Misc. Erotica The Mechanic's Trap- By Novelist Casanova

[novelistcasanova]

“A Kiss That Tried to Stay”

His lips were warm — trembling slightly — as they met mine.
Not in haste.
Not in heat.
But in a kind of silence that knew what it meant to break.
Muthu kissed me like he had memorized every line of my mouth and was now writing a goodbye between each breath.
I was wrapped in nothing but his gaze… and my own vulnerability.
His fingers brushed my cheek, trailing along my jawline, his thumb pausing near the corner of my lips. I kissed him deeper. Firmer. As if I could pull time backward just by holding on tighter.
His breath caught. “Sudha…” he whispered, voice breaking. “Why do we always find each other when it’s already too late?”
I didn’t answer. My lips were busy telling him the things I never had the courage to say out loud.
That I missed him.
That I wanted him to stay.
That even though this wasn’t right — it felt more right than anything else ever had.
We kissed like people who were trying to remember every detail — how the other breathed, paused, lingered.
And in that moment, I wasn’t a housewife.
He wasn’t a mechanic.
We were just two people who forgot the world for one kiss too long.
“The Knock That Stopped Time”
His hands had just started to rise — slow, careful — grazing the edge of my waist as if afraid I’d vanish beneath his touch. I was only in my white bra and navy blue Panties, and yet, I had never felt more seen. More bare in spirit than skin.
The silence between us crackled.
One more moment and we might have crossed the line. The one we had drawn and redrawn with every stolen glance, every trembling kiss.
And then—
Knock knock.
We froze.
A second knock, firmer this time.
“Anna… airport time, la?” came a voice from outside. The auto driver.
Muthu blinked. The air left his lungs like a secret collapsing inside him. He slowly turned toward the window, jaw tight, breath shallow.
“I forgot…” he whispered. “He was supposed to take me.”
The air between us changed. The tension cracked, not with lust, but with reality. My heart fell first. Then my arms. Then the future we had almost stepped into.
Muthu looked at me, his eyes glassy, lost.
“I should go.”
I nodded, forcing the ache down like a secret I’d carry forever. “You should.”
He took one final look at me. Not as a lover denied, but as a man holding his favorite chapter before closing the book.
“Sudha… if things were different—”
“I know,” I said, swallowing the tears. “Me too.”
And just like that…
He picked up his shirt.
And the moment we almost had… became a memory we’d never forget.
“The Last Ride”
The door clicked shut behind him. I stood there, still caught in the heat of almost, the silence of goodbye.
But something inside me moved — not out of impulse, but out of need.
I couldn’t let him go like this.
Not with our story half-told.
I reached for my black petticoat, stepping into it slowly, smoothing it over my thighs. Then, the yellow sleeveless blouse — I slid it over my white bra and adjusted the fabric carefully, every movement deliberate, quiet, like a ritual.
The saree came last. That soft yellow chiffon — it clung to my skin like memory. I pleated it gently, dbangd it over my shoulder, and tucked the pallu just right. Not for beauty. Not for him.
For me.
Because I wanted to be remembered as I was in that moment — sure, sad, and still standing tall.
The auto was still waiting.
Muthu looked surprised when he saw me step out and climb in beside him. His lips parted like he wanted to protest… but didn’t.
“Sudha…”
“I’m just coming till the airport,” I said quietly, eyes fixed ahead. “Don’t stop me.”
He didn’t.
We sat in silence as the auto sputtered forward, the morning sun spilling over the lanes like gold we couldn't touch. My shoulder brushed his — not by accident — and he didn’t move away. Neither did I.
He looked at me once. I met his gaze, gave him a soft smile.
We said nothing. Because some goodbyes don't need words.
Just presence.