Part 1: HER
My name is Prerna. I was a newly married 24 year old woman. Married just three days ago, I was on my way to our honeymoon to a nearby hill station. Sitting on the lower berth in an AC 2 tier compartment of an overnight express train, with my husband sitting beside me, I was staring at my reflection in the train’s huge glass window. The reflection in the glass window made me reflect on my life till then.
Born in a typical middle-class Indian family and being an only child, I had been raised like a princess. My mother said that I was the apple of her eyes. Although slightly pampered throughout my childhood, I had grown into a fine mature girl by the time I was eligible for marriage. Praised for my beauty from the time of my birth, I had developed into an attractive woman after puberty. And adolescence had put the icing on the cake. By the time of my last teen birthday, I had, to put it bluntly, ‘ripened’ perfectly. I was medium built with average Indian height, very fair skin, dark eyes, and jet black shoulder length hair. My breasts were of the perfect size for my build; neither too big nor small, firm and round. My hips had grown in size at a rapid pace size my puberty; now their curves accentuated my near perfect hour-glass figure. But the icing was not the final thing; there was one more thing to top it, the cherry over the icing. My fair elegant face had been blessed with a small mole (black spot) just above my upper lip on the left side.
From an early age itself, I had been aware of my sensuality and the effect it had on men around me. Heads turned as I walked, and they stayed turned for a while. I had even won the ‘Miss Fresher’ title at my Fresher’s Party at college; and had gone on to win ‘Miss Beauty Queen’ title in all subsequent annual day functions.
Having said that, I must remind you, that I had been born and raised in a typical middle-class Indian family. That meant almost nil interaction with the opposite sex, wearing traditional attire or non-exposing tops. Figure hugging clothing, tights jeans or tops, were strictly forbidden. Throughout my school and college life, I never had a boyfriend. Although no one said anything directly to me, but I knew I was the subject of ridicule amongst my friends, regarding the iron clasp control my parents had over me.
After college, my parents started to search for the perfect groom for me. Matrimonial columns were printed, relatives and friends put to task to find a suitable match for me who fulfilled the criteria of religion, caste, occupation, income, family background, his father’s occupation/income, and many more such things Indian parents look for in a man they deem fit to have sex with their daughter; but not his looks or actual personality. There are so many criteria and sub-criteria that it was almost 2 years before my parents could narrow the choices down to a handful of ‘eligible’ bachelors; another six months in finalizing my ‘perfect match’; then a full year before both could agree to each other’s terms and conditions.
So, finally, after a lot of drama, I got married at the age of 24 years. My ‘perfect match’ was a relatively short man, three years older to me, dark; and with a slight belly already pouting out his lower abdomen. He had a ‘stable’ job and had studied in one of India’s most prestigious institutions. According to my parents, relatives, and friends of relatives, I could not have found a better husband for myself.
My first night as a married woman was uneventful. Of course, both of us lost our virginities to each other; and awkwardly brought each other to orgasms. Well, that’s the case with two virgins of the opposite sex, in their twenties, allowed to sleep together for the first time. We both agreed that there was a long way to go in our sexual lives and that this was just the beginning of an erotic journey.
And so, to make sure our erotic journey was off to a flying start, we were headed for our pre-planned honeymoon to a hill-station nested in the Himalayas.
And here I was, staring at myself in the train window!
It was time to sleep, putting an end to my thoughts. The curtains were pulled and the lights switched off. My husband climbed to the upper berth and I lay down on the lower one, blissfully aware that this vertical separation between us would not be there the next night.
My name is Prerna. I was a newly married 24 year old woman. Married just three days ago, I was on my way to our honeymoon to a nearby hill station. Sitting on the lower berth in an AC 2 tier compartment of an overnight express train, with my husband sitting beside me, I was staring at my reflection in the train’s huge glass window. The reflection in the glass window made me reflect on my life till then.
Born in a typical middle-class Indian family and being an only child, I had been raised like a princess. My mother said that I was the apple of her eyes. Although slightly pampered throughout my childhood, I had grown into a fine mature girl by the time I was eligible for marriage. Praised for my beauty from the time of my birth, I had developed into an attractive woman after puberty. And adolescence had put the icing on the cake. By the time of my last teen birthday, I had, to put it bluntly, ‘ripened’ perfectly. I was medium built with average Indian height, very fair skin, dark eyes, and jet black shoulder length hair. My breasts were of the perfect size for my build; neither too big nor small, firm and round. My hips had grown in size at a rapid pace size my puberty; now their curves accentuated my near perfect hour-glass figure. But the icing was not the final thing; there was one more thing to top it, the cherry over the icing. My fair elegant face had been blessed with a small mole (black spot) just above my upper lip on the left side.
From an early age itself, I had been aware of my sensuality and the effect it had on men around me. Heads turned as I walked, and they stayed turned for a while. I had even won the ‘Miss Fresher’ title at my Fresher’s Party at college; and had gone on to win ‘Miss Beauty Queen’ title in all subsequent annual day functions.
Having said that, I must remind you, that I had been born and raised in a typical middle-class Indian family. That meant almost nil interaction with the opposite sex, wearing traditional attire or non-exposing tops. Figure hugging clothing, tights jeans or tops, were strictly forbidden. Throughout my school and college life, I never had a boyfriend. Although no one said anything directly to me, but I knew I was the subject of ridicule amongst my friends, regarding the iron clasp control my parents had over me.
After college, my parents started to search for the perfect groom for me. Matrimonial columns were printed, relatives and friends put to task to find a suitable match for me who fulfilled the criteria of religion, caste, occupation, income, family background, his father’s occupation/income, and many more such things Indian parents look for in a man they deem fit to have sex with their daughter; but not his looks or actual personality. There are so many criteria and sub-criteria that it was almost 2 years before my parents could narrow the choices down to a handful of ‘eligible’ bachelors; another six months in finalizing my ‘perfect match’; then a full year before both could agree to each other’s terms and conditions.
So, finally, after a lot of drama, I got married at the age of 24 years. My ‘perfect match’ was a relatively short man, three years older to me, dark; and with a slight belly already pouting out his lower abdomen. He had a ‘stable’ job and had studied in one of India’s most prestigious institutions. According to my parents, relatives, and friends of relatives, I could not have found a better husband for myself.
My first night as a married woman was uneventful. Of course, both of us lost our virginities to each other; and awkwardly brought each other to orgasms. Well, that’s the case with two virgins of the opposite sex, in their twenties, allowed to sleep together for the first time. We both agreed that there was a long way to go in our sexual lives and that this was just the beginning of an erotic journey.
And so, to make sure our erotic journey was off to a flying start, we were headed for our pre-planned honeymoon to a hill-station nested in the Himalayas.
And here I was, staring at myself in the train window!
It was time to sleep, putting an end to my thoughts. The curtains were pulled and the lights switched off. My husband climbed to the upper berth and I lay down on the lower one, blissfully aware that this vertical separation between us would not be there the next night.