.”

Megha was insistent. I took a deep breath, then said: “Seven thirty at Flora, Nehru Place.”

“That suits me. Thanks.”

It was Neha, my classmate at Miranda College, who had originally introduced me to her pretty, snobbish roommate. Megha came from a rich, conservative and politically influential family in Lucknow. Her family owned a mall and several large estates in and around Lucknow and her father was a cabinet minister in the government of Uttar Pradesh. Apparently, Megha, who studied psychology and was senior to me, was not interested in boys, so Neha thought I could perhaps meet her and find out if she was a “queer” like me. I initially declined to be a part of her dubious project, but when Neha introduced me to Megha and she gave me a tight hug (I fancied she was trying to assess the size of my breasts) and a captivating smile, I was tempted to know her a little more intimately. Neha suggested that a dark auditorium would be the right place for our courtship, so she booked three tickets for a matinee show at Eros, a single-screen cinema, which was showing a mushy Bollywood musical. We sat according to Neha’s plan: Megha in the middle and the two of us on either side of her.

The movie theater darkened after the promos, but nothing happened in the first half hour because, experienced as I was in the art of seduction (I had had three lovers—one steady and two casuals—in my senior grade at school), I didn’t think it prudent to touch a girl I hardly knew. Neither did Megha show any inclination to take the lead. So, an exasperated Neha, who loved as much to spread news as to create it, volunteered to play the pimp/facilitator: she picked up my left hand (I was after all a leftie), placed it on Megha’s right hand and then hissed: “Now start, you dumbos!” I tentatively stroked Megha’s long, tapering fingers and then leaning sideways I tried to kiss her, but Megha moved away her face, denying me this privilege. “Sorry, I am not yet ready for that,” she said.

“You are a pretty girl, Megha, and I like you,” I whispered in her ear.

“Thanks, just carry on,” Megha whispered back.

I pushed my hand under her top and discovered to my delight that she wore no bra and her boobs were small but firm.

“Please don’t rough-handle me, Priya,” Megha mumbled and then leaned back. I assured her that I wouldn’t do anything to hurt her.

And true to my words I didn’t hurt Megha; in fact I handled her body like one handles a newborn baby, stroking and nuzzling her breasts and then sucking her taut nipples. As Megha softly moaned and clutched my hair, I thought we had reached a stage when reciprocation was absolutely necessary. So, I took her hand and slipped it under my top to caress my embarrassingly large boobs. Megha cursorily fondled them a little and then withdrew her hand. I asked her if she was disappointed with my tits. Megha said she just wanted to concentrate on the pleasures I was giving her and didn’t want to distract herself by engaging in mutual fondling. At this point, when I was debating in my mind if I should extend my field of exploration below Megha’s waist, Neha, the pimp, grabbed my hand, pulled the zipper of Megha’s trousers and thrust my hand under her panties. I stiffened, expecting the conservative Megha to evict my eager fingers from her crotch. But she obliged me by spreading her legs. Her smooth, clean-shaven pussy was already swollen, hot and moist, which only showed she was awaiting her spasms. Slowly, I masturbated Megha, stroking her labia with my index and middle fingers and rubbing her clit with my thumb till Megha climaxed, clamping her thighs hard on my wet palm. “Thank you for your good work, Priya,” she whispered when I finally withdrew my fingers awash with her cum from her crotch.

“So when are we going to meet again, honey?” I asked her when we came out of the movie theater.

Megha arched her finely drawn brows. “Now, aren’t you going a little too fast just after a groping session, Priya?” she said with the superior air of a benefactress who had given alms to a beggar. “I need some time to think about it.” And Megha suddenly looked very somber and thoughtful.

I realized belatedly that Megha had used me as a guinea pig to find out what a lesbian couple do to each other when they are left in the dark. I was a fool to let her know that I was besotted with her, and got snubbed for my overture. But unable to banish her from my mind, I buttonholed Neha a few days later to ask her about her roommate.

“Sorry, Priya, she’s not going to join your club,” Neha said, rolling her eyes. “I told you Megha comes from a rich, conservative family and girls from such families have inhibitions, taboos and whatnot. So forget her and find a new face among the freshers.”

“Thanks for your advice,” I said tartly, “but I think I can handle my libido pretty well.”

Two weeks later, I saw Megha in the college canteen, munching samosas with two of her classmates who knew that I was a “queer.” Megha turned away her eyes to avoid meeting my gaze and that irked me. In a moment my thwarted love turned into pure hate and I decided to spoil Megha’s reputation as a nice, clean, hetero girl before her friends.

“Honey, you enjoyed what I did to you the other day in the movie theater, didn’t you?” I asked Megha, beaming.

“It was okay,” Megha said stiffly, looking slightly scared. “Want some samosas?”

“No, thanks. Well, Megha, you have a great body and I enjoyed fondling you,” I chortled, twinkling at her friends’ bemused faces.

“You never told us you went on a date with our pussy-loving Priya,” one of Megha’s friends pouted.

“It was a mistake,” Megha said drawing her breath sharply. “You don’t really need an extra pair of hands to… pleasure yourself. That was not real sex.”

“What’s real sex, then, sweetie?” I said, pinching her cheek. “And where do you get that?”

A plump girl with braces said: “Wow! What a question! Of course, you need a six-pack alpha male with a reasonably firm dick to give you that kind of experience.”

Megha blushed and nodded. “Sorry, Priya, Pinky has given you the answer in a bold forthright manner. Now, spare me from your dirty talk on this subject.”

Since Megha was not ready for a fight, I did the best possible thing in that situation: I clamped her face between my palms and pressed my lips hard on her mouth for the kiss she had denied me in the movie theater. Her friends twittered and clapped even as Megha struggled to free herself from my grasp. “Some great poet said: ‘If there’s no help, let’s kiss and part.’” I flashed a victor’s smile and walked away.

A couple of months later, Neha told me Megha had started dating an athletic boy from St. Stephens, one of the prestigious colleges, and often talked about her ongoing affair.

“Has she done it?” I asked Neha, because in those days losing one’s virginity was the in thing on the campus.

“Not yet,” said Neha, the faithful reporter. “She says she is in no hurry to rush into a physical relationship.”

“Good for her,” I said. “Because truth could be very unsettling, you know.”

“So you think she’s one of your kind?”

“I will not say anything right now. Just tell her to watch out before she takes the big leap forward.”

“Megha says she’s in love,” Neha said. “So I would rather wait and watch.”

“How is life, honey?” I asked Megha when I ran into her in the college library on a muggy May afternoon. We were in the same aisle and there was no way she could dodge me.

Megha screwed her eyes as if she had seen a dirty beetle trying to crawl up her legs. “You want to know if I have fucked a male, right?” she hissed, her eyes blazing fury.

“Wrong,” I said. “I am just curious to know if you have found Mr. Right.”

“And how does that concern you? You want to lick my pussy, don’t you? You bloody lesbo.”

I was quite shocked by Megha’s candidness which, I assumed, was her shield against my barbs. Not to lose the war of words, I said: “I also want to kiss your mouth again, and say a few not-so-nice things about you and your sexual preferences.”

“Trying to seduce me, huh? Sorry, I am not interested. Look, baby, I am an out-and-out hetero, so stop chasing me. If I ever need a barber to get my pubic area shaved I will certainly give you a call. Now, leave me alone.”

“Better call your boyfriend for that dirty job,” I shot back, and left her.

The suspense over Megha’s painstakingly preserved virginity finally came to an end one morning when Neha confided to me: “She has done it with Amit, her boyfriend! She says it was an out of the world experience.” I had a hunch that Megha had asked her roommate to inform me about her plunge into hetero sex to give me a slap on the face.

“Good. Just tell her to practice safe sex,” I said.

Neha chuckled. “Don’t worry. She carries a packet of flavored KamaSutra condoms in her bag these days.”

“Congrats!” I said to Megha when I met her the next day in the corridor.

“So Neha has spilled the beans, huh?” Megha said, beaming. “Spread the word far and wide, if you must.”

“What for?” I countered, vexed. “Campus romances are often over with college semesters, so let’s talk after six months and we shall see who stands where.”

Megha frowned. “If you choose the right partner, romance does not die out in six months or even six years.” And with a disdainful smile, she strode away to her psychology class. I felt small and defeated. Maybe I was wrong about Megha. Taut nipples and dribbling pussy couldn’t always be the hallmark of lesbianism. Maybe, in the darkened auditorium, her inexperienced body was merely reacting to my clever manipulations. If she had really found love in a male, so be it. Rather than waiting indefinitely for Megha to summon me for some dirty work, I moved away from her path and soon found a contemplative, bespectacled senior girl in the physics department who responded to my advances with suppressed enthusiasm. After the other girls had left the physics lab, we stood behind a rack of optical lenses and smooched and explored each other’s bodies and talked about Stephen Hawking.

I had filed Megha as a minor fiasco when Neha, our trusted gazetteer, again brought her into my focus. “Something wrong with her sex life, I guess,” Neha confided to me one evening when I ran into her.

“But she looks so proud… and satiated,” I said.

“Proud, yes. Satiated, doubtful. She looks rather upset when she returns from that seedy hotel at Kashmiri Gate where Amit takes her every Saturday for sex.”

“Look, Neha, no one can satisfy a partner on each encounter,” I said. “I read somewhere that premature ejaculation afflicts every male sometimes.”

“But she says he stays firm for more than five minutes,” Neha reported faithfully.

“Then she’s frigid.” And I couldn’t help remembering the copious tears of joy her pussy had shed in my palm in the movie theater.

“You may be right, Priya,” Neha said. “At least on two occasions I have noticed that after she returned, she sneaked into the toilet to masturbate.”

“Tell her to see a shrink or a sexologist to improve her sex life,” I advised Neha glibly.

The last time I saw Megha before she vanished from the campus was in the college lawns, munching peanuts desolately. I didn’t want to talk to her, but she called out: “Hey, Priya, going to hump that morose zombie in the physics lab?”

“Right you are, babe,” I said cheerily. “At least we don’t come back to our rooms with dry vaginas and rush to the toilet to do some hard work with our fingers.”

“Sneaky bitch!” she growled. “I will throw Neha out of my room one day.”

“But that’s not going to help you to achieve what you are missing,” I teased.

“Fuck you, you bitch!” Megha hissed.

“Fuck you, my love,” I cooed.

And that was how we parted.

Two months later Megha dropped out of college to marry, not her athletic lover Amit, but a potbellied restaurateur who owned a chain of Indian eateries in the USA. “Money is very important for Megha’s folks, I reckon,” Neha told me. “And Megha went for it.”

“So, how is life, Priya?” said Megha, as we sat at a corner table of Flora. The restaurant was crowded on Saturday evening and we had to wait to get our table.

“I am fine,” I said. “You are on a vacation, I suppose?”

“No, I will be here for a while.”

“Ah.” I looked at her and she looked at me, perhaps both wondering how life had treated us in the last six years. Megha looked subdued and her dress was sober, if not shabby—frayed jeans and a beige top that didn’t flatter her curves. Her shoulder-length hair looked unkempt. I guessed that she was going through a bad patch. I also noted that she had no wedding ring. A divorcée? I wondered and the evil spirit that resided in me chuckled with glee. Denying one’s natural inclinations could lead to disastrous compromises. “How about a soft drink?” I asked.

“I would prefer a hard one—if you don’t mind,” Megha said, stealing a glance at the bar at the other end of the restaurant.

“A gin and tonic?”

“Scotch with soda and ice will be fine.”

So I beckoned a waiter and ordered single malt, large, for Megha and a Pepsi for myself.

“You don’t drink, I assume,” Megha said, watching me with some curiosity.

“I drink a cocktail or two when I attend business parties.” I wondered how long Megha would continue this small talk. Or was she here just to check out how I, her one-time bête noire, had fared in my life? Megha kept up the small talk till our drinks were served and she had taken a couple of sips of scotch.

“You look good, Priya,” she said scanning my face and the visible upper half of my body that included my much-ogled big tits.

“Thanks,” I said, with a wooden smile. “One has to dress up and put on a little makeup too to look good and professional in my line of business.”

“You must be wondering what I am doing here in Delhi in this muggy weather when I am supposed to be with my husband in New Jersey, changing nappies or reading bedtime stories to my kids,” she finally began.

“I guess you are separated or have divorced and have returned home to lick your wounds,” I said looking straight at her face.

Megha smiled wanly. “You have sharp eyes, Priya, and I appreciate that. You have always been a good observer, I remember.”

“Thanks, Megha, but I still don’t have any idea what prompted you to seek me out, particularly when we are not and have never been on the same wavelength.”

Megha sighed. “I thought now that I am back and… well most of my old mates have married and settled down with their own families, kids and whatnot, you could be the one with whom I may perhaps spend an evening or two without talking about my disastrous marriage.”

I felt a strong urge to tell Megha that I led a pretty busy life and had no time to spare for her. But I checked myself. Megha took a long sip of whisky and then did something for which I was not prepared at all: she grabbed my free right hand and pressed my fingers to her wet lips. That was the moment when I realized that even after all these years I still fancied this woman.

“I knew I was treading the wrong path even as I courted Amit, that St. Stephens hunk,” said Megha, as she undressed in my bedroom. I sat regally on the sofa and watched her shedding her clothes, my nipples already hardening. Megha hadn’t gained weight, I noticed. She still had a supple body and firm breasts.

“I am not interested in your past, Megha,” I said, watching her unbuttoning her jeans.

“I must tell you why I spurned your advances in those days,” she continued. “Look, Priya, I came from a conservative family where men make all major decisions and marriage is just one of them. My dad is in politics; he is still a minister in the state government of Uttar Pradesh. I had to suppress my sexual urges because even a small family scandal could jeopardize my dad’s career. If I had tried to wriggle out of the closet, told him that I didn’t want to marry a guy, he wouldn’t have hesitated to kill his only daughter. That’s how our patriarchal society behaves in my part of the world.”

“I understand,” I said. “I guess you suffered a lot in your forced marriage with the rich hotelier.”

“It was terrible,” Megha said, wriggling out of her panties. She hadn’t clipped her pubic hair for a while, I noted. “Vineet turned out to be a pervert. A keen watcher of blue films, he subjected me to all sorts of kinky sex. It was disgusting. To avoid pregnancy, I took contraceptive pills on the sly. When he discovered this, he burnt my crotch with cigarette butts and then threw me out of his house.”

“I am really sorry for you, Megha,” I said. “You must try to forget your past and start life afresh.”

“And for that I need help from my old friends, particularly from you. I treated you so badly in those days that merely asking your forgiveness now…”

“…Won’t work,” I cut in. “You deserve punishment and you will have it. Come to me, bad girl.”

Megha smiled wanly, wiping the tears that had gathered in her eyes, and then approached me like a chastised schoolgirl, her tits jiggling and her bird’s-nest bush lightly brushing my shoulder. I drew her onto my lap, turned her over and then slapped her bum hard a couple of times. Having delivered the punishment, I pressed my mouth fiercely on hers, savoring those well-curved lips that she had denied me when we were at Miranda. I explored her mouth with my tongue and then nuzzled her breasts. As Megha started kneading my boobs, I stood up from the sofa, lifting her in my arms. It was pure, simple lust that gripped me. I hadn’t had sex for over a year now and here my elusive lover of yesteryear had turned up. I dumped her on my bed and then, tearing off my skirt and blouse, I spread her legs wide and ground my pussy vigorously against hers. She moaned with pleasure but her luxuriant bush denied me the pleasure of rubbing my wet pussy against her naked flesh. So, I finally dived between her legs to suck her labia, lick her clit and then finger-fuck her, making her groan, arch her back high and then shriek as the orgasm finally hit her.

We ended up kissing each other, our busy fingers exploring each other’s bodies. We hardly spoke for we were actually preparing ourselves for an encore.

Late in the evening, when an exhausted Megha took leave of me, she asked: “Seems you are still without a partner. Would you mind if I come to live with you on weekends?”

“You are welcome, hon,” I said. “But do come with a clean crotch or I will have to hire a barber to clean up the mess.”