Bengaluru Dude - Fat, Bald, thick glasses => becomes ladies man | Incest

[ashuezy2]

My name is Senthil, and I am 33 years old. Yes, thirty-three. And look at me fat, bald, and with these thick glasses always slipping down my nose.

I always dreamed of being with a beautiful woman, you know? Like in the movies. But my genes, they just said, "Nope, not for you, Senthil."

I live in Bangalore, in a simple, middle-class house. My Mummy and Papa, they both work in SBI bank. Mummy, she's 49 now. Can you believe it? She was only 16 when I was born. Papa is 54. He smokes like a chimney, always puffing away. Sometimes I wonder if that's why I turned out like this, you know? But at least I am fair, and my skin is smooth. That's something, no?

We have a huge family. Like a whole cricket team of cousins. Let me tell you about them.

My Family Tree:

• From Mummy's side (my mother, Jayashree's sister and brother's kids):
  • Aunty Lakshmi's kids:
    • Deepa (31, girl)
      
    • Rakesh (29, boy)
      
    • Priya (27, girl)
      
  • Uncle Suresh's kids:
    • Anil (30, boy)
      
    • Shanti (28, girl)
      
• From Papa's side (my father, Kumar's sister and brother's kids):
  • Aunty Radha's kids:
    • Vijay (32, boy)
      
    • Kavita (30, girl)
      
  • Uncle Ravi's kids:
    • Meena (29, girl)
      
    • Ganesh (28, boy)
      
    • Suman (26, girl)
      

See? Ten cousins! And guess what? All of them are unmarried. And I, Senthil, am the eldest of the lot. The big brother.
In our family, marrying cousins is very normal. Not just normal, it's like a tradition, almost. The elders always say, "Why bring a stranger into the family when we have good blood right here?" It keeps the property in the family, they say. And everyone knows each other, so there are no big surprises. It's a very practical arrangement, they always explain.
One evening, after dinner, Mummy called me to the living room. Papa was there, reading his newspaper, but I knew he was listening.

Jayashree: Senthil, come here, beta. We need to talk.
I knew this tone. This was the "arranged marriage" talk tone. My heart started thumping like a drum solo.

Senthil: Yes, Mummy?
I sat down on the sofa.

Kumar: (Lowering his newspaper slightly) Your mother has something important to say. Listen carefully.

Jayashree: Senthil, you are 33 now. All your cousins... they are waiting for you to get married first. You are the eldest, no?
I just nodded, looking at my chappals. Waiting for me? More like waiting for me to get out of the way.

Jayashree: We have been talking with your Aunties and Uncles. Everyone agrees. It's time.
My stomach did a flip. Here it comes.

Senthil: Time for what, Mummy?
I already knew the answer, but I had to ask.

Jayashree: Time for you to choose a wife, beta. From our family.
I could feel Papa's eyes on me, even though he was pretending to read.

Jayashree: We have three good girls. Deepa from Lakshmi's side, Kavita from Radha's side, and Meena from Ravi's side. All good girls, Senthil. Well-educated. Good family.

I closed my eyes for a second. Deepa, Kavita, Meena. I knew them all. We grew up together. We played carrom together. And now, one of them was supposed to be my wife?

Senthil: Mummy, but...

Jayashree: No 'buts', Senthil. This is how it is done in our family. It's for your own good. They will take care of you. And you, you will take care of them. It's a settled matter.
I looked around the familiar room. The old wooden cabinet, the faded photos on the wall. My whole life, everything was settled. My job, my house, my food. And now, my wife. It was like a script already written.

Senthil: Can I... can I think about it, Mummy?

Jayashree: Of course, beta. But don't think too much. Good things don't wait forever. We will arrange for you to meet all three properly next week. One by one. Then you can tell us your choice.
Papa finally put his newspaper down. He looked at me with a serious, unblinking gaze.

Kumar: Do your duty, Senthil. It is important for the family.
I just sat there, the weight of the family, the weight of my own body, pressing down on me. Marry a cousin. This was my destiny, it seemed. My genetic lottery didn't give me looks, but it gave me family expectations thicker than my glasses.

My mind started to race, picturing Deepa's quiet smile, Kavita's quick wit, Meena's shy eyes. Which one? Which one would be my wife? And more importantly, would any of them actually want me, Senthil, the fat, bald, spectacled eldest cousin?
This was going to be tougher than a tough idli.

[ashuezy2]

[ashuezy2]

Scene 2

The next week, I met Deepa, then Kavita, then Meena. Each encounter was a slow, painful slide down a hill of disappointment.

On Friday evening, after Meena had left with her strict, exploding father, Uncle Ravi, I was in my room. I hadn't even pretended to wait for the verdict; I knew the answer. I lay on my bed, staring at the ceiling, feeling the familiar, suffocating weight of my body and my failure.

There was a soft, tentative knock. The door wasn't locked; there was no point. My Mummy, Jayashree, pushed it open. She didn't come in immediately. She just stood there, framed in the doorway, and for the first time in a very long time, she didn't look like my mother, the tough, bank working supervisor. She looked small, defeated, and utterly sad.

Jayashree: Senthil?
I rolled onto my side to face her.

Senthil: Yes, Mummy. Is it done?
She walked in slowly and sat on the edge of the bed. She didn't look at me; she looked at her hands, which were twisting her dupatta nervously.

Jayashree: Beta... all three.
She didn't need to finish the sentence. The silence of the room was louder than any shouting.

Senthil: All three said no.

Jayashree: (Her voice was a low, brittle whisper) Yes. Deepa said you were like a brother. Kavita said you were... too secure. And Meena, she has some bloody college boy she is chasing.
She finally looked up at me, and her eyes were shiny with unshed tears, tears of frustration, yes, but also a deep, protective pain for her only child.

Jayashree: I am sorry, Senthil. I tried. I thought the family... I thought this was simple.
She reached out and put her hand gently on my forehead, a gesture she hadn’t made since I was a child with a fever.

Jayashree: Look at you. My Senthil. You are such a good boy. You have a steady job. You don't drink. You don't make trouble. Why can't these girls see that? Why is life so unfair to you?
I felt a sudden, sharp stab of emotion. It wasn't just the humiliation; it was seeing the humiliation reflected in my mother’s eyes. She was a woman who always fixed things, and she couldn't fix this, my unwantedness.

Senthil: (My voice was tight, thin) It's okay, Mummy. It is what it is.

Jayashree: No, it is not okay! I gave birth to you so young, Senthil. I fought so hard for you to have a good life, a stable life. And now this.
She looked down at her lap again, shaking her head slowly. The room felt cold. The message was clear: You are not good enough. Not even for the girls who were supposed to be easy, arranged matches.
I closed my eyes. The disappointment was a physical ache. I had failed the family duty, and I had confirmed my own deepest fear: I was inherently unwanted.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 3

My mother’s voice lingered in the dark “Why is life so unfair to you?” It wasn’t pity I felt.

I wasn’t broken; I was mismanaged and I would fix it, ruthlessly.
I grabbed a pen and a crumpled bank form. On the back, I wrote in bold letters:

PROJECT: LADIES’ MAN — PHASE 1: RESTRUCTURING SENTHIL
Goal: Become irresistible to the three who rejected me.
Sub-Goals:

1. Physical overhaul, eliminate “fat, bald, unappealing.”
   
2. Mental reprogramming, build charm, confidence, strategy.
   
   

That night, I started, ten pathetic push ups that felt like punishment. My diet became strict, my gym my new office. Each rep was revenge against pity. I even trimmed my head clean, turning shame into style.

Six Months Later
The mirror no longer mocked me. The soft accountant had vanished; in his place stood a lean, sharp edged man with a purpose. The baldness looked bold, the jawline carved, the eyes colder.
The sadness was gone. Only calculation remained. The body was ready.
Now came the real reprogramming.
They would all see.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 4 : Getting back at my Cousin Deepa

The physical transformation was complete, forged from discipline and raw will.

But my mind was fixed on the target.
I observed. I refined my walk, my new voice, the tilt of my head that showed confidence without arrogance.

Deepa. The quiet college teacher who had dismissed me as a "brother."

I somehow got to know that Deepa has volunteered at the annual Bangalore Book Fair.
I 'accidentally' found myself there on a Saturday afternoon, dressed sharply in my new look. 

My new glasses sat perfectly on my nose.

I spotted her in the children's section, She looked serious, kind, and exactly like the woman who would never look at me twice.
I approached slowly, not a stalker, but a man browsing.

Senthil: Deepa? Is that you?
She looked up with confusion, then recognition, then surprised. She quickly blinked, as if trying to clear her vision.

Deepa: Senthil Anna? Is that really you? You look... so different. I almost didn't recognize you.

Senthil: (A small, confident smile) Life changes us, Deepa. And I decided it was time for me to change with it. What are you doing here? Still with little ones, even on the weekend?

Deepa: (A shy laugh) Yes, something like that. I'm helping organize the storytelling session. It's so busy, though.

The crowd was thickening, a bustling river of people. I saw my chance.

Senthil: (Leaning in slightly) It must take incredible patience to manage all this chaos, and still keep that calm, serene look about you. It's truly admirable, Deepa. To find that quiet strength in the midst of everything.

She looked at me, genuinely pleased, a faint blush rising on her cheeks. She was used to compliments on her work, not on her inner strength and its reflection.

Just then, a wave of people pushed past us, threatening to separate us.

Senthil: (My hand shot out, not asking, but taking control) Careful. Let me get you through this.
I placed my hand firmly on the small of her back, just above her hip, guiding her with a subtle, non negotiable pressure.

My thumb brushed against the soft fabric of her saree, feeling the warmth of her skin through it. The contact was brief, functional, yet undeniably intimate and possessive. She stiffened for a second, then relaxed into my guidance, letting me steer her through the crowd. My new body, solid and powerful, was a silent statement.

We emerged into a slightly less crowded aisle. I removed my hand slowly, letting the lingering warmth imply more than just a polite gesture.

Deepa: (Her voice a little breathless) Oh. Thank you, Senthil Anna. That was... quick thinking.

Senthil: (My gaze holding hers, a subtle intensity in my eyes) Some situations just require a firm hand, Deepa. You can't be gentle all the time.
I let that hang in the air, a loaded statement about more than just crowds.

Senthil: Look, the session will start soon, no? How about we grab a coffee somewhere quiet after this? My treat. 

She hesitated, looking around as if for an excuse, but her eyes kept returning to me, drawn by the change, the unexpected confidence.

Deepa: (A small, hesitant smile) Okay, Senthil Anna. I'll meet you by the main entrance in an hour, after the session.

Senthil: (My smile was a small, knowing one) Senthil is fine, Deepa. Just Senthil.

I nodded, then turned and melted back into the crowd, leaving her with the lingering feeling of my touch and the quiet challenge in my eyes. The first step was complete. The "brother" was slowly being erased.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 5

I waited by the main entrance, leaning casually against a pillar. I watched the crowd.

After the hour, Deepa emerged. She spotted me immediately, and this time, the surprise on her face was mixed with a noticeable interest. 

I chose a corner table at the café across the street, ensuring she sat facing the room while my back was to the wall, an instinctively dominant and protective seating position. I ordered two black coffees.

Deepa: (Stirring her coffee, her eyes darting around the café, but always snapping back to me) You’re right, Senthil. I never expected to see you here. And you really have changed. You’re... very fit.

She stumbled over the word, clearly unsure how to address the physical shift. The term "Anna" had been forgotten completely.

Senthil: (My voice low and soft, holding her gaze, injecting the Poet's vulnerability and focus) I changed because I chose to dedicate myself to something completely, totally.

Deepa: Your job? You got a promotion?

Senthil: (A small, intimate shake of my head) No. I changed because of you.
She paused, her spoon freezing midway to her lips. The sound of the café faded around us.

Deepa: Me? What do you mean?

Senthil: Six months ago, you told me I was like a brother.

Senthil: When you said that, I realized two things. One, I never wanted to be your brother. And two, the man you saw—the fat, clumsy, predictable Senthil, didn’t deserve a woman like you.

I leaned forward slightly, my powerful new forearms resting on the table, creating a barrier against the rest of the world.

Deepa: Senthil... that’s a very intense thing to say. I didn't mean to hurt you.

Senthil: I know you didn't. But you challenged me. And I don't back down from a challenge anymore, Deepa. I want you to look at me, right now, and tell me honestly: Do you still see a brother?

Her gaze dropped, flustered, tracing the line of my defined jaw, lingering on my new, firm neck.

Deepa: No. I... I see someone I don’t know. Someone very determined.

Senthil: (A slow, confident smile touched my lips) Good. Because the man you see now doesn’t want coffee, and he doesn’t want to talk about lesson plans.

I reached across the table, and this time, I didn't touch her back. I took her hand, firm and warm, my thumb slowly stroking the delicate skin on her wrist. The touch was possessive, a claim. Her breathing hitched, shallow and quick.

Senthil: I want to show you exactly what happens when the cousin decides to stop being safe.
I stood up, pulling her chair out for her without asking, my action decisive.

Senthil: Come on. We are leaving.

She didn't object. She didn't hesitate. She rose instantly.

We were outside the café, we stopped by my new motorcycle in the back, not flashy, but heavy, black, and powerful.


I turned her toward me, my hands going to her shoulders, my grip firm. Her eyes were wide, filled with a beautiful mix of fear and lust. 

Senthil: (My voice was a low growl, only for her ears) Look at me, Deepa.

I brought my face down to hers and took the kiss.

It was not a soft, tentative touch. It was a release a surge of all the repressed humiliation, My mouth was hard, demanding, immediately possessing hers. My hands slid down her arms, pulling her body flush against my new, rock-solid chest, eliminating any space between us.

Deepa’s initial shock melted instantly into a fierce, desperate response. Her hands shot up, clutching the fabric of my shirt, crinkling the linen. She kissed back with a sudden, needy urgency, a stark contradiction to her quiet, composed college teacher persona. She was starved for this danger, this overwhelming, unbrotherly intensity.
When I finally pulled back, her lips were swollen, her saree slightly rumpled, and her eyes were dark, glazed, and utterly surrendered.

Senthil: Deepa. Remember this, I am not a brother.

I didn't wait for her to speak. I simply nodded once, handed her the helmet, and gestured to the bike.

[ashuezy2]

Scene 6 : Peeping

I was riding steadily with the rumble of my powerful motorcycle and the woman clinging tightly to my back.

Deepa didn't need to be told to hold on. Her arms were wrapped around my waist, fierce and immediate. My new body, solid and warm beneath her hands, was a shocking contradiction to the "safe brother" she had known. She pressed herself flush against me, her face buried against the back of my neck. I could feel her breath, uneven and hot, ghosting against my collar.

But what hit me most was the heat; a radiant, warmth coming from her chest where it pressed against my spine. Her heart hammered against me. 

When I pulled the bike up outside her apartment complex, I cut the engine and the sudden silence felt deafening. She reluctantly unwound her arms.

Senthil: We're here.
She slowly lifted the helmet off her head. Her hair was a mess, her lips still slightly swollen from the intensity of the kiss.

Deepa: Senthil. My family... they are out of town. My parents left yesterday for two days for a wedding in Chennai.
The statement was not an excuse, but a clear invitation. She wasn't just offering a few minutes; she was offering private time.

Deepa: (Her voice was a soft, urgent demand) Come inside. Please.
I didn't hesitate. I parked the bike neatly. 

We entered her flat. She locked the door behind us.

She dropped her purse and keys on a table and spun around. The college teacher was gone, replaced by a sudden free bird. A wildness sparked in her eyes.

Deepa: I am so free now! Nobody here! No calls, no parents, no rules! God, I haven't been truly alone like this in years!
She walked quickly into her bedroom, her posture completely different loose, confident, and suddenly radiating a fierce, suppressed energy.

Deepa: I just need to change out of this saree. It feels too tight. Wait here.

She went into her room, I walked toward the bedroom door. She hadn't fully closed it; she'd left a deliberate gap a small, teasing invitation to observe.

My heart starting racing, from the sudden, powerful rush of victory.  
I walked slowly, and leaned down, peeking through the open slit in the door.

Deepa stood with her back to me, the olive green saree already puddled on the floor. She was wearing only a simple, pale bra and panties. My breath caught in my throat.

Her breasts were large, heavy, and full, spilling slightly over the thin lace of the bra. And her nipples they were dark, deeply pigmented, and already hard, thrusting against the fabric. Was it the chill of the air conditioning, or was it the arousal that began on the back of my bike?

She reached up, her head tilted back, her eyes half-closed. She grasped both breasts over the bra and began to massage her chest with a desperate urgency, rubbing the lace and the hardening nipples. Then, with a quick, practiced motion, she plucked both nipples through the fabric, releasing a soft, suppressed gasp.

The expression on her face was one of pure, raw sensory focus. Her lips were parted, a silent moan, and her face was flushed. She wasn't preparing for me; she was releasing a tension that had clearly been building for years, a tension my kiss had finally broken.

She was not just aroused; she was starved. And she was waiting for me to walk in and satisfy that hunger.