Adultery My Struggles with Trupti by urbanslut

[Ramesh_Rocky]

I reach my apartment. Dig into my purse for my keys. Can't find them! Where the heck are the keys? Ten minutes of intense search, and I still cannot find my keys.

"Sorry ma'am." the security guard of my building says. "They don't give us night shift guys the extra keys. You'll have to wait until morning when the daytime guards come."

Great! What am I supposed to do now? I walk to a hotel close by, with my bags in tow. Sold out. Not a single room available. Fucking tourist season. Seven more hotels in a 4 block radius. All sold out. No vacancy.

I walk out of the eighth hotel, dragging my bags behind me, my arms starting to hurt. Maybe I should call someone and crash with them. But who? I have no close friends in the city. Or in any other city to be honest. I reach into my purse, and pull out a card. Malay. I consider calling him. Worry about how it would look. It would look like I was looking for a booty call. Would that be so bad? He isn't a bad looking guy. I let my mind drift, then pull it back. That's not how I was raised, I scold myself.

See the next card. Trupti Darshan. The woman I had just met. Still, a woman nonetheless.

"Hello, Trupti here."

"Hi Trupti. It's me. We were just on the bus from Baltimore together."

"Oh yeah. Braided hair. I remember you." she says, laughing softly. "What's up?"

"Ummm... you wanna meet somewhere for a drink?"

There was silence for a few seconds.

"Trupti?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Where are you?"

"Upper west side"

"Okay. Meet me at 69th and Amsterdam in 20 minutes."

--

Half an hour later, we're sitting at a corner booth in a bar-and-grill. Trupti enthusiastically sipping on her long island ice tea. Me, sipping on a diet coke. I have had a few drinks socially in the past at work events, mostly red wine, but that was only to not stick out from the crowd. I never really enjoyed drinking. Dad always said that alcohol is the gateway to hard drugs and a wasted life. So even as Trupti is relishing her booze, I decide to stick to diet coke.

"I think I left my keys at the hotel in Baltimore. Or maybe I dropped them in the bus." I tell her.

"Hmmm... so you're locked out of your own apartment?" she asks.

"Yeah."

"And your biggest worry is...will you be in time for work tomorrow, right? For your Wall Street job?" Trupti asks.

I only smile sheepishly in response.

"So, do you have a nice Indian guy you're gonna marry? Someone your parents chose for you?" she asks, completely changing the subject.

"My parents are dead." I say. I don't add that if they were alive, yes, I would probably have married a guy they chose.

"That is so COOL!! So are mine!" she says, excited, as if we both just found out we belonged to the same sorority.She raises her hand for a high five.

"I wouldn't say it's cool."

"Oh come on. I mean yeah, it sucks that they died. But didn't their death free you?"

"Free me?"

"Yes, free you. From their value system. Their rules. Their expectations. Their emotional shackles. I know it did for me. When I was growing up in India..."

"You grew up in India?" I ask, surprised.

"Yeah. You think just because I don't have a fobby accent, I was born in the US? I came to the US after college, just like you." she says.

"Wow, I had no idea." How can someone sound so elegant even after growing up in India? I still struggle differentiating my V's and W's.

"We're very alike, you and me. In a lot of ways. Both weighed down by what our parents think is right and wrong. Forced to live by an outdated code in a changing world. Except that I have started abandoning the code. You, braided hair, are clearly sticking to it."

"That's not entirely true, Trupti. I mean I..." I protest.

"Let me ask you this. When was the last time you got laid?" Trupti asks, finishing her drink and beckoning for another one.

"Excuse me?" I say, looking scandalized.

"You know what I am asking you. When was the last time you got a man between your legs? Had your clit played with? Got your cunt plowed? Had sex? Got laid?" Trupti asks as the waitress comes with her drink. The waitress shoots me a puzzled look, and walks away.

"That's personal." I say, looking offended.

"That pretty much answers the question." Trupti says.

I say nothing. Trupti starts laughing. She then changes the subject to something less offensive and we start talking again.

That's how Trupti operates in conversations with me. Switching rapidly between being a sympathetic listener and an arrogant bitch putting me down and ridiculing me. Is it any surprise we ended up like we did, knife threats followed by fingering?

---