Misc. Erotica eXBii Erotic Story Contest – 2013 & 2015

[ddey333]

‘Sir, you forgot to pay,’ she said.
As I lay on my bed that night, I wondered how I could have been so foolish. It was embarrassing. Or was
it? She gave no other indication of my lapse. What she did was exactly the opposite. She accepted the
money and said, ‘See you tomorrow, sir.’
I felt so invited !
Today is when this phoenix shall soar into the blue skies of hope , I decided the moment I woke up,
making up in clichés what he lacks in style . She was not going to eat me up if I strike a conversation with
her. Being well-mannered was her job description. Being myself just won’t do. Besides, there is no big
deal in asking a person’s name. I had Shakespeare to endorse that.
‘I can, I will,’ was the day’s mantra. I enjoyed the movie I saw, chomped up some more Adiga, laughed
hard at the silliest of sitcoms and in an uber-confident mood, practised pick-up lines in front of the mirror.
I enjoyed the familiar noise of the bhajans, was enthralled by one of the superb goals scored from a
distance, relished the evening chirping and even helped one of the ladies from the store with her shopping
bag. This is it, I thought as I went up the escalator.
It was yet another slow weekday. My palpitation jacked up as I noticed her. She was not at the counter
though, and occupied one of the tables with a guy in his early twenties, deeply engrossed in a
conversation. As I walked towards her, as if almost on cue, I saw her affectionately pulling his cheek. It
was only when I reached the counter that she noticed me.
‘Customer, darling,’ she whispered to the guy, getting up in a rush.
‘Hey, wait up,’ the guy insisted, catching her by her wrist.
‘Oh no,’ she began to protest. ‘I have to.’
‘Come now,’ the guy was persistent. ‘I am sure he won’t mind giving us a minute. Would you, kid?’
That was my call. ‘Oh, n-no. Carry on.’ I somehow mumbled. I wanted to look away. I didn’t. I
should’ve. I didn’t.
The guy kissed her on the cheek and she responded by whispering something in his ear. ‘See you soon,’
she said, waving him goodbye.
She went behind the counter and adorned her position. Giving me another of her well-practised smiles,
she asked, ‘A paneer-chilli Frankie?’
I didn’t know what to say. Somehow, I managed a, ‘Never mind,’ and started walking out.

‘Oh, I am so sorry,’ she said apologetically behind me, her voice dipped in desperation. ‘It’s schezwan
paneer, isn’t it?’
I didn’t respond and followed a chirpy middle-aged couple out on their grocery shopping down the
escalator. I rehashed the events in my mind and tried to articulate what I felt being the unwilling witness.
Was I sad? Nope, that was not what it felt like. It was a funny feeling. I cursed myself—funny won’t do,
such words are what stupid people resort to.
I did like her, yes sir, most definitely I did. Or did I? What was it that I felt for her? I stopped on my
tracks as the word hit me between the eyes—fascination. I turned and looked at one of the stained glass
windows of Spencer Mall. I was captivated by her, by the novelty she was, like a Da Vinci painting, like
an amazing novel. I turned to look at the stained glass facade of the mall. She was my white tiger. So why
did I turn back? Wasn’t today one of the most confident days? Why should it be a ‘was’? What if she has
a boyfriend? What was I hoping for anyway?
Nothing! a happy voice rang inside me. I like the Frankie, I like the Frankie Girl; so what’s stopping me
from having both of them just now?
Nothing! came the reply again, even happier.