Three guys and pizza

Untitled Part 1

Reena, an airhostess with Jet Airways, shared her apartment with four others.  Her co-tenants were out and she had called him.  He had taken off early from work and gone to meet her.  Things went rapidly downhill, once their passions were slaked.

“My parents have set me a deadline.  I have to get married,” she said, once passion was slaked.  Rajat barely listened.  He was too busy admiring his girl friend’s naked body and wondering how soon he could get it up again to have another go.  He feasted his eyes on Reena’s body, young, busty, with a tight ass, her short hair framing a perfectly oval face with a snub nose and bedroom eyes.

She said again, “Papa wants me to marry Kaushal by the end of this year.”

That got his attention.  He disliked Kaushal Saxena, the owner of a very up-market boutique in Lado Sarai.

He said, “You’re not serious,” I said.  “You’ll marry that sleazy dick who measures women’s tits and ass for a living?  At least I keep my hands off strange women.”

She raised herself on her elbows and said, “Rajat, sweety this sucks.  We have to move to the next level.”

He focused on breasts, his gaze travelling down to her areolas which tapered into perfect pointy nipples.  His voice deepened, “Yeah, lets.  I’ll pack up and shift in with you.  You get rid of the harem that lives with you.”

She sat up and slipped on her bra, hooking it into place with an air of finality.  “You’re not listening.  You don’t understand.  Papa and Mummy won’t let me marry a call centre executive.”

Rajat, to his own shock, did not want to flee, which was his normal reaction when any girl mentioned marriage and their relationship in the same sentence.

“I have a great job, I come from a good educated family and I just booked a flat in Greater Noida,” he said defensively.  “Are you ashamed of me?”

“It’s not that!  I love you,” Reena said.  “But …”

He said, “I am an aspiring author, you can tell your family that.”

She said, in a voice dripping with sarcasm, “So you want to be the next Paolo Coelho?”

He said, tearing his eyes from great view of her cleavage, “Dan Brown, please.  I think Paolo Coelho is boring.”

She pushed her hair off her eyes, rolled on to her stomach and gazed right into his eyes.  Her lips moved but he did not hear what she said.  Her eyes were molten chocolate and he sank into them.

“Eh?” he said as she snapped her fingers under his nose.

“Focus, Rajat Chawla.  Focus.  Dan Brown has an axe to grind with the Bible and misinterpreted scriptures.  It makes his writing passionate.  And he has a whole crowd of Christians who read him, either to appreciate or to disagree.  What do you have?”

She looked so earnest, eyes flashing, hair falling down her shoulder, a strand snaking its way between her breasts.  His hand followed the strand but she smacked it away.  She picked up a pillow, held it in front of her cleavage.

Intelligent, witty and good looking, he could not afford to lose her.  He gave up the fight.  He said, “What I have is a job in a call centre, a barsaati I share with two nut cases Deven and Punit, and a Pulsar motor cycle.  What I want is just you, babe, between the sheets.  Let’s move in together, play house-house.”

She pulled on her panties and said, “Whoa!  You know what?  You are a cave-man, retrosexual.”

“Is that a yes?” I said hopefully dreaming of breakfast in bed.  "We wouldn’t use plates; we’d just eat off each other’s bodies."