Adultery My Struggles with Trupti by urbanslut

[Ramesh_Rocky]

"We're next to the emergency exit window. We gotta know where to pull to open it. In case there's an accident." she says to me cheerfully, in an accent I have trouble placing.

"Oh yeah." I say. Thanks for pointing out one accident related thought that I had somehow managed to ignore. "Major responsibility, huh?"

"I guess." she shrugs. "Imagine if we crash going at 80 miles an hour, the bus is on fire. And the only way to escape fire is to properly open this window."

I cringe and look away. I feel like slapping her. Angry as if she is bringing up this topic on purpose just to torment me. But she doesn't know me. How could she?

She puts her other bag under the seat.

I continue, "So what do you do?"

"Excuse me?" she says, cocking her eyes.

"I mean, what do you do for a living?" I ask.

She looks at me with an amused expression on her face.

"You know." she says. "I can't help but think you're asking me this just so you can tell me what you do. Like your career is the only thing you have going for you."

"What? No! I was just..."

"I do lots of things but currently, I am here for dildos." she says, reaching for the other bag she has just put under the chair.

"Ummm...what????" I ask, scarcely able to believe my ears.

"I make dildos." she says and opens her bag. I see a couple of dozen dildos of different kind laid out neatly. "You know, devices to help women achieve satisfaction."

"Oh." I say, squirming in my seat. It is so weird that I was just thinking about the antecedents of dildo making, and here I am seated right next to a professional. At least she is a woman. If it had been a man talking about dildos, I probably would have jumped out of that emergency exit window.

"Didn't I see you in that sex store earlier?"

I blush and nod.

"I am also considering making other stuff. So I was picking up some samples. You didn't buy anything, did you?"

"No."

"Too shy? Well, that's the driving force behind my business. Selling dildos online. Many women are like you, uncomfortable with their sexuality. They want to shop online but don't trust the websites. So I have a partly online partly offline business model. I advertise my stock online, but deliver it discreetly by myself. Payment only on delivery. Women feel comfortable buying such stuff from another woman."

"Oh." I am surprised again that she is running the very business I was thinking about earlier.

"You seem like the type. Here's my card if you ever need anything." she says, handing me a card from a stack in the side-pocket of the bag.

"Trupti Darshan." I read, and am taken aback. I steal a quick glance at her and look at the card again.

"You're surprised I am an Indian like you." she says, with an all-knowing smile.

"No..." I say, then, "I mean...yes. I had you pegged as a..."

"As a what? Latina?" she asks, closing the bag.

"Yes."

"Just because I haven't braided my tresses and dressed like a matron? And I am showing cleavage?"

"No, of course not."

"All Indian women don't have to be like you, you know. Uncomfortable about their sexuality, timid, unsure, relying on some corporate job to prove their self-worth." she non-chalantly says, putting the bag under the seat again.

"Excuse me!" I say, looking very offended. I took enough crap from Jan at work. The last thing I needed was some stranger treating me like shit.

"How is your life working out for you by the way?"

"It's good."

"You look like shit. I don't mean you are bad looking. You have bags under your eyes, stress on your face, and thin red veins all over the white of your eye. I think your life must be shit."

"You don't know me." I say defensively. Her face softens and she smiles. She puts her hand on my shoulder and rubs it.

"Alright, I am sorry. Anyway." she says. "I am like you. Got a masters degree after college, got a well-paying stuffy corporate job. But then I realized that wasn't the life I wanted to lead. So I changed course."

"By selling dildos?"

"Yeah, want one? Free sample!" she takes a dildo out of the bag and offers it to me. A couple of people around the bus look at us with surprise. My face is flushed with embarrassment.

"Trupti, please!" I whisper. She starts laughing and puts it back in the bag.

"You're a walking cliche of voluntary repression. So where are you from?"

And that is how I met Trupti Darshan. On a nondescript bus back from Baltimore to New York City. She was occasionally arrogant and dismissive, but had this good listener quality too. And I couldn't help but speak to her. I really needed someone to listen to me. We spoke throughout the bus ride. It was mainly me speaking about my job. My frequent travels. Trupti just listened. With a faint smile on her face. Some time during that conversation, I must have nodded off.

Because the next thing I remember, my head was on her shoulder as we pulled in to the Port Authority bus terminal in New York. We parted ways with a quick peck on each others' cheeks. She told me to stay in touch. I am thinking, I will never probably see you again in my life.

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