We lived in Kerala. When I attained the age of sixteen my parents promised me in marriage to a wealthy British gentleman, whom I had seen but twice and did not admire. This also meant I had to convert to Christianity from my earlier religion Hinduism. My love was already given to Vimalesh, a handsome young gentleman. He was elegantly formed, his hair and eyes were as dark as night and he could dance to perfection. But it was for his gentle, winning smile that I loved him. On the evening of the day that my parents had announced their determination to me, I had gone to be alone in the orange grove in the farthest part of our garden, there to sorrow over my hard fate. In the midst of my grief I heard the voice of Vimalesh calling me. Could it be he who had been banished from the house and whom I never expected to see again? He sprang down from the garden wall, folded me in his embrace and covered my hair with kisses for I had hidden my blushing face on my bosom. Then we talked of our sad lot. Vimalesh was poor and it would be impossible to marry without the consent of my parents; we could only mingle our tears and regrets. He led me to a grassy bank concealed by the orange trees and rose bushes, then he drew me on his lap and kissed my lips and cheeks and eyes. I did not chide him, for it must be our last meeting, but I did not return his kisses with passion. I had never felt a wanton desire in my life, much less not when I was so sad. His passionate kisses were no longer confined to my face but were showered on my neck, and at length my dress was parted and revealed my huge breasts to his ardent lips. I felt startled and made an attempt to stop him in what considered an impropriety, but he did not stop there. I felt my skirts being raised with a mingled sensation of alarm and shame which caused me to try to prevent it, but it was impossible–I loved him too much to struggle against him and he was soon lying between my naked thighs. ‘Maya Rani,’ he said, ‘if you love me, be my wife for these few moments before we part.’ I could not resist the appeal. I offered my lips to kisses without any feeling save innocent love, and lay passive while I felt him guide a stiff, warm object between my thighs. It entered where nothing had ever entered before and no sooner was it entered than he gave a fierce thrust which seemed to tear my vitals with a cruel pain. Then he gave deep sigh and sank heavily upon my bosom. I kissed him repeatedly, for I supposed it must have hurt him as much as it did me, little thinking that his pleasure had been as exquisite as my suffering had been. Just at that moment the harsh voice of my duenna resounded through the garden, calling, ‘Maya! Maya!’ Exchanging with my seducer a lingering, hearty kiss, I extracted myself from his embrace and answered the call. My duenna eyed me sharply as I approached her. ‘Why do you straddle your legs so far apart when you walk,’ said she, and when I came closer, ‘Why is the bosom of your dress so disordered and why are your cheeks so flushed?’ I made some excuse about climbing to get an orange and hurried past her to my room. I locked the door and prepared to go to bed that I might think uninterruptedly of Vimalesh, whom I now loved more than ever. When I took off my petticoat I found it all stained with blood. I folded it and treasured it beneath my pillow to dream upon, under the fond illusion that Vimalesh’s blood was mingled there with my own. For weeks afterwards I was so closely watched that I could not see Vimalesh. The evening preceding my marriage I went to vespers with my duenna. While we were kneeling in the cathedral a large woman, closely veiled, came and knelt close beside me. She attracted my attention by plucking my dress, and, as I turned, she momentarily lifted the corner of her mantle and I saw it was Vimalesh in disguise. I was now all alert and a small package was slipped into my hand. I had just time to secure it in my bosom when my duenna arose and we left the church. As soon as I regained the privacy of my own room I tore open the package and found it contained a silken rope ladder and letter from Vimalesh requesting me to suspend it from the window that night after the family was at rest. The note was full of love. There was much more to tell, it said, if I would grant the interview by means of the ladder. Of course, I determined to see him. I was very ignorant of what most girls learn from each other, for I had no companion. I supposed when a woman was embraced as I had been she necessarily got with child, and that such embraces therefore occurred at intervals of a year or so. I expected, consequently, nothing of the kind at the coming interview. I wanted to learn of Vimalesh if the child, which I supposed to be in my womb, would be born so soon as to betray our secret to my husband. When the family retired I went to my room and dressed myself elaborately, braiding my hair and putting on all of my jewellery. Then I fastened one end of the rope ladder to the bedpost and lowered the other end out of the window; it was at once strained by the ascending step of Vimalesh. My eyes were soon feasted with the sight of my handsome lover, and we were soon locked in each other’s arms. Again and again we alternately devoured each other with our eyes and pressed each other to our hearts. Words did not seem to be of any use; our kisses and caresses became more passionate, and for the first time in my life I felt a wanton emotion. The lips between my thighs became moistened and torrid with coursing blood; I could feel my cheeks burn under the ardent gaze of my lover; I could no longer meet his eyes–my own dropped in shame.
He began to undress me rapidly, his hand trembling with eagerness. Could it be that he wanted to pierce my loins so soon again, as he had done in the orange garden? An hour ago I would have dreaded it; now the thought caused a throb of welcome just where the pain had been sharpest. Stripped to my chemise, and even that unbuttoned by the eager hand of my lover, I darted from his arms and concealed my confusion beneath the bedcover. He soon undressed and followed me–then, bestowing one kiss on my neck and one on each of my naked breasts, he opened my thighs and parted the little curls between. Again I felt the stiff, warm object entering. It entered slowly on account of the tightness, but every inch of its progress inward became more and more pleasant. When it was fully entered I was in a rapture of delight, yet something was wanting. I wrapped my arms around my lover and responded passionately to his kisses. I was almost tempted to respond to his thrusts by a wanton motion of my loins. My maidenhead was gone and the tender virgin wound completely healed, but I had still some remains of maiden shame. For a moment he lay still and then he gave me half a dozen deep thrusts, each succeeding one giving me more and more pleasure. It culminated at last in a thrill so exquisite that my frame seemed to melt. Nothing more was wanting. I gave a sigh of deep gratification and my arms fell nerveless to my sides, but I received with passionate pleasure two or three more thrusts which Vimalesh gave me, at each of which my sheath was penetrated by a copious gush which soothed and bathed its membranes. For a long time we lay perfectly still; the stiff shaft which had completely filled me had diminished in size until it slipped completely out. Vimalesh at last relieved me of his weight by lying at my side, but our legs were still entwined.
We had now time to converse. My lover explained to me all the sexual mysteries which remained for me to know, then we formed plans which would enable us after my marriage to meet often alone. These explanations and plans were mingled so freely with caresses that before my lover left me we had melted five times in each other’s arms. I had barely strength to drag up the rope ladder after he departed. The day had now begun to dawn. I fell into a dreamless sleep and was awakened by my duenna pounding on the door and calling that it was nearly ten o’clock and that I was to be married at eleven. I was in no hurry but they got me to church in time. During the whole ceremony I felt my lover’s sperm trickling down my thighs.
We all applauded Maya as she thus finished her story,of how she became a Christian. While she was telling the story one of the ladies, whom I noticed to be the most fleshy of the number, cuddled up close to my side and suffered me to explore all her charms with my hand. During the description of the scene in the orange garden my fingers toyed with the curls between her thighs, and, as the story went on, parted the curls and felt of the lips beneath. She was turned partly on her belly against me so that this by-play was not observed. My fingers were encouraged by the lady’s hand until two of them made an entrance and were completely enclosed in the hot, moist tissue. The little protuberance which all women have within the orifice, and which is the principal seat of sensation, was in her remarkably developed. It was as large as the end of my little finger. I played with it and squeezed it and plunged my fingers past it again and again; she manifested her pleasure by kissing me on the neck, where she had hidden her face. When Maya described her first thrill in the bedroom scene my fingers were doing all in their power to complete the other lady’s gratification, and this, too, with success, for they were suddenly bathed with moisture, and, at the same time, the lady drew a deep sigh, which was not noticed, for all supposed it to be in sympathy with Maya’s story. Then she withdrew my hand and lay perfectly still. Maya was about to give her the scarf, but she lay so motionless that she handed it to another. ‘This,’ said Maya, ‘is Helene, a Grecian lady. She will tell you a story and then she will do anything you wish.’ My head was still pillowed on Maya’s breast. Helene smiled, then stooped and kissed me. She was about medium height, very slender, but graceful and well rounded, and her skin was as white as alabaster. Her features were of the perfect antique mould and were lighted with fine grey eyes. Her glossy black hair was all brushed back to a knot just below the back of the neck, from which but a single curl escaped on either side and toyed with her firm but finely rounded boobs. The deep vermilion of her lips compensated for the faint colour of her cheeks, whose tinge was scarcely deeper than that of her finely cut ears. She was about twenty-two, and ripe to yield a charming embrace. I drew her down to a seat on my loins and begged her to begin her story.
