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My Indian Sex Adventure Part 1

It has rained every day for the first two weeks I've been here. Most of the people seem to revel in it, walking around without an umbrella or making any attempt to run to a shelter when the rain started. As a matter of fact, they seem to go out of their way to GET in the rain, as if they were soaking it up after being parched in the desert. And I guess that was the sensation they felt. It was the monsoon in India and it provided most of the rain they would get for the year. It gives life and that's the way people see it, not as something to avoid, but rather to embrace like a long lost love. Besides that, it's useless to try to stay dry, unless one just stays inside all day, and even then, things get damp even with an air conditioner running to pull out the moisture. So, after the first week, I simply got wet, knowing the rain would end later in the day and I would dry out then or get as close as I could get to being dry.

I've just completed my third year of college and I'm on a year abroad. I know it'll sound strange to you but I'd chosen to split it between India and Scotland. India because I was always intrigued about it and my college roommate is Indian and he and I used to talk about it while we were sitting around the dorm drinking cheap beer, the only kind we could afford actually. I chose Scotland, which I'll go to later this year because my ancestors originally came from the Hebrides. Either of them would work for my major, which was in International Business. In India, I was going to study the outsourcing business that India was such a big recipient of. And in Scotland, I'd be studying the effect of the U. S. economy on Scottish economic prospects.

It India, I'd chosen to live in Mumbai, for two reasons. One is that it is rapidly becoming a focus for outsourcing and the larger reason is that it is where my friend Vikram is from and I could live with his parents. Finding a place to live in India is not particularly easy for a Westerner, particularly one that didn't speak Hindi very well, and that may be an understatement. In fact, I only spoke a few words of Hindi. Additionally, while I'd talked endlessly with Vik about India and Mumbai in particular, I knew it would be so alien that having a familiar host family would be hugely beneficial.

Even with all the research I'd done, I was not prepared for Mumbai. It is a city of over 15 million, but what makes it confusing but intriguing, is that it is probably the most diverse significant city in India and probably in Asia. And while it is a thriving, bustling city, it is still one of great poverty and a relatively poor infrastructure in most of the city at least by U. S. standards. Just operating in the city can be a chore, but it has some of the kindest, most hospitable people in the world.

Vik's whole family picked me up at the airport. I'd met Mr. and Mrs. Dalal before, when they visited Vik in college. And Vik's older sister, Sarrita had also visited with her husband and two baby. But, I'd never met his older brother and his family or his grandmother. I've never been met anywhere by so many people that I was somewhat embarrassed, but they are so delightful that they wanted to make sure I felt like part of the family.

The extended Dalal family lived in an area known as Colaba, which ranges from middle class to upper class. Mr. Dalal was in the commercial construction business so it seemed they were pretty prosperous. The house consisted of five bedrooms, with a wing out back for the servants. Everyone that is middle class and above in India has servants and the Dalals had a driver, gardener, housekeeper, cook, and a few more that seemed primarily to serve as a relief energy for the others when they were away. The only people currently living in the house was Mr. and Mrs. Dalal, the grandmother and of course the servants. Vik's brother, Rajeev and his wife Sujata lived a few miles away and his sister, Sarrita (she insisted I call her Sara) and her husband Atesh and their son and daughter live next door. In traditional Indian fashion, the Dalal house and Sara's house were both enclosed with a high fence, so the area seemed like a compound in many ways.

I was assigned a bedroom that also had an outside entrance, and a small room next to it that I could use as an office. This was more that I could have expected, particularly when one takes into account the fact that I really had to do nothing domestically - cook, clean my room, do my laundry, shop. As a matter of fact, everyone, including the servants, seemed to be offended when I did do something for myself. All I had to do was concentrate on my work and see India.

Nevertheless, it was all still somewhat alien to me and frankly I missed the U. S. I liked the food, loved the people, and the Dalal family couldn't have been more welcoming, and since I have been away from my family for three years, I didn't really miss them that much. What I did miss though were the little things - ordering pizza, going to the movies (I hadn't gotten used to the Bollywood fare), hanging out with my friends, just getting in my car and driving. In Mumbai, one would have been crazy to try driving. Besides, the Dalal family cars and their chauffeur were available and the public transportation was excellent and inexpensive, albeit crowded and sometimes uncomfortable in the extreme heat.

I visited a lot of companies, both U. S. and Indian, that were involved in outsourcing but when I wasn't doing that, I was typically either in my room working or reading. That was often punctuated by visits with Mr. or Mrs. Dalal, and when they dropped in, some of the extended family. I didn't see much of Sara and her family; the day after I got there they left for a visit with his family who lived in Delhi. I was looking forward to their return because both Sara and Atesh were very nice and interesting and their teen, 18 and 20, seemed to be great kids. They were probably nearer my age than Sara was, and I know they were closer than Atesh, who looked to be in his 50s or so. Vik was 18 years younger than his brother Rajeev and nearly 20 years younger than Sara.

I was returning from a meeting with a U. S. company that was one of the first outsourcers for technology development in India when I saw Sara and Atesh's teen kicking around a soccer ball in the side yard.

"Hi kids, looks like fun. How was your trip?" They spoke English fluently as did the entire family.

They both replied at the same time, but then Sanjay finished it, "it was ok, but we're glad to be home. It gets sooooo borrrr-ing. And there's nothing to do there."

I chatted with them awhile and then Sara came out to call them in to lunch. She asked me in to join them. I demurred, replying, "no, I know you just got back from a trip and you're tired. I don't want to bother you."

"Don't be silly," she replied, "it's just a simple lunch for the teen and me. Atesh is at work. We got home late last night. Please come in. I'll call over and tell them that you'll have lunch here."

So, I joined them for lunch, chatting with all of them about their trip. They were all curious about the U. S. and the kids seemed to know about the latest U. S. fashion, movies and TV, so they asked a hundred questions. After lunch, the kids ran to their rooms, presumably to play video games and watch TV. It had started to rain so they couldn't go outside anymore.

Sara asked me all about my early impressions of India, and about my work. She'd gotten a degree in business and worked for some period of time in IT before deciding to become a full-time stay-at-home mom several years ago. She has terrific insights into what was going on in India. Her husband, Atesh is a member of the Mumbai city administration even though I don't really know what he does.

After a little while I prepared to leave. "Sara, it has been great talking to you. I can't tell you how much I enjoyed visiting with you and the kids. It's good to find someone that is interested in what I'm doing here."

She smiled brightly, "Ben, I loved talking to you. It gets me excited to talk about business and your project sounds so interesting. Keep me informed about how it is going, will you? And I appreciate your kindness in thanking me. Have you met any girls here yet? I know they'd love to become interested in what a handsome young guy like you is doing?"

I felt myself blushing a bit even though I didn't quite know why. "No, not girls yet. And anyway, I didn't find too many girls in the U. S. that was very interested in international business anyway. Or maybe they just weren't interested in me," I laughed.

"Don't give me that. You're a very interesting and attractive guy. If I were just twenty years younger, you'd have to fight me off. I'm just an old married woman so I know you'd rather find someone your age to talk to, but I do want you to come over as much as you can. Atesh travels so much it gets lonely. So indulge a middle aged housewife when you can."

I replied, "come on Sara, no one would mistaken you for an old housewife. A young pretty one maybe but not an old one." And in fact, as I sat there, I had been marveling at how attractive she is. She had black hair, very pretty smooth skin, dark eyes, and a beautiful face. She was wearing an outfit that's called a salwar-kameez or Punjabi as it's known by its popular name. The bottom, on salwar, is a pajama like garment that is tight at the waist and ankles but generally loose and billowing otherwise. The top, or kameez, is a tunic like garment that hangs below the waist and typically to mid-calf and below. Sara's was a gold color with various designs and it was clingy, almost like silk and perhaps it was. Even though the Punjabi fit loosely, when she sat, the silk draped to her shape. While she obviously had on a bra, the silk of her kameez permitted a good view of the shape and curves of her apparently firm, medium-sized breasts. And while the outfit pretty much obscured the rest of her body, she had slim hips and what looked like nice well-shaped buttocks.
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