Hello all, I am posting a new story that I'm still writing. That is only so you know there may be some delays from time to time. This is an unrelated and brand new story with elements of cuckoldry, cheating, group sex, perhaps some crime, just to make it interesting. Set it the USA, it follows a mixed Bengali and Goan couple.
Simi
The Handyman
Sourav
My name is Sourav Ganguly. No, not the famous one, it is, after all, a common Bengali name. Just call me Sourav, or even better, Pintu. That’s what we Bengalis call a daak naam. This is the story of how my life went from a single man to married and then single again. At least I think so. The simplest thing to say is that it’s complicated.
I guess that’s an intriguing statement, but there’s really no other way to say it. Best to tell the story as it happened.
Chapter 1
Neha and I met in college. We were both in computer engineering, and had a lot of classes together but I only found this out later. I actually met her in the college canteen where she was sitting with a bunch of friends, and I happened to get there with a friend, and there were two chairs left at her table and, well, that was that.
My eyes were immediately drawn to her and I found it hard to look away, although she later told me she hadn’t even noticed me. She was spectacular, fair and well built, beautiful. When she smiled, dimples formed in her cheeks on both sides. Her eyes were dark pools…well, you get the picture.
I was a nerdy Bengali guy—you know the kind, skinny, bespectacled, and intellectual. I never, even in my wildest dreams thought I could get her to be my girlfriend. We hung out together a lot after that day, usually in groups of three or more, and I guess an easy familiarity developed between us. She began by tolerating me, nodding at me, and occasionally say hello, but nothing substantial.
One day in the canteen, it was just the two of us, and she had to go somewhere. I forget where exactly, so I offered to walk her to the bus stop. We ended up talking and walking all the way to her destination instead of taking the bus, a distance of four kilometers.
She needed to get something from a shop, and then we walked back. What did we talk about? I don’t exactly remember, but what I do recall is that she was easy to talk to. Almost like I might with another guy.
After that, we developed a bond. We would hang out together, avoid others if it was possible, and so on, but we called ourselves friends. No benefits, not at that time. We would text each other all the time. The occasional risqué joke would get forwarded. Conversations with double entendre were the norm.
The different men I saw Neha with around the campus would sometimes bother me, but I had no status at the time to ask her about it, and had to be satisfied with whatever crumbs she threw my way. I would stalk her sometimes, to see if she had a boyfriend among the many guys she hung out with, but I could never be sure. She was happy and smiley and vivacious with everyone.
She would go out with me solo sometimes, on my motorcycle, and we would go out to nearby attractions, usually nature walks and short treks, a lake or a mountain. Sometimes we would go to the movies, and I kept my hands off because I was slowly coming to the idea that she had friend-zoned me.
Things continued in this fashion for a couple of years until the spring festival threw us together and we had to travel as part of our youth group to a nearby city.
That was the first time we were intimate, and the details aren’t very important other than to say my room-mate (we were in a low grade hostel/guest house) had gone off to visit relatives and I was alone in my room.
She knocked on the door after dinner, and when I opened it, there she was in a shawl, covering a nightie. She grinned impishly at me and produced a bottle of old Monk from under the shawl.
We spent the next few hours killing the bottle and listening to music on my phone that was plugged into the wall. Despite the relatively sordid surroundings, the tinny music, and the low grade booze, I still think it was one of the best times we had.
At one point, as I lay back on the bed, trying to work out a kink in my back and she said, “I think you have a problem somewhere else.”
I looked at what she was pointing at, and it was my cock that had somehow escaped the fly of my boxers and was semi-hard. Uh oh!
Before I could do or say anything, she had grabbed the elastic waistband and pulled the boxers down and was inspecting my cock like it was some kind of specimen. The sensations were great—until then the only fingers that had touched my cock had been mine—and I groaned and lay back, my cock rapidly stiffening and getting to it’s maximum size.
Neha grabbed it by the base and descended on it with her mouth. It felt heavenly, the warm, wet mouth and the suction, and the always present danger of her teeth, and in three minutes I groaned and said, “I’m going to…I can’t hold it anymore!”
She said nothing, just a small grunt and when I came, she swallowed it all.
When she came up for air, she smiled that dazzling smile again and said, “First time, eh?”
I laughed, trying to be suave and all, but then I nodded. “Yeah, first time.”
I was overwhelmed by the fact that she’d swallowed all my cum, my love for her knew no bounds. I mean, who does that?
It was after that trip that I saw her naked for the first time. She wasn’t especially shy, and stood in front of me, allowing me to feast my eyes. She was, as I said, spectacular, especially unclothed.
Her tits were her best feature, large with minimal droop, and topped by large dark pink nipples that looked puffy and swollen. Well, I won’t say her tits were her only best feature ( I know what the word ‘best’ means), but it’s like a candy shop where you just can’t decide which sweet is the best.
So it was with Neha—her legs were long and well muscled but also soft and yielding, her ass a work of art, her hips wide and flaring out from a tiny waist, and her pubic area was well trimmed with just a triangle of hair pointing straight at her clit.
She was the total package, and I felt very lucky to be in the position I was.
We started having sex after that regularly, and it was great.
I told her she wasn’t my first, that the previous two encounters were furtive, high college type things, not very satisfying for either me of the girl, but that was a lie I told her so as not to appear like a total loser.
Once, early on when we were having sex and changed positions, she held me to guide me in, she said, “So hard and so big!”
I swear I swelled even more, both in my big head and my little head.
A little later, she said, “Harder, fuck me harder!”
I obliged, thinking how lucky I was to have someone who was not just sexy but also very kinky. Neha loved to talk dirty during sex, and also before, so that became more of a bonus.
I had so many questions for her.
I knew she wasn’t a virgin when we met, and that she’d had a few previous sexual encounters, but I never asked her for details such as body count (it was a term that came along much later).
It is in the nature of men to fall in love with a girl that puts out freely and easily. I never thought it was all from personal experience and assumed perhaps a lot of her expertise had come from internet porn. I knew she watched because she’d told me.
Eventually, I confessed to her I was in love with her, and what did she think?
She said she loved me too, and by the time we graduated, we were an item, and our families had gotten together, and before we knew it, we were circling the sacred fire in a simple wedding.
One small detail I learned was that she was , with the last name Thomas, even though she said she was a lapsed and her family didn’t practice much religion.
She didn’t go to prayer, and neither did her father, but her mother occasionally did. Her family didn’t mind a wedding as long as they got to do a prayer thing, more for the sake of keeping up appearances than anything, and so we ended up getting married twice, once in Kanpur, and once in Calangut.
And one more tiny detail as well, now that I’m laying bare my soul, or at least my story.
There was a guy called Sodhi in our group, I forget his first name. He was a cut Surd, a mona , and he smoked.
I suspected he cut his hair so he could smoke without judgment or censure, but that’s just my opinion.
He was handsome and muscular, his back broad and sleeves bulging.
He was in Neha’s group even before I met her, and I always thought him a minor character in the drama of my life.
At one point during my courtship of Neha, or at least what I thought of as courtship, Sodhi and I were standing outside the canteen, drinking tea. He was smoking. Neha was walking toward us, maybe about forty, fifty meters away.
He gestured with his head at her as he expelled a cloud of smoke and said, “Nice figure…I know you’re going out with her. You’re not serious about her, are you?”
I stiffened with the mention of Neha’s figure, but he wasn’t profane or anything. She did have a great figure.
I mean he could have whistled and said, “Great tits,” or 'what an ass,” but he didn’t. Still, I sensed some kind of subtext, some deeper meaning, and immediately became wary.
“Why do you ask?”
He turned to me and gave me a hooded look, like I was dense or something.
My face must have given something away because he said, “You’re not marrying her, are you dude?” His tone carried surprise, disbelief, and I sensed he was questioning not just my decision, but also my sanity.
I said nothing, and by then Neha was within earshot.
She waved at him, chatted for a bit, and that was that.
I had occasion to revisit that conversation, brief as it was, years later.
Simi
The Handyman
Sourav
My name is Sourav Ganguly. No, not the famous one, it is, after all, a common Bengali name. Just call me Sourav, or even better, Pintu. That’s what we Bengalis call a daak naam. This is the story of how my life went from a single man to married and then single again. At least I think so. The simplest thing to say is that it’s complicated.
I guess that’s an intriguing statement, but there’s really no other way to say it. Best to tell the story as it happened.
Chapter 1
Neha and I met in college. We were both in computer engineering, and had a lot of classes together but I only found this out later. I actually met her in the college canteen where she was sitting with a bunch of friends, and I happened to get there with a friend, and there were two chairs left at her table and, well, that was that.
My eyes were immediately drawn to her and I found it hard to look away, although she later told me she hadn’t even noticed me. She was spectacular, fair and well built, beautiful. When she smiled, dimples formed in her cheeks on both sides. Her eyes were dark pools…well, you get the picture.
I was a nerdy Bengali guy—you know the kind, skinny, bespectacled, and intellectual. I never, even in my wildest dreams thought I could get her to be my girlfriend. We hung out together a lot after that day, usually in groups of three or more, and I guess an easy familiarity developed between us. She began by tolerating me, nodding at me, and occasionally say hello, but nothing substantial.
One day in the canteen, it was just the two of us, and she had to go somewhere. I forget where exactly, so I offered to walk her to the bus stop. We ended up talking and walking all the way to her destination instead of taking the bus, a distance of four kilometers.
She needed to get something from a shop, and then we walked back. What did we talk about? I don’t exactly remember, but what I do recall is that she was easy to talk to. Almost like I might with another guy.
After that, we developed a bond. We would hang out together, avoid others if it was possible, and so on, but we called ourselves friends. No benefits, not at that time. We would text each other all the time. The occasional risqué joke would get forwarded. Conversations with double entendre were the norm.
The different men I saw Neha with around the campus would sometimes bother me, but I had no status at the time to ask her about it, and had to be satisfied with whatever crumbs she threw my way. I would stalk her sometimes, to see if she had a boyfriend among the many guys she hung out with, but I could never be sure. She was happy and smiley and vivacious with everyone.
She would go out with me solo sometimes, on my motorcycle, and we would go out to nearby attractions, usually nature walks and short treks, a lake or a mountain. Sometimes we would go to the movies, and I kept my hands off because I was slowly coming to the idea that she had friend-zoned me.
Things continued in this fashion for a couple of years until the spring festival threw us together and we had to travel as part of our youth group to a nearby city.
That was the first time we were intimate, and the details aren’t very important other than to say my room-mate (we were in a low grade hostel/guest house) had gone off to visit relatives and I was alone in my room.
She knocked on the door after dinner, and when I opened it, there she was in a shawl, covering a nightie. She grinned impishly at me and produced a bottle of old Monk from under the shawl.
We spent the next few hours killing the bottle and listening to music on my phone that was plugged into the wall. Despite the relatively sordid surroundings, the tinny music, and the low grade booze, I still think it was one of the best times we had.
At one point, as I lay back on the bed, trying to work out a kink in my back and she said, “I think you have a problem somewhere else.”
I looked at what she was pointing at, and it was my cock that had somehow escaped the fly of my boxers and was semi-hard. Uh oh!
Before I could do or say anything, she had grabbed the elastic waistband and pulled the boxers down and was inspecting my cock like it was some kind of specimen. The sensations were great—until then the only fingers that had touched my cock had been mine—and I groaned and lay back, my cock rapidly stiffening and getting to it’s maximum size.
Neha grabbed it by the base and descended on it with her mouth. It felt heavenly, the warm, wet mouth and the suction, and the always present danger of her teeth, and in three minutes I groaned and said, “I’m going to…I can’t hold it anymore!”
She said nothing, just a small grunt and when I came, she swallowed it all.
When she came up for air, she smiled that dazzling smile again and said, “First time, eh?”
I laughed, trying to be suave and all, but then I nodded. “Yeah, first time.”
I was overwhelmed by the fact that she’d swallowed all my cum, my love for her knew no bounds. I mean, who does that?
It was after that trip that I saw her naked for the first time. She wasn’t especially shy, and stood in front of me, allowing me to feast my eyes. She was, as I said, spectacular, especially unclothed.
Her tits were her best feature, large with minimal droop, and topped by large dark pink nipples that looked puffy and swollen. Well, I won’t say her tits were her only best feature ( I know what the word ‘best’ means), but it’s like a candy shop where you just can’t decide which sweet is the best.
So it was with Neha—her legs were long and well muscled but also soft and yielding, her ass a work of art, her hips wide and flaring out from a tiny waist, and her pubic area was well trimmed with just a triangle of hair pointing straight at her clit.
She was the total package, and I felt very lucky to be in the position I was.
We started having sex after that regularly, and it was great.
I told her she wasn’t my first, that the previous two encounters were furtive, high college type things, not very satisfying for either me of the girl, but that was a lie I told her so as not to appear like a total loser.
Once, early on when we were having sex and changed positions, she held me to guide me in, she said, “So hard and so big!”
I swear I swelled even more, both in my big head and my little head.
A little later, she said, “Harder, fuck me harder!”
I obliged, thinking how lucky I was to have someone who was not just sexy but also very kinky. Neha loved to talk dirty during sex, and also before, so that became more of a bonus.
I had so many questions for her.
I knew she wasn’t a virgin when we met, and that she’d had a few previous sexual encounters, but I never asked her for details such as body count (it was a term that came along much later).
It is in the nature of men to fall in love with a girl that puts out freely and easily. I never thought it was all from personal experience and assumed perhaps a lot of her expertise had come from internet porn. I knew she watched because she’d told me.
Eventually, I confessed to her I was in love with her, and what did she think?
She said she loved me too, and by the time we graduated, we were an item, and our families had gotten together, and before we knew it, we were circling the sacred fire in a simple wedding.
One small detail I learned was that she was , with the last name Thomas, even though she said she was a lapsed and her family didn’t practice much religion.
She didn’t go to prayer, and neither did her father, but her mother occasionally did. Her family didn’t mind a wedding as long as they got to do a prayer thing, more for the sake of keeping up appearances than anything, and so we ended up getting married twice, once in Kanpur, and once in Calangut.
And one more tiny detail as well, now that I’m laying bare my soul, or at least my story.
There was a guy called Sodhi in our group, I forget his first name. He was a cut Surd, a mona , and he smoked.
I suspected he cut his hair so he could smoke without judgment or censure, but that’s just my opinion.
He was handsome and muscular, his back broad and sleeves bulging.
He was in Neha’s group even before I met her, and I always thought him a minor character in the drama of my life.
At one point during my courtship of Neha, or at least what I thought of as courtship, Sodhi and I were standing outside the canteen, drinking tea. He was smoking. Neha was walking toward us, maybe about forty, fifty meters away.
He gestured with his head at her as he expelled a cloud of smoke and said, “Nice figure…I know you’re going out with her. You’re not serious about her, are you?”
I stiffened with the mention of Neha’s figure, but he wasn’t profane or anything. She did have a great figure.
I mean he could have whistled and said, “Great tits,” or 'what an ass,” but he didn’t. Still, I sensed some kind of subtext, some deeper meaning, and immediately became wary.
“Why do you ask?”
He turned to me and gave me a hooded look, like I was dense or something.
My face must have given something away because he said, “You’re not marrying her, are you dude?” His tone carried surprise, disbelief, and I sensed he was questioning not just my decision, but also my sanity.
I said nothing, and by then Neha was within earshot.
She waved at him, chatted for a bit, and that was that.
I had occasion to revisit that conversation, brief as it was, years later.
![[+]](https://xossipy.com/themes/sharepoint/collapse_collapsed.png)