Manjula was so unaccountably cheerful at breakfast the next morning that Tony’s mother looked at her suspiciously. Tony feared he would get questions he didn’t want to answer, but Manjula smoothly diverted her by asking if she could take some Sri Lankan food back to campus. His mother considerately gave her coolers full of it.

Sitting on the bus home, Tony felt a deep sense of contentment. He had a loving, beautiful girlfriend. He had understanding, open-minded parents. His studies were going well. He was even learning Tamil, a dream he’d had for years.

“Manjula,” he asked, “how do you feel?”

“Today I feel wonderful,” she replied. “What we did last night was wonderful. But I am worried.”

“About marriage?”

“Not about us. Something will be worked out. I am worried about school.”

“Why?” Tony found it hard to believe Manjula’s brilliant mind could be fazed by anything.

“I have biology tomorrow. I hate biology. It is just so fluid, and messy. I especially dislike the lab sessions.”

“What other classes are you taking?”

“Chemistry, economics, maths, and English writing.”

“What if you dropped biology, and took something else?”

“I need biology to be a doctor.”

“What if you didn’t need to be a doctor?” He grinned. “Hypothetically.”

She looked at him archly. “Hypothetically, I could be a quantitative analyst like you said. Or an actuary.”

“You can check, but it sounds like your other courses are compatible. Just drop biology and take another class instead.”

“I wish I could do that,” she sighed. “But I cannot.”

“What if you stayed here?” Tony asked.

“In Canada? And marry you, no doubt?” She looked at him with mock outrage. “You would sacrifice my life plans for your cock?”

Tony did not rise to the bait. “Even if we had never met, there is a good case for you to remain here. You would be very wealthy by Sri Lankan standards.”

“And leave behind my family? My friends?”

Tony contemplated this. Immigrants could sometimes bring their parents over, but Manjula could not bring her aunt and uncle, and certainly not her cousins, or friends.

“What is your aunt and uncle’s income?”

“Twenty thousand rupees per month.”

Tony took out his phone and consulted a few websites. “Okay, starting salary for a quant… after taxes… monthly… convert to rupees. That would be five hundred and thirty thousand rupees a month.”

“What?”

“That doesn’t mean you’re rich, since your expenses will also be high. But you could send your aunt and uncle less than five percent of your income, and still double theirs. And your income could double in the first ten years. And in the U.S., quants make even more.”

Manjula was speechless. She had been looking forward to earning a doctor’s salary of sixty thousand rupees a month, which would make her one of the richest people in her village. A specialist could get eighty thousand. And that wasn’t the starting pay, it was the rate after several years of service.

If she moved to Colombo and went into private practice, she could earn double or triple what she could in her village, but it would still barely be a quarter of what she could earn abroad, if Tony’s figures were correct. And she’d have to deal with the high cost of living in the city.

“But what happens to my village?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“How can they manage without a doctor? Poor regions like ours have very few doctors of their own. The Government assigns recent graduates for duty in the rural areas. They do a two-year stint and then they leave. The people never get treated by experienced practitioners. And they cannot see a specialist without travelling many hours to the city.”

“So you feel,” said Tony slowly, “that it’s your duty to go back and help them.”

“Yes,” she said fiercely. “Do you know what we called people like your parents who fled abroad during the war?”

“What?” said Tony, shamefacedly.

“Runaways. We called them runaways. It was your caste, the karaiyar caste, that started the war. It was your caste that had the good schools and wanted the university places and best jobs. And when the Army came, it was people from your caste who were the first to go abroad.

“The rebels did not have enough soldiers. So they wandered into villages, into schools. They came into my school and demanded I go and fight for them. Appa begged with them, he pleaded, let her finish her studies. Finally, they let me go, but only if he went in my place. So he went to fight.”

Tony felt, suddenly, deeply ashamed of himself.

“Two years later we got a letter. Appa was in hospital. He had lost his leg. Amma was desperate to bring him home. She heard that the Air Force had agreed to let the area around the hospital serve as a safe zone. The Army promised that unarmed civilians who left rebel territory would be allowed to go home. I wanted so much to go with her, to see him again. I missed him so much. Amma said no, it was too dangerous. She went off on foot. It would have taken her two days to get to the safe zone.”

Everyone Tony knew had either gone abroad or was safe in Colombo during the terrible last days of the war. He had never felt more uselessly overprivileged.

“There were hardly any doctors at that hospital. There had not been many in the first place, and most had fled. The Government ordered the Red Cross to leave, they accused them of aiding and abetting terrorists. Appa just stayed there, I don’t know if anyone treated him. All I know for sure is that Amma did make it there.”

“What happened to your father and mother?”

“At least they were together. They… they…”

Manjula was not crying; she was stone-faced, with a look of grim determination.

“The Air Force bombed the hospital anyway, after they said they would not. They said there were terrorists in the hospital. Appa was a rebel soldier, so they would have counted him as a terrorist. But he never wanted to kill anyone. Everything he did, he did to protect me.”

What can you say to a story like this? Tony thought of the sense of contentment he’d been enjoying just minutes before, now apparently gone forever.

“They cremated all the bodies, right there on the spot. The Government refused to admit Amma had been there. But other people have told me she was going there, they saw her nearby. There were many civilians in that hospital who died. The war ended a few weeks later. They were dancing in the streets in Colombo. I have nothing left of Amma and Appa. Not even their ashes.”

Tony remembered that time — of how crowds of Tamils had protested the massacres, holding demonstrations in London, in Ottawa, in Washington. In Toronto, a gathering of angry Tamils had stormed onto the Gardiner Expressway and blocked it for hours. To this day, some still believed the dead rebel leader was alive and in hiding somewhere, and that the glorious struggle would one day start again. Many denounced the perfidious Sinhalese, but the steady flow of contributions from the West that had financed the rebels dried up after they were gone.

“I am so sorry about what happened to your parents,” he said. It was a hopelessly anodyne thing to say, but he could think of nothing else.

She took his hand in his. “It is not your fault. And I cannot ask you to come back with me to Sri Lanka. I do love you, but I do not believe you could handle the standard of living we have there.”

“I love you too, Manjula,” said Tony robotically, but he felt completely unworthy of her. His dreams were of the acquisition of wealth and status. Hers were of taking care of her family and community.

Manjula had known poverty, had known deprivation, had known cruelty and suffering to a degree he could barely imagine. He, on the other hand, had lived like an emperor, studied at well-furnished schools, driven smooth-running cars on neatly paved roads, never had to worry about bombings or invasions, and didn’t give any more thought to life except to which high-paying job he could get — or whether he could get his girl to suck his cock. What a waste of space, he thought bitterly.

Manjula dozed off as the bus drove on, her head lolling onto his shoulder. Tony thought and thought. Finally, he made some decisions.

***

When he got home, he spent some time surfing the net, filled in some forms, and drafted a few emails.

He texted Manjula: Can’t do Tamil lesson tomorrow; booked something else.

Her reply came in seconds: Why what is wrong?

Nothing just got somethn to do, he wrote back.

She took a bit longer to reply. Can you come over around 7?

***

“Why did you try to thaavi our lesson?” she asked, in Tamil, when he arrived the following evening.

“I um, I was volunteering at the student centre lab.”

“Volunteering?”

“You know, guiding students who need computer help. You’d be surprised how many have spent their life on their phone but can’t do squat with a desktop. Some of them don’t even know how to type, or do a Google search, or even print a document.”

“You got a job?”

“No. I volunteered. I did it for free.”

“Why would you do that? Do you know these students?”

Tony was puzzled by her attitude.

“Well no, I just… I know that I’m very good at computers, and a lot of them aren’t. I can sometimes figure out in a few minutes what would take them an hour. If I can help them get their work done, it takes away their stress, and I felt better after I went.”

“Were you feeling bad?”

“Of course I was feeling bad!” Tony snapped. “After what you said about runaways, I felt awful. I just thought… maybe you were right, maybe my life should have some kind of meaning.”

“So you decided this just yesterday? After we said good night?”

“That’s right.”

Manjula laughed. “Do you want to know what I was doing last night?”

“What?”

She put her finger in front of her crotch and made a wiggling motion. “You are a very good teacher, you know,” she said playfully. “I wanted it so badly I did it twice more after you left back at your parents’ house. Last night I did it another three times. I cannot seem to get enough.”

Tony would normally have been quite aroused by this, but he found himself getting more upset. He’d been doing deep soul-searching, and she’d just been pleasuring herself?

“But — I was even — I emailed some non-profits, asking if they’d take me on an unpaid internship next summer.”

“What? I thought you said you could probably get an internship with a big famous tech firm, and you needed one to get a permanent job later.”

“I guess I decided some things are more important than money.”

It was now Manjula’s turn to get angry. “Are you throwing your career away just to be noble?”

“Why not? Isn’t that what you’re doing?” Tony shouted back.

There was a silence.

“Why are you angry with me?” asked Manjula in a small voice.

Tony sat down on the chair. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m not angry with you, I’m angry with myself.”

“Why, what have you done wrong?”

“The question is what have I done right? And after what you said yesterday, I couldn’t think of anything.”

Manjula squatted down before him and took his hand. “Tony, the past week since I met you has been the happiest of my life. That is what you have done right.”

“I just thought… you were going to devote your life to taking care of your village, and I—”

“I am sorry, I should not have ranted like that,” she said. “The reason I got so heated was because you made me realize the flaw in my plan.”

“What flaw?”

“I hate biology. I can learn it if I have to, but I do not think I will ever love it the way I love maths.”

“But you said your village needed a doctor—”

“Yes, but you are right too. How can I be a good doctor if I hate biology? I was thinking about that…um…in between.” She blushed. “I just miss Amma and Appa so much, I wanted to do something to make their deaths worthwhile.”

He looked down at her. “Their deaths were not worthwhile. It’s their lives that were worthwhile. Because they produced you.”

She smiled. “I am glad you are helping in the lab. Maybe I can do something for maths students in difficulty.”

“I already know what you can do for Tamil students in difficulty.”

She chuckled. “This was our first fight!” she said, in Tamil. “Did you like it?”

He found himself relaxing. “In a way, I did. I think… I think I needed a jolt like that. It really is a cruel and unjust world out there, and we have to do our part to make it better. Not just drift through life.”

“You can decide on your internship later. I actually asked you over here for a different kind of jolt.”

He looked at her, taking in again just how pretty she was. Her knees were angled before his, her lovely brown skin glowing at him. The little red dress she had on brought out the bright red of her innocent-looking lips. She had clearly just taken a shower, he could smell a trace of scented soap. And he couldn’t help noticing that, even though she could have sat in the chair beside him, she was squatting below him, in a submissive position.

“And what would that be?” he asked.

“Rachel is in class from seven to nine. That is why I said to come at seven.” She said that in Tamil, so it took Tony a moment to process it.

She stood up, and just as she had before, she slipped out of the dress. There it was again, that feast for the eyes, that slender brown wonder he had the honour to call girlfriend. She had on a frilly red one-piece mesh, loosely hanging off straps around her shoulders, through which he could see most of her breasts. Little flaps ran along the bottom, looking like the only covering for her pussy.

Swaying her body, she slid the straps down her arms. The outfit slowly slid down to the floor. And this was not late at night in a darkened room. This was in broad daylight, with the bright rays of the setting sun coming in through the window.

Manjula, nude. Looking a little scared, true, but her pose firm and steady, her gaze very direct. She wanted this. She wanted him to stare at her unclad body, to take pleasure just from the sight of her, to send that familiar hunger coursing through his loins. He could not have been more enthralled if it were the Mona Lisa herself. Her breasts were as round as melons, full and rich, a lusty challenge to his eyes. She twirled around, and he could see that pert posterior, curvy and perfect.

But her pussy!

It is not for nothing that the vagina has been called the holiest of holies. It is the canal that gives life itself. It is the desired, cherished target of millions of men throughout history. There has always been something mystical, something precious, even sacred about this organ, this fount of pleasure, this place of so many dreams and so many hopes.

Manjula, nude. The first, the only naked woman Tony had seen in the flesh. His cock was stirring, that was to be expected. But his mind and his heart were just as touched. On all levels he wanted her so badly it hurt.

He stepped forward.

“Wait.” She held up her hand.

“I—I want you to touch me. I know there are other ways you can touch me. I want you to feel me every way you want. But… but…”

He waited patiently.

“I cannot go back to Sri Lanka and lie. I cannot tell anyone I am a virgin if I am not.”

“You want me to touch you… without having sex?” He reflected for a moment. “What counts as sex?” He felt like Bill Clinton.

“We cannot do anything that could get me pregnant. Even a Western girl would need to see the doctor, right?”

“Right.”

“And what they said before, about sucking cock. I think I am beginning to understand, now. Why they do it. If it were clean…but no, I think that also counts as sex.”

“So what can we do?”

“Anything else. I want you to tell me what to do and I will do it.”

He forced his eyes off her pussy and back to her face. He saw the love shining there, but the fear too. Dimly, he realized just how hard this was for her, how much of an effort she was making.

He took her in his arms and kissed her softly. He knew she could feel his cock through his shorts. She pressed closer to him.

“I love you, Manjula. I will never hurt you,” he said. He tenderly stroked her back, downwards, downwards. As gently as he could, he put his hand on her ass.

The effect was electrifying. She went rigid, holding onto him tightly. Her ass was unbelievably smooth, like nothing he had ever felt in his life. He drew his fingers across it, rubbing it, playing with it. When he squeezed her cheeks she gave a sharp breath, then brought her lips to his.

And they were kissing again, kissing ravenously, their tongues tasting each other, his hands on her ass, feeling that incredible softness, like sinking his fingers into the softest of fabrics.

He began to tug at his shirt, but she silently brushed his hand away, and lifted it off herself. She knelt in front of him and kissed the wet spot that had already appeared on his pants. His cock jerked in response. She rapidly pulled off his pants and briefs, and stared wonderingly at his dick. She was so close that he could feel her breath on it. He wanted desperately to grab her head and push his cock into her mouth…

Instead, she prostrated herself on the ground and kissed his feet again. Simultaneously turned on and appalled, Tony lifted her to her feet and led her to the bed. He lay down behind her, cock nestled in the crack of her ass, and put his fingers on her nipples.

She started. Tony was not at all sure what he was doing, and he knew his own rough fingers could not possibly be a match for Manjula’s soft ones. As tenderly as he could manage, he wiggled her nipples. It was like sending an electric current through her body. She started to vibrate, arms and legs flailing.

The sensation of her nude body against his was overwhelming. Tony was used to masturbation, when feelings were limited to his cock. This was total. Manjula’s warm cuddliness aroused his hands, his arms, his chest, his legs, even his feet. He felt fully alive, fully a man, in a way he never had before.

Her breasts — could anything feel so pliable, such a delight? They melted into his hands as he squeezed them, fondled them, played with them. He softly stroked her belly and traced his finger along her thighs.

With a sudden roll, she was on him, kneeling on top of him, then lowering those glorious tits, lowering still further — would she really — oh god —

And her breast was in his mouth. Tony felt like he had departed this earth, gone to heaven. Her arms were around him. She kissed his forehead lovingly and cradled him against her like a baby, indeed he felt like a baby now, sucking, nursing from one nipple, then the other, licking between them, savouring them. Only the shaking of her arms and the occasional moan revealed that she was just as aroused as he was, if not more.

His hands were free to explore her, and he did. Her ass felt just as awe-inspiring as before. A thought occurred to Tony. He released Manjula’s breast and rolled her on her front again. He kissed her backside, leaving a trail with his tongue, down, down, all the way to her ass.

He buried his lips in her ass cheeks. They melted into his face, soft and delicate. It was intoxicating. He pushed his lips deeply into her ass cheek, breathing it, feeling the coolness of her smooth skin.

He rolled her over again and hovered over her pussy. The aroma of arousal was hot and heavy. This was it, the very epicentre of female pleasure. This was the test.

He dove in, looking for her clit.

Was that it? It felt like a little round flap, in what should be the right place. Gingerly, he licked it.

Instead of the moans he’d seen on the weekend, she gave only a soft breath.

He tried again, a little harder. Instead, he found her fingers pushing at his face, pushing him away. Was this, then her limit?

“Do you want it?” he asked.

“Venam,” she replied. Want. So did he. He wanted desperately to make her climax. He had to try.

Very slowly, as cautiously as he could, he probed into her pussy with his finger instead.

Manjula yelped, and jerked in his arms. He withdrew his finger. “Venam, venam, venam,” she moaned. I want, I want, I want.

Tony traced his finger right outside her pussy, enjoying the music of her squealing. He teased her, probing right outside her folds, caressing but not entering them, as gently as he could manage.

“Tony…please…venam…” she begged. Somehow his finger was working where his tongue had not. He inserted it in, sliding it back and forth. Each motion of his finger made her face come alive. Her pussy felt wet and soft and accommodating. He found a second finger could go in. And a third.

He tried curving his fingers upward, until his fingers touched something leathery, like a football. As he stroked it Manjula cried out.

He stroked it again. She cried out again. She was so cute when she was horny.

Was this what they called the g-spot? He wondered if Manjula herself even knew. No matter. Her clit had to be around here somewhere too. He fumbled around quite a while until finally his thumb touched it. It was so small and delicate, easy to miss.

But unmistakable when found. If he made a pinching motion, squeezing her clit with his thumb and g-spot with his other fingers, her body roiled like a wave. She babbled away in Tamil, mixing up his own name with various Hindu deities. Tony had not thought himself the equal of Lord Shiva, but what greater power does a male have than taking his girl to a glorious climax?

Manjula screamed. Her head thrashed from side to side. Her legs leaped in the air, heels slamming down on the bed. Still, Tony kept to his gentle pincer movement.

And then she had rolled over, rolled him on his back, and was kissing him fiercely, embracing him tightly. He could feel her heart throbbing, could hear her breath panting, could see the dishevelment of her hair, the jumble of emotions on her face.

“Tony…oh, Tony, that was the greatest, the greatest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

“For me too. But…”

“But what?”

“Why didn’t you let me lick your pussy?”

“It felt very sensitive. I liked it much better when you touched it with your fingers.”

Tony tried to contain his disappointment. If she couldn’t handle him licking her, how could he expect her to lick him? Manjula was thinking the same thing.

“I know how badly you want me to suck you. I… I want to. But… I cannot. Not today. Please forgive me.”

He was touched by just how guilty she looked. “You don’t need to feel guilty. I can cum in your hand like before.”

An idea popped into his head, but he didn’t dare mention it. But Manjula was too canny not to see the gleam in his eyes. She smiled.

“You are thinking of something else. I know it.”

“No, nothing.”

“It is you who should not feel guilty about what you desire. I will give you all I can. If I cannot, it is still okay for you to want it.”

“I want—” and he told her. In great detail. It came from a lifetime of watching porn. Just confessing this to a beautiful naked girl, while being naked himself, made his cock snap back to attention, poking Manjula’s leg.

“I will do that for you.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

And thus, a few minutes later, Tony was in his own part of heaven, lying on his back, while Manjula kissed and licked him. She nipped at his neck affectionately, making him jump. She twirled her tongue on his nipples, and he felt them buzz in response, his temperature rising. As she nuzzled on his chest he felt a hot spot growing, a warm burning feeling under her lips. The warmth continued, like a fiery fluid of joy, following her tongue down to his belly, down to his waist.

She pried under him with her hands, squeezing his ass expectantly. Was she actually going to—?

He turned over, and — oh god — her lips were on his ass!

What meant more to him than the soft sweetness in that region was what lips on ass represent. How many times, after all, do we use kiss my ass as an expression of dismissal, of contempt? His heart felt like it would burst with gratitude for her submissiveness. He lay there passively, letting himself enjoy the attentions she was giving.

“Sit up,” she commanded. He did so, and Manjula was down on the floor, on her knees, massaging his inner thighs with her tongue, pausing now and then to give him an adoring smile. He loved her so much. His cock felt like it was going to explode. Soon it would.

She kissed it, full on the tip, giggling when it squirmed at her. “Oh, Manjula,” Tony was moaning. She pressed his cock against her cheek, closed her eyes, and began to stroke it with her face, not inside but outside her mouth.

And Tony painted her face. The squirts came fast and passionately.

In porn, Tony knew, covering a girl’s face with cum is a sign not of intimacy, but of its absence. Not so here. Manjula had done a taboo fantasy, an icon of male dominance, without shame or fear.

He looked at her cheek, dripping with his mark on her.

“You have never…you have never looked more beautiful than you do now.”

“Do I?” she wondered. Idly, she picked up her phone and took a selfie. She looked back at Tony, leaned in so her cum-drenched face was beside his, then took another. She even took a selfie with his cock, which managed one last gasp of hardness at that prospect, before she collapsed, laughing.

Liked it? Vote and comment! On to Chapter 5!

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