Adultery My Struggles with Trupti by urbanslut

[Ramesh_Rocky]

My Struggles with Trupti Ch. 03

The cab stops at the address. Trupti and I, now fully dressed, get out of the cab. The meter was blank. Presumably, he turned it off. I take out two $20 bills and extend them towards the cabbie.

"No, it's not necessary." the cabbie winks and squeezes my hand.

"Please take it." Getting the ride for free in exchange for whatever happened in the cab would make it seem like prostitution.

"No, I can't"

I press the 20s in his hand anyway and turn around. Trupti starts walking up a stoop and I follow her.

"Hey, you want to give you me your number?" he calls out behind us. "We could do this again."

"Just ignore him." Trupti says to me and presses a buzzer on the intercom.

"Yeah?" a female voice says, much to my relief.

"It's Trupti. I emailed you before."

"Come on up."

The door buzzes open.

A couple of minutes later, we are in a small one bedroom apartment. The woman living there is a heavyset white woman in her late 40s. She's dressed in a robe.

"I usually don't do barters like I told you." she says. "What you have better be worth it."

Trupti opens her bag and takes out two big dildos and two metallic vibrators. The woman examines them one by one.

"So what do you think?" Trupti asks.

"Not bad. I don't know if I need them all. And I could always go online."

"Why don't you decide what you want to keep and then give me what you want?"

The woman picks up a vibrator and turns it on. Then right in front of us, she opens her robe and puts it on her naked pussy. I look away in shame. For the next minute or so, all I hear are the vibrator's buzzing sounds and the woman's appreciative moans.

"Okay. Not bad." she says. "Stay here. I'll be back."

She walks to her bedroom.

"What's going on here, Trupti?" I whisper.

"Just a barter."

"For what?"

"You'll see."

"How do you know this woman?"

"Craigslist."

The woman comes back with a small brown paper bag in her hand.

"Did you say something to me?" she asks. Trupti and I shake our heads. She puts the bag on the coffee table. "This is the best I can do. Take it or leave it."

"I'll take it." Trupti says, picks up the bag without opening it and walks out. I follow her.

"Next time, cash only." the woman says behind us.

Half an hour later, we are back at my place. We took a cab again. We got an Indian cabbie again, and I am glad Trupti didn't feel like doing it with him. I have had enough sexual scandalization for the night. Little do I know that I am in store for some non-sexual scandalization. And some more sexual too.

Once we are in my apartment, Trupti makes sure the door is locked. Then she opens the living room window. And then puts her hand in the paper bag and fishes out what looks like a hand-rolled cigarette.

"What do you think?" Trupti asks me, beaming.

"About what?"

"Our agenda for the night?"

"What agenda? Smoking a hand-rolled cigarette?"

"A hand-rolled cigarette?" Trupti throws her head back and starts laughing. "Oh you really are miss goody two shoes, aren't you? This is a joint. Marijuana. Weed. Pot. Ganja."

"WHAT???" I am shocked. "ARE YOU INSANE? YOU BROUGHT DRUGS INTO MY HOUSE???"

"Oh relax!" Trupti says, examining the joint. "It's just weed. It's not like I bought heroin or crack."

"Trupti, take that thing and get the fuck out of my house!" I say, pointing to the door.

"Or what?" she says, fishing out a lighter from her purse.

"Trupti, I am serious. If I knew you were a drug addict..."

"Drug addict?" Trupti smiles again. "Have you ever done weed?"

"No!"

"Me neither! So I wanted to try it." Trupti says, playing with the lighter and staring at the joint. "Haven't you ever been curious?"

I stay silent. I am still shocked at the liberties this woman is taking. And a bit pissed at myself for letting her take those liberties. She is bullying me and I am letting myself get bullied. Story of my life.

"Remember I was telling you about getting out of the notional cages our parents and their beloved values built for us? We were always told drugs are bad. Weed is bad. And yet, look at all the monks at the Kumbh mela. All stoned out of their minds. How many pictures of Saibaba have you seen sucking on a big blunt like his life depended on it? Or countless such babas and gurus?"

"That's different. That's spiritual."

"It's not different. Weed is essential to the cultural mores of the Indic civilization. It is part of our culture. We should not shun our culture because of some Victorian norms our colonizers thrust upon us and Jeff Sessions thinks it's bad."

"And where in our culture is there any reference to getting fucked by strange men in the back of the cabs?" I ask, still peeved about it.

Trupti laughs at my question.

"I was as surprised as you were. I had no idea you were so depraved."

"Me? You stripped me forcibly! And you're the one who got fucked!"

"Fine! If that's how you choose to look at it. But that adventure is over and done with. Don't get so hung up on the past. I am interested in this now." Trupti puts the joint between her lips.