It was a hot summer day in May. The sun seemed almost angry with the earth. Bhumi couldn’t forget how hot the sun was for years to come, for decades.
She enjoyed the water hitting her body as she poured a mug-full on herself. It slithered down her hair, her neck and breasts, and then her navel, and her crotch, bunching up her pubic hair together. She had turned twenty a month ago and her father had quickly fixed her match with the landlord’s son. Bhumi had only met seen him in a photograph. He had looked young – he didn’t have a moustache – and he looked sullen. Tonight was their ‘sangeet’ ceremony – a musical ceremony prior to their wedding the following day.
Bhumi rubbed a bar of soap on her breasts, accidentally arousing herself as she rubbed it over her nipples. Her nipples and her arousal reminded her of Vishnu – the cowherd’s boy. They had been meeting on the sly for the past year, both of them acutely aware that theirs’ was a doomed romance. Bhumi’s father, the second largest landowner in the city, would never marry off his daughter to a cowherd’s lad. Nevertheless, they had kept meeting, their secret liaisons becoming more and more adventurous. Though they had never had sex, Bhumi would open her blouse and let Vishnu suckle on her nipples till her crotch felt so wet that it squelched when she would walk back home later.
She poured cold water on herself forcing her back to the present. In their last meeting, on the ramparts of the fort, Vishnu had promised to take her away and she had let him indulge in his daydream, nodding her head. She poured more water on herself, rubbing her body, making sure no soap was left on it. The bucket was down to its last few mugs. She picked it up and upturned it, pouring the water on herself.
She enjoyed the water hitting her body as she poured a mug-full on herself. It slithered down her hair, her neck and breasts, and then her navel, and her crotch, bunching up her pubic hair together. She had turned twenty a month ago and her father had quickly fixed her match with the landlord’s son. Bhumi had only met seen him in a photograph. He had looked young – he didn’t have a moustache – and he looked sullen. Tonight was their ‘sangeet’ ceremony – a musical ceremony prior to their wedding the following day.
Bhumi rubbed a bar of soap on her breasts, accidentally arousing herself as she rubbed it over her nipples. Her nipples and her arousal reminded her of Vishnu – the cowherd’s boy. They had been meeting on the sly for the past year, both of them acutely aware that theirs’ was a doomed romance. Bhumi’s father, the second largest landowner in the city, would never marry off his daughter to a cowherd’s lad. Nevertheless, they had kept meeting, their secret liaisons becoming more and more adventurous. Though they had never had sex, Bhumi would open her blouse and let Vishnu suckle on her nipples till her crotch felt so wet that it squelched when she would walk back home later.
She poured cold water on herself forcing her back to the present. In their last meeting, on the ramparts of the fort, Vishnu had promised to take her away and she had let him indulge in his daydream, nodding her head. She poured more water on herself, rubbing her body, making sure no soap was left on it. The bucket was down to its last few mugs. She picked it up and upturned it, pouring the water on herself.
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