One Night Stand on a New Year Night 2013 is a work of fiction
Disclaimer – Strictly FICTION, EROTICA ALERT!!
It is 31st December, the last day of the year. This is the day when people attend churches for the previous day of mass so that the New Year brings them luck. You see youngsters, especially flamboyant guys dancing with semi-clad girls at local clubs. This is the day you find police strolling on the streets every hour to prevent heinous crimes. You get to see lust, love, kisses, and sex. Caste no bar. He doesn’t care for any religion or community. He changes girls like his trousers. He sleeps with different girls every night. Poor girls fail to see the fiend in him. He doesn’t believe in the concept of marriage. He is nameless; he doesn’t prefer to reveal his identity. He changes his names just like he changes girls every night – Tarun, Ramanujan, Niketan, David, Paramjeet, and the list goes on.
“Where are we going?” she asks, giving him a naughty look.
“To the place where love resides,” he replies her.
She hardly knows him. One day they meet each other as strangers, and cupid smiles at them. Cupid doesn’t strike his arrow on his heart, for he knows -his heart was filled with one million girls, their hopes on his beating monster.
They both walk upstairs of Hotel Le Marine at 12.25 AM, the time when people don’t cease to get tired of dancing all night. He smiles at her as he opens the door of Room Num 349. He pulls her in and rushes to the bathroom to get fresh. Meanwhile, she dances around the bedroom as her eye wildly scans the architecture of the hotel room. She is amazed and looks at the wallpapers of the hotel room. She touches the wall and writes her name with her fingers. It’s the first time she has ever visited a hotel room
. She hails from a middle-class family, a daughter of a Contractor. He gets refreshed and looks at her as she lies on the bed. She gets up as soon as he observes her from the bathroom. He leans against the wall and stares at her. She is sitting in Indian style, her tender legs neatly folded and fingers drawing patterns on the silk bed sheet. She wears a western outfit, a tight sleeveless top, and equally tight jeans. Her tight sleeveless top is so tight that her nipples are viewable. He leers at her, and he learns about her nervousness. She still remains firm on the bed like an obedient school-going girl. She thinks he is going to preach philosophy. He unzips his backpack and removes a video camera, a Sony Cyber-shot.
“Yours,” she asks him.
“Yes.”
“I got it as a Diwali gift from my millionaire grandfather,” he smiles at her.
Her phone rings. “Maa,” she says and continues, “Shh!” she gestures to him.
He nods his head and checks his Sony Cyber-shot.
“Maa, ammi bondhu der saathe bahire achi.Tumi chinta koro naah,” she says to her Mother.
“Hmm, thikachey,” she replies.
“Maa Amar bishwas koro,” she argues with her mother.
“Hmm, achha thikachey.” Her face turns serious and ashen.
“Ammi ekhon aar choto neyi, pore Kotha bolbo,” she slams her phone on the bed in anger.
Her parents live in Bhilai. She works in St George’s hospital as an assistant nurse.
“You seem angry,” he asks her, fidgeting his camera.
“She advises me. I am not a school kid,” she tells him.
“I know what’s right and wrong,” she says. Tears well in her eyes; he stretches his hand to wipe the constant tears rolling down her cheeks.
“Don’t cry, Niketina,” he consoles her.
“Hmm,” she stifles a sigh and washes her face. She returns from the bathroom and neatly wipes her face with the towel.
“Can I turn off the fan?” she asks him. “It’s too cold,” she tells him.
“Sure, you do that,” he agrees.
She sits on the bed in Indian style, this time like a grown-up girl.
“Make yourself comfortable, sweetie!” he tells her.
“Yes, these tight jeans!” she says to him, pointing to her jeans.
“What?” he asks. “It hurts me,” she says. She bends forward and stretches her arms to take the water jug. This act reveals her black bra and her pink nipples peeping out of it. He wants to capture this view on his camera but refrains. She asks him to pass her the tumbler. She carefully transfers the water from the jug to the tumbler and sips it.
“What do you think about me?” he asks her.
“You are nice,” she says earnestly.
“Hmm.”
She should have spoken to the million girls who shared his bed every other night. The innocent Piyali’s, ferocious Misbah’s, obedient Parizad’s, Tomboyish Marissa’s, Religious Deepali’s, and Stone-hearted Tanpreet’s. The taciturn Niketina seems to be the latest entrant in his never-ending list.
He turns on his Cyber-shot and raises it in front of her as if he is going to interview her. But instead, he looks at her through the video camera. “What is your name?” he asks, recording her every activity.
“You know me,” she mumbles.
“Tell me.”
“I want to hear it one more time,” he jeers.
“Niketina,” she smiles as he shoots her video.
“I love your name,” he mutters.
He touches her sleeveless top with his right hand holding the video cam. She seems resilient, removes his hand, and winks at him. He captures her when she brushes her strides away as they irk her, trying to reach her eyes.
“You are a naughty boy,” she laughs.
“Even the other girls say that,” he winks.
“Which other girls?”
“Tell, Tell,” she nags him.
“I was just kidding,” he sneers. He tries to reach her cuppy curves, shielded by her black bra. He jabs it with his fingers. She shudders. “Shh!” she gestures. She feels a chill running down her spine.
She lies next to him. “Show me,” he asks; his video shoots her every action.
“Chi…no ways.” She turns serious. She seems to rebel, a defiant girl who never gives up quickly. He coaxes her and tries his best. He is a charmer who mastered the art of seducing girls. Finally, she succumbs but asks him to shut off his camera.
He nods his head and places his camera over the teapoy. He humps over her. She shuts her eyes and giggles. He unbuttons her jeans and tries his best to pull them down. He feels jubilant as he removes her jeans. He neatly folds it and places it on the table.
“Your legs smell fresh,” he says as he licks her right toe. He writes “N” on her sole, and she moves her legs aside. He moves up, removes her tight sleeveless top, and smiles at her. “You look like the FTV girl,” he winks.
“How Cheap!”
“I was kidding,” he says and smiles at her. She now lies on the bed with her naked legs crossed. She reveals her black bra and her lacy panties.
“The fragrance of a woman drags me.” He moves closer to her. She sleeps, her body outstretched and flat on her stomach, revealing her vast tight buttocks. She tilts her face as he moves close to her.
“Feeling Sleepy?” he casually asks her. “No…Never,” she responds back. He runs her fingers wildly on her back like a thirsty man walking in a desert. He stops when his fingers reach the bra line. He unhooks her black bra and kisses her back.
“I wish I could draw a beautiful painting on this brown canvas,” he whispers onto her ears.
“Then draw,” she replies to him.
“Guess what I am writing,” he says, and his fingers run over her back. He writes on the brown canvas as he promised her.
“Niketina, I love you,” he writes on her back.
“Tell me what I wrote,”
“Niketina, I love you.” She says, smiling at him. Then, with a swift of a second, he moves down and pulls off her lacy underwear. She lies on the bed like a newborn baby. She closes her eyes and covers her face with her soft hand. She now sleeps facing the ceiling exhibiting her succulent breasts. Her enormous breasts, full, round, smooth, tender, juicy, were ready to explode their secret energy.
“Randhir!” she says as he licks her nipples, which have turned hard by then. He licks her around the perimeter of her pink nipples, a pearl in the ocean. He gropes her breasts, in fact, tries to hold her. He curses himself as all his attempts to have her breasts turn futile. Finally, he realizes that they were too large for her age. She completely undresses him as he lolls on the bed, revealing his entire body. Her eyes soon touch his lips; his lips kiss hers. He nuzzles her nose with his and butts his head with hers.
“Ouch!” she exclaims.
He licks her succulent breasts before his eyes scrutinize her vagina. “Virgin girl!” he sighs.
“I love the smell,” he says to her, to which she smiles. He is amazed at how clean and hygienic she is. The sight of her pure, neatly shaved pubis gave him a clue. She shivers.
“That’s the clitoris.” His index finger touches the rim of her vagina.
“I learned Biology in class 12th,” he laughs as she allows him to touch her private. He inserts his finger inside as his other hand holds her flang. Soon, she is scared at the sight of the mighty tiger ready to exploit the closed, dark cave. “It’s going to be a brutal assault,” she thinks, frightened and nervous. The tiger protests at the view of the closed cave. It tries hard, is more complex, and ever harder. The ferocious tiger had roared and explored many such caves before. The tiger roars and finally makes its way into the cave. The girl screeches and screams.
“Please go slow!” she requests.
“It hurts me,” she pleads. “Shh!” he warns her.
The tiger steps into the cave, deafening silence for a moment. The girl could feel his sweats on her luscious breasts. She holds him tight and spreads her legs to facilitate the ferocious tiger. The tiger makes entry into the cave and starts his hunt. He faces enormous challenges as he treads through the dark cave. He fears and moves in and out of the cave. He hears long moans and pauses, throbbing heartbeats, and feels the gush of blood through her veins. She bites her lips as the tiger treads through the cave.
“God save me!” she cries. He covers her mouth with his hand. The tiger roars inside the dark cave. It soon gets tired and makes a silent exit. He comes out ceremoniously, triumphant with a loud roar. There was a long silence that marked the victory of the rebel tiger. Its haughty approach and feeling of pride are visible as it inaugurated the dark cave before any other Tiger could. He soon kisses her entire body, everywhere, leaving no place behind. He starts with her eyes, nape, spine line, thighs, and calf. There is a complete moment of bliss.
He soon gets up and stands like a naked chivalrous knight, his shaft swinging like the pendulum of a clock. He places his hands on his hips and invites her.
“No, no way,” she hesitates. Then, finally, she surrenders and goes to him. This time, it was her assault on the roaring tiger to take revenge and exploit it. She bends down and kisses his tooltip, her lips lick his prepuce.
“Cut!” The director said.
“It’s fucking crazy to be a porn director,” Markus Luther, a prominent name in the American adult film industry, laughed.
“One Night Stand is going to be a fucking hot porn movie in the history of the Indian Porn Industry,” he tittered.
“Great shot Harshika and Gotham,” he thanked the actors. The girl still stares at the monster tiger and sneers. The tiger acknowledges back with a roar and dares for the second assault. Harshika and Gotham exchange phone numbers; they get dressed and vacate the room.
“It’s still hurting me,” she winked at him.
“Your place or mine,” he winked back at her, and they laughed.
