Adultery My Struggles with Trupti by urbanslut

[Ramesh_Rocky]

This is what my life has been reduced to. Yes, I have a 6-figure income job at a reputed Wall Street firm. But it comes at the expense of long hours in the office, and most weekends spent traveling to random locations to sell clients the services of our firm. Something my boss Jan should do. Something I should make Jan do. Maybe complain to her boss, who is also a woman. But I am too insecure about my career to do that. I am too much of a wimp to do that.

Socially, I was always handicapped. My late parents, may god have mercy on their souls, were the textbook definition of "old-fashioned 20th century Indian middle class". Any contact with boys was shunned. But I was expected to do well academically. My dad was not happy to just have me coast through college and marry me off. As his only daughter, he expected all the achievements of me that he would expect from a son. But I was placed under social restrictions no son would ever have to face.

After slogging my ass off in college, I made it to a decent American public university in the Midwest for grad college. Some boys, Indian and otherwise, did hit on me. I tried to stave off their advances, in the name of focusing on my career, as dad always taught me to.

"Focus on studying hard and building a great career. These crucial years will never come back." my dad would lecture me every week. "Boys and romance and marriage will happen in its own time. I will find you the perfect man. Leave that to me. You just keep your focus on studies."

But eventually, one guy broke through. He was perfect for me. Smart, reasonably good looking, from a decent family, and a very nice person. He was the one I lost my virginity to, on a second hand mattress on the floor of his bedroom in an apartment he shared with 3 other Indian grad students. We were the perfect couple. Our future was set. Or so we thought. Or so I thought.

We weren't from the same caste, but I didn't expect that to be a problem for a guy like him. How wrong I was! His parents wanted him to marry a girl from their caste. And from a rich family. One whose parents owned several businesses that he could inherit. What hurt me the most was, he didn't even put up a token fight against them. Abandoned me as soon as they raised a stink. And moved on with ease. Married the girl his parents chose and posted pictures of him beaming with her on Facebook. As if all I ever meant to him was a fuck buddy, a welcome distraction while he completed his Masters program.

I thanked my stars I hadn't mustered up the courage to tell my parents about him. They were happy I had finished my Masters. Got a job in New York City, the business capital of the world. And then, a week before they were about to visit me in the US to attend my graduation, they were in a bus that slammed into a truck on the highway. And that was that.

I went back to India. Cremated what was left of them. Sold off what little property they owned. Spent some token time with relatives who had never been too close to us anyway. Took whatever money was left, and came back to America. Moved to New York City. Started my job. That is, started doing Jan's work for her. And focused on filling my tiny upper west side apartment with Pottery Pen stuff.

I tried dating. Meeting men through acquaintances, through friends, some from work, and even some from online dating sites and apps. Some Indian, some non-Indian. But as a 24 year old with no prior dating experience at it, I always struck out. It's not like I was ugly. I mean, yeah, I didn't wear make-up, didn't wear the trendiest clothes, and I did braid my hair for convenience. I knew I was not ugly. But looks didn't matter. What did me in was my awkwardness. I did not possess the flirting skills an average NY woman possesses. I would usually clam up. And guys never really went past a couple of dates. There were a couple of awkward booty calls but that was it.

Which is why I resorted to these Indian singles mixers all over the US. My job required me to travel everywhere anyway. And Jan was always inconsiderate enough to schedule my travel on weekends and make me take cheaper red-eye flights that I had to wait for till late at night. So I would look up what the latest Indian events, or the latest Indian singles mixers were. And attend them. A way to spend my evenings in unknown cities.

The first few times, I was genuinely looking for a good match. But after a couple of those mixers I realized they were filled with 2nd or 3rd generation dorks, who were looking for an arcane idea of what an Indian wife should be. Career? What's the need for that? Do you cook? How about laundry? How soon would you like to have kids? They didn't want a wife. They wanted a maid with a womb.

Disillusioned, I started treating these mixers as sport. Instead of trying to find someone, I started focusing on freaking the guys out. And it provided me with some comfort. Some recreation, apart from my Pottery Pen shopping. I was usually very diffident, but my pent up aggression and frustration at the world found an outlet in these mixers. If there was an Indian singles mixer happening around me, I was there. And I never thought anyone noticed. Until Malay. Whom I had also seen around all over the country. Whom I also knew to be in a similar game.

From now on, I decided, if I see Malay, I would sneak out of the event early.

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