Brooke ne size chart ko ulta pakad rakha tha, aur main uske kandhon ke paas ruk gaya. Boston wali faded cap uske maathe par tedi thi, olive tank garmi se uski peeth se chipka hua tha.
“Yeh medium hai, large nahi,” maine kaha.
Woh thodi hatti aur cap ko aage ko dhakela. “Malum hai. Chart hi ulta pakad liya.” Uski aankhen meri taraf uthin, aur uske honth par halki si smile aa gayi.
Rehan namak aur limbu ke liye bazaar nikal gaya tha. Sunday ki dophar thi. Mumbai ke is purane cricket club ke store mein hum dono ko fundraiser wali T-shirt ke stacks set karne the.
Pankha upar se dheere ghum raha tha. Shutter aadha khula tha. Gali se bus ki awaaz aa rahi thi, aur garmi ne meri grey shirt ko peeth se chipka diya tha.
Brooke ko Hindustan aaye teen hafte hue the. Woh Rehan ki college friend thi, Boston se aayi thi, sirf madad karne. Koi tankhwah nahi thi, koi deal nahi thi.
Pehle din usne saaf kaha tha ki use Hindi almost nahi aati, isliye main usse chhoti chhoti line mein baat kar raha tha, jaise koi guest ho.
Phir usne meri taraf se ek kali T-shirt khinchi. Peeth par chhapa slogan uski ungli ne chhua, aur bina ruke usne padha, “Club ke liye khelo, shor ke liye nahi.”
Uski Hindi saaf thi, tez thi, us jhoot ke bilkul ulti jo usne pehle din palita tha. Main haath rok ke khada reh gaya.
Cap ke neeche pasine ki ek lakeer uski temple se giri. Woh American thi, Bharat ke is garm store mein khadi thi, lekin uska muh ab tourist wala nahi lag raha tha.
Maine seedha poocha
“Tumhe meri bhasha aati hai,” maine kaha. “Itna simple karke kyun bol rahi thi mujhse?”
Brooke ne T-shirt ko seene se dabaye rakha. “Kyunki yahan log American dekhte hi English lecture shuru kar dete hain. Main exhibit nahi banna chahti thi.”
“Aur main?” maine poocha.
“Tum bhi dekh rahe the. Camera nahi, nazar se.” Usne cap utari aur carton par rakh di. Uske baal gile the, maathe se chipke hue.
“Main tumhari accent nahi, tumhare honth dekh raha tha,” maine kaha. “Aur woh ungli, jab tum print ko seedha karti ho.”
Woh ek kadam kareeb aayi. Store ke pankhe ki hawa uske baal utha rahi thi. “Toh ab kya dekhna hai, Yash?”
Mera naam uske muh se naya laga. Hum akele the. Rehan ko bazaar se aane mein der thi, lekin der ka hisab is sawal ke saamne chhota tha.
“Tumhe pata hai main kya dekhna chahta hoon,” maine dheere kaha.
Usne meri shirt ke kaware ko ungli se chhua. “Haan. Aur main bhi. Agar tum rukna chaho to abhi ruk jao.”
Maine uska haath pakad liya, rokne ke liye nahi, jawab ke liye. “Rukna nahi hai.”
Usne meri gardan khinch kar honth rakh diye. Pehla kiss namak jaisa tha, garmi jaisa tha. Uski aankhen band thin, phir khulin, aur usne meri lower lip ko halke se kata.
Gali se kisi ke jooton ki awaaz aayi. Brooke ne peeche dekha, phir mere haath ko shutter ki kundi tak le gayi. Humne use neeche kar diya. Andhera halka sa badha, pankha hi bacha.
Uske honth se hat kar uski gardan chumi, collarbone tak. Brooke ne mera sar pakad liya. “Pehle hafte ek uncle ne station par American sunte hi shaadi ka sapna meri skin par rakh diya. Tab se main Hindi chhupati hoon, taaki log mujhe kam gheren.”
“Main gherne nahi aaya,” maine kaha. “Main stacks set karne aaya tha. Phir tumne woh slogan padh liya.”
Woh muskuraayi. “Slogan galat tha. Main galat nahi dekh sakti.”
Uski saans meri saans se takrai. Maine uski kamar par haath rakha. Tank ke neeche twacha garm thi. Usne meri grey shirt upar ko khinchi, aur maine haath upar kiye taaki kapda nikal jaye. Shirt carton ke kone par giri.
Brooke ne apna tank khud utara. Olive kapda cap ke paas jaa gira. Cream bra ki thin straps uske kandhon par thin. Maine pehle uske muh ko phir se chuma, phir uski peeth par haath phera.
Bra ke hook par meri ungli ruki. Usne peeth tedhi ki, hook khula, straps uske kandhon se fisle. Uski boobs meri hatheli mein aayin. Muh lagaya, nipple ko jeeb se chhua. Usne mere baal ki jabri pakdi aur saans bhari.
Pankha ki ek patti klik karti rahi. Kali T-shirt ke stacks hamare peeche khade the. Yeh kaam adhura reh jayega, yeh soch bhi ajib tarah garam thi.
Brooke ne mera belt ka loop pakda. “Jeans nikal. Baat kam.”
“Table thandi hai,” usne phir kaha, jab meri kamar table ke kone se takrai.
“Mat garam hai,” maine jawab diya. Net ke peeche wahi purana exercise mat pada tha jise Rehan kabhi stretching ke liye laata tha.
Hum table se hat kar mat par aaye. Brooke ne sneakers nikal kar kone mein dhakel diye. Denim shorts ki zip usne khud kholi. Main jeans ka button kholta raha, mera lund already tight tha.
Usne meri nazar pakdi. “Condom hai?”
Maine wallet se ek packet nikala. “Hai.”
Usne sir hilaya. Maine boxers ke saath jeans utari, foil fadi, aur lund par condom chadha liya. Rubber ki thandi line ke baad uski ungli ne mere pet ko chhua.
Brooke bra side ko rakh kar mat par let gayi. Shorts aur panty ek saath nikaal kar usne kone ko dhakel di. Uski chut par halki gili chamak thi. Main uske upar jhuka.
Meri do ungliyan uski chut par dheere pherin. Woh geeli thi, garam thi. Uski kamar uth kar meri hatheli maangti thi, jaise slogan ke baad doosra hissa ho.
“Andar aa,” usne kaha.
Maine apna lund uski chut ke muh par rakh kar dheere dhakka diya. Pehle dhakke par woh kasi hui thi, phir khuli. Uski aankhen meri aankhon mein thin. Dono ki saansein phooli hui thi.
Phir main andar tak gaya. Uski chut ne condom wale lund ko kas liya. Brooke ne mere kandhon ko pakad liya, naak meri gardan se sata di, aur ek gehra awaaz nikaali.
Tez nahi hua. Uske saans ke hisab se dhakka diya. Har baar uski boobs meri chhati se ragad khati thin, aur uski ungliyan meri peeth ki haddi par ruk kar phir khurach deti thin.
“Yahan log mujhe photo samajhte hain,” usne mere kaan ke paas kaha, awaaz tootti. “Tum ab bhi photo dekh rahe ho kya?”
“Nahi,” maine kaha, aur uski aankhon se nazar nahi hatayi. “Main tumhe dekh raha hoon.”
Usne taangein meri kamar pe lapet liin. Maine uski gaand ke neeche haath dekar use thoda uthaya, taaki gehra jaaun. Uski chut se geeli si awaaz aa rahi thi, mat ke against.
T-shirt ke stacks hamari taraf jhuk rahe the. Ek kali T-shirt uske baazu ke neeche dhalak gayi, wahi slogan wali. Brooke ne use nahi hataya. Print uski skin se chipka raha.
“Aur,” usne kaha. Sirf itna.
Maine uski clit par angutha rakh kar gol kiya, jab lund andar bahar ho raha tha. Usne meri kalai pakad kar dabaaye rakha, na hatane diya, na tez karne diya, bas wahi dabav.
Bahar bus ki bhonp hui. Hum dono ruke. Uski aankhen meri aankhon mein, mera lund uski chut ke andar, condom ki patli diwar ke peeche dhadkan. Bhonp gayi, phir gali wapas ordinary ho gayi.
Brooke hans padi, dabi hui. “Hindustan ki bus bhi timing pe nahi aati.”
Main bhi hans diya, phir uske honth par muh rakh diya. Hansi kiss mein gir gayi.
Uske baad rhythm wapas aa gayi, lekin ab bhari. Maine use choda, dheere se tez, uski kamar ke hisab se. Uski chut kasti rahi, chhodti rahi, phir kasti rahi.
Usne meri peeth par naakhun se line khinchi. Dard halka tha, saaf tha. Main aur gehra gaya. Uski aankhen gol huin, phir naram.
“Boston mein aisa store nahi,” usne kaha, hans ke toot kar. “Wahan AC hota hai. Yahan tum ho.”
Maine uske gale par daant rakhe, kaata nahi, sirf dabaav. Uski chut ne jawab diya. Hum dono ki saansein mil kar ek hi lag rahi thin.
Grey shirt door padi thi, uski cap carton par, jaise do log kaam par aaye hon aur beech mein rasta badal gaya ho.
Woh American gaaliyon ki jagah meri bhasha mein toot rahi thi. “Haan, wahan, Yash. Aur mat rok.” Uski aankhen bhar aayin, muh khula raha.
Kampan uski thighs se shuru hui. Uski chut ne lund ko baar baar kasa. Lambi saans toot kar uske gale se nikli. Maine uske honth dabaye, uske tight hone ke dauran bhi andar raha, taaki woh us ehsaas se nikal na jaye.
Uske baad kuch pal sirf saans thi. Pasina uske seene se meri chhati par behne laga. Usne meri cheek par honth rakh kar kaha, “Ab sirf meri nahi.”
Usne mujhe peeth ke bal palat diya. Mat ki gard meri khal se chipki. Brooke upar aa gayi, dono haath mere seene par, aur khud ko mere lund par baithaya. Condom ab bhi sahi tha, tana hua, kahin nahi sarka.
Usne hips pehle chhoti ghumayi, phir bhari. Main uski thighs pakde raha. Uski chut ne mujhe nigal liya. Cap-less baal uske chehre par gir rahe the, aur woh unhe kaan ke peeche karke muskuraayi.
“Tum soch rahe ho log kya kahenge,” usne kaha, saans ke beech. “American girl, Indian boy, store.”
“Soch raha tha,” maine sacch kaha. “Ab nahi. Ab sirf yeh ki tum kitni garam ho.”
Usne meri kalai ko apni chhati par dabaaye rakha. Uski dhadkan tez thi. Main kamar uthata raha, uske dhakkon ka saath deta raha. Garami ne meri reedh tak maar ki.
“Yash,” usne phir kaha, aur yeh naam ab exhibit nahi tha. Maine uski kamar pakad kar khud ko andar hi chhod diya, condom ke andar. Saans atak gayi. Kampan meri thighs se uski thighs tak gayi.
Brooke ne mere upar jhuk kar meri gardan chumi, jab tak woh kampan ruki nahi. Uski aankhen band thin. Meri ungliyan uske baal mein thi.
Hum kuch der aise hi pade rahe. Main nikal kar condom utara, bandha, kude dan mein daala. Brooke ki ungli meri chhati par gol bana rahi thi. Stacks wahi ke wahi the. Jo sawal maine poocha tha, uska jawab mil chuka tha.
Cap carton par reh gayi
Brooke uth kar shorts pehn li, panty ke saath. Bra skip ki. Mere extra printed club T-shirt ko khud pe khinch liya, jo carton ke upar se alag pada tha. Olive tank wahi giri rahi.
Sneakers pehne. Cap nahi uthayi. Woh carton par Boston ke faded letter ke saath padi rahi.
“Rehan ko keh dena stacks almost ho gaye,” usne kaha. Awaaz saadi thi, halki thi, lecture wali nahi.
Woh shutter tak gayi. Kundi kholi, shutter upar kiya. Garmi aur gali ki dhool andar aayi. Phir woh nikal gayi.
Shutter uske haath se neeche slide hua, ek karki awaaz ke saath. Boston wali cap carton par reh gayi.
Maine boxers pehn liye the. Grey shirt haath mein uthayi, pehni nahi. Auto ki bhonp sunai di, door, phir mix ho gayi Mumbai ki awaaz mein.
Cap carton par hi rahi, aur main use uthane ke bajay us kundi ko ek baar chhua jo usne bahar se chhod di thi.