Midnight Memories
Hello! I need honest reviews on this short story of mine. Read at your own risk. I know many of you don't like erotica. Well, this is kind of one. Criticism is welcome. Avoid rude words, though.
Midnight Memories:
“Preparing for the battle was bizarre. I couldn’t roam around my house without getting a glimpse of my teary eyed mother, of the sister who used to play with her dolls now just sobbing on the couch. I wanted to assure them that they’d see me on the door six months later, of the house door that my father had told me to repair hundreds of times as it creaked a lot but I didn’t have time to listen to him. I was never a good son, I knew that. But they still loved me. Being an Indian son, you had to do a few things.
You had to grow up and be responsible, listen to your father, love your mother more than your wife and get your sister married in a house with lots of gold. I never did any of them. I just roamed around our small town on the hills with my equally irresponsible friends. We raced our bicycles to the hills, watched the girls bathe in the river, stole sweets from the famous shop and stole glances at the pretty English ladies whenever their Lords weren’t around. Our fathers said we weren’t free but we felt like we were.
But now I know we were never free. When my best friend got killed for picking up an orange and giving it to one of the pretty English ladies and her lord pierced his body with gun-shots, that’s when I knew we weren’t free. So along with my imprudent friends, I volunteered to join the brave Indian men battle against the English men.
My last night in my town, I sat on the terrace of my house quietly smoking as my family slept in their beds, not really sleeping; just crying about how their son and brother was walking into his own death. The chilly night couldn’t affect me as my cheap cigarette was there to accompany.
It was a really small place where I lived. The houses were small and the streets were narrow, gutters in their side. Almost all the small houses were identical and congested, the walls touching each other. They were so packed up together that the neighbors could easily cross the walls and reach each other’s terraces. Just as I was thinking that, my blurry vision gave me an idea of someone crossing the wall of the terrace. I blinked my eyes to see who that was.
Heer, the neighbor’s daughter stood there, a few yards away from me wearing her usual Salwar-kameez. We had never talked before, at least not in reality. In my dreams, I’ve undressed her and lay with her several times. Ever since her breasts had started to grow, I had fantasized about her. She used to visit my house to work with my mother in her households. She didn’t have a mother and so, my mother had always prepared meals for her and her father.
As a courtesy, Heer found herself in my house every day helping my mother clean the house and wash the clothes. I remember watching from the window once as she hung the freshly washed clothes on the wires. Every time she bent down, her kurti would give me a glimpse of her growing cleavage and I would run to the bathroom to jerk off to her images in my mind. It was a sweet time, adolescence!
I slowly stood up from my place, doubtfully looking around if she was staring at someone else. But no, her dark eyes, lined up with kajal were ceaselessly staring in mine. She had a boldness in her expression that made my mouth shut when the thought of asking her why she was here hit me.
She didn’t look away from my eyes as she dropped her dupatta off her chest. I could see the round neck line of her kurti and her breasts peeking up from it. Instantly, I felt currents flow up my thighs and create an erection. I was frozen at my place, the cigarette now stuck between two of my fingers, not able to move.
Her gaze didn’t flinch even when she raised her kurti and untied her Salwar from her waist. It smoothly slid down her thighs and I could see the long, chestnut brown legs of hers. Frightened of what she was doing, I glanced back at her face which had a slight smirk on it now.
My mouth shut again. She slowly took her hands towards her back and slid down the chain of her kurti. As I heard the sound of the chain subtly moving down, more and more goosebumps rose on my skin. In another five seconds, her kurti had dropped off her curvy body and I made a sharp intake of breath at that.
My eyes moved from her luscious, long legs to the curve of her hips that was so perfectly smooth.
Then they reached her belly which I wanted to graze so badly with my fingers, then to her firm breasts that I felt like had eyes of their own— mockingly inviting me to suck them, and then finally to her face which was dripping the expression of lust. She stepped aside from the pile of her salwar-kameez and slowly walked in my direction.
My heart pumped with joy at seeing her boobs slightly bouncing and her long black hair getting blown black by the wind. I was still mind-numbed and stunned to speak anything.
When she reached so close to me that I could smell the minty, rosy smell of her body, I didn’t dare take my eyes away from hers. She extended her hands and I stiffened. And at that, a scoff left her mouth. Her fingers came in contact with mine and only then I realized what she was trying to do. She pressed the cigarette between her fingers and brought it to her plump lips, taking a puff from it.
The intoxication flared on her face and a soft moan escaped her throat at the bliss of the puff. She opened her eyes next and took out the cigarette from between her lips, blowing the smoke all over my face. The heavenly smell was only the beginning of my pleasure, I presumed; as beyond the smokey air, I could still see the curvy nakedness in front of me, her dark eyes about to reveal her boldness.
Man! That, I’ll say was the best night of my life!”
I finished telling them the tale of my best night, sitting around the camp fire. All the other soldier brothers roared with laughter and hoots. I grinned back, taking in the smell of fire and alcohol. There were no naked girls between the wars, only tales of our midnight memories.