In math class, Tony usually sat on the far-left side of the room, that being the only place where left-handed desks could be found. But on Wednesday’s class, he scanned the room anxiously looking for Manjula.

She was wearing the revealing sundress he’d picked for her. Stretching out her legs in the front row, she looked irresistible. And few guys could resist her — there were two flanking her on each side, each vying in assorted ways for her attention. Tony smiled sadly in her direction and went over to the left-handed desk.

He had a lot of difficulty concentrating in that class. At one point he was struggling to keep up, seeing the professor write out an incomprehensible series of partial derivatives. Manjula interrupted.

“Excuse me, sir?”

“Yes, miss?” It was almost embarrassing how this professor, notorious for his normally gruff, abrasive attitude, was now being obsequiously polite.

“That plus on the third line — should that not be a minus?”

The professor stared for a minute — at Manjula’s legs, not the equation!

“Oh, yes,” he finally said, and corrected it. Tony peered at the whiteboard. Now finally he began to understand the equation.

After class, he made a beeline for Manjula. To his immense relief, she waved goodbye to the other guys and walked off with him.

“Are you a math major?”

“Biology.”

“Biology? But if you’re this good at math, you must be awesome in biology.”

“Maths has always been my favourite subject. Even in the sciences, I like physics and chemistry better.”

Tony found it very cute that she used the British form of the word, maths, like his parents did.

“Why study biology then?” he asked.

“I want to be a doctor.”

“Why, if math is your favourite subject?”

“What can you do with a maths degree?”

“Tons of things. You could be a quantitative analyst—”

“In finance? We do not have much of that in Sri Lanka.”

“There are lots of math-related disciplines. I’m in computer science. Or you could do engineering—”

She cut him off. “I need to be a doctor.”

Questions popped into his head, but seeing her expression, he decided to put a stopper in them. He followed her to the library.

They hadn’t actually made plans for another Tamil lesson, but Manjula started one anyway. Before long, she had him try to make complete sentences.

Enakka Tamil theriyum. I understand Tamil. Intha oor nalla oor. This is a nice city. Ninga alahanna. You are beautiful.

“How do you say very?” he asked.

Manjula’s irritation was gone; she had a warm smile on her face. “Chadyanna.”

“Ninga chadyanna alahanna,” he said. You are very beautiful.

“Thank you,” she said. He hoped to press the point further, but she moved on.

Enakka cutherica virappamillai. I don’t like eggplant. Enakka puttu virappam. I like puttu.

“What I would not give for puttu right now,” she sighed dreamily. “I have not had any in weeks. Even rice is hard to get around here.”

In Toronto, there were any number of Sri Lankan restaurants that would have served that flour-and-coconut dish, but they were not in Toronto. Then a thought occurred to Tony.

“I know a place you can get good Sri Lankan food. Homemade.”

Her eyes lit up like a child’s on Christmas morning. “Enga?” she asked, using the Tamil word for “where” in her excitement.

“My parents’ house. I could take you there this weekend. You could stay in the spare room.”

She looked suspicious. “I hope you are not trying to marry me. I am not ready for that.”

It was as if a weight had lifted off Tony’s chest. “No, no, nothing like that.”

He didn’t want to introduce her to his parents as a candidate wife. But he did want to introduce her as his girlfriend. Did he dare ask her that? How did she even feel about the whole notion of boyfriends and girlfriends? If he asked her, would it ruin everything?

There was an awkward silence.

“So about slang—” she said finally.

“Yes, I’ve got the book here,” he replied, pulling it out.

“If you do not mind, I want… I want to ask you about sex.”

Is she on to me? he wondered desperately. Had she guessed that he wanted to have premarital sex with her?

“They were talking about putting a penis in their mouths,” said Manjula. “Has any girl done that for you?”

Tony blushed to the roots of his hair.

“Well… um… the truth is… no, none have.”

“Do you want to do it?”

Tony dropped the book, staring now with unconcealed hunger at her perfect round lips. Those lips, around his cock. That tiny, smooth, perfect body, on her knees, naked. He felt his cock squirm.

“Yes. Yes, I would love it.”

“What is the appeal? I do not understand.”

Dammit! She hadn’t been propositioning him, she’d been curious about the act itself.

“Well the most obvious is you can’t get pregnant that way. The risk of disease transmission is also less.”

“Surely that is not the only reason.”

“I—” He hesitated.

“Do not be afraid,” she said reassuringly. “I will not judge you.”

Somehow that did reassure him. “A girl’s face in… in my midsection is a sign of submission. She’s putting her face, the core of her identity, in my sexual organs.”

Manjula looked curiously at him.

He continued, “It’s… it’s especially arousing to see a girl kneeling before me to do it. It would make me feel like a lord, like a master, a king…” It seemed very silly to say that out loud.

“I see,” she said, but it was obvious that she did not see. “And what is the appeal to the woman?”

Tony had often wondered this himself. “I… I don’t know.”

She paused. “And the comparable thing to a woman, what do you call that?”

“The formal name is ‘cunnilingus’, but it’s usually called ‘going down on her’ or ‘eating her out'”.

“Would you do it?”

“Well…” Tony was conflicted. None of his friends had said anything positive about the smell or taste of that region. But they had very positive things to say about how their girlfriends had responded to it.

“From what I know, women are much more likely to come to orgasm when stimulated by the tongue, than by the penis.”

“Is that not terribly dirty?” she queried incredulously. In fact, she looked much more shocked talking about going down on a woman than about going down on a man.

“I guess you could always wash it or something,” said Tony lamely. When most of your knowledge of sex is second- or even third-hand, eventually you run out of wisdom to dispense.

“Do not be embarrassed,” she said kindly. “I have another favour to ask you.”

“Name it.”

“I… I tried looking at these videos. These sexual videos. You call them pornography? Most of them are blocked by internet providers in Sri Lanka. And…”

“What happened?”

“I have never seen anything like that before. It is very scary for me to watch those videos by myself. And there are so many, I do not know which ones boys are watching. I think you must have watched them. Can you… can you show me some?”

Tony’s jaw dropped so far he nearly fell out of the chair.

He had been viewing porn for a long time. Most boys accompanied this with mental fantasies of pretty girls they knew, in similar poses or acts.

As the years went by without any other outlet, Tony’s fantasies had curved in a different direction. Masturbating to porn had become its own reward. He found himself imagining, not actually having sex with a girl, but merely having her, fully dressed, look at him while he enjoyed himself with porn.

To have Manjula be the one watching — at that thought, his cock rose like a tower. Cut the thought, he told himself sternly, she didn’t say she wants to watch you, just the videos themselves.

“You want me… to show you… pornography?”

“I feel the biggest divide between east and west is actually about sex. I come from a country where pornography is illegal, and I am now in one where everybody seems to be influenced by it. I need to understand it. And I need… I need,” she said, shyly, “a boy whom… whom I trust to show me.”

Tony felt enormous affection for her at that moment. He rose and gently pressed her hands to his lips.

“Of course… of course, we can do that.”

The library is not, of course, a good place to look at porn. Tony wasn’t sure where Manjula wanted to go, but she led him to her room. That means she trusted him with knowing where she lived. Then again, it was probably still safer for her than going to his room.

They held hands all the way across campus. Tony saw plenty of guys staring at Manjula — he felt a surge of pride at this — but he also noticed girls looking at him. He’d never experienced that before. Could it be that just being with Manjula rubbed off on him a little? Whatever. There was no girl he wanted more than her.

The effect accelerated once they entered the women’s dorm. Tony had never been inside an all-female building; several times he saw very hot girls, dressed in outfits as skimpy as Manjula’s, glance at him and flash knowing smiles at her.

Tony had been thinking about what to show her. He doubted she would be able to handle his long list of fetishes — in fact, there were some he feared very much showing to any girl, of any culture. Why even start with full-fledged porn? Pinups would do.

One of Tony’s pastimes was to download images of girls from various sites — often lingerie or swimsuits, but also ordinary revealing clothes, like miniskirts — and collect the images into a PDF. He could then have the computer display them in a slideshow, a few seconds per image, full-screen, leaving his hands entirely free. Looking at a series of images has a mesmerizing, almost hypnotic effect even for non-porn pictures; if there are girls, the effect is that much stronger, clothed or not. Tony had also torrented virtually the entire back catalogue of Playboy magazine, painstakingly assembling his favourite photos from each issue into custom PDFs designed to push exactly his buttons.

His mildest PDFs were for microkinis, bikinis, lingerie, and outerwear. He started with the latter. It did not escape Manjula’s notice that the outfits he’d put in his collection were remarkably similar to the ones she’d bought earlier that week, and that she was wearing now.

“Tony, you… you find these arousing?”

“Yes. I usually start with these when I”— he stopped when he realized what he’d been about to say.

“When you masturbate?” she asked, so gently that he nodded.

“So when I am dressed like this” — she pointed at the sundress — “and boys are staring at me, and talking to me, will… will they masturbate later and think of me?”

“Probably yes, at least some of them will.”

She covered her face in her hands. Sighing, Tony closed the laptop.

“Why are you closing it?”

“Huh? I thought you were offended.”

“I should be, should I not?” She paused. “But I am not. I feel — I feel free!” She sported an expression of defiant joy. She pulled open his laptop and jerked her chin at him.

“Tell me why you chose these pictures.”

There followed a strange session of annotated pinups. Because that girl had a cute expression. This one was in a pose that showed off her legs beautifully. This group of slave-girl Princess Leias had such submissive posture. That girl’s wet T-shirt made her look wanton and uninhibited.

Tony had sequenced the pictures by how revealing they were. They finished the outerwear and moved on to the lingerie collection. As the shots got more and more racy, and Manjula remained unfazed, he felt his cock grow harder and harder. Soon they were sampling his compilations of Playboy nudes.

More arousing than the girls themselves was the knowledge that Manjula was there watching him. Like him, her eyes shifted back and forth between the girls on the screen and his own face. Thankfully, because they were sitting side by side in chairs in front of her desk, she could not actually see the pillar in his pants.

He did not realize that his occasional squirms were plainly obvious to Manjula. She also observed that he kept breaking his gaze at the pictures to look back at her.

The girls did not seem prettier than she herself was. Or were they? “Tony—”

“Yes?”

“Why are there no Indian or Sri Lankan girls in your collection? Do you like white girls better?”

“No, it’s just that it’s harder to find these kinds of photos of them. Especially in the large resolutions you need for fullscreen. A lot of sites feature only white girls, with maybe a few token black or Chinese girls. Probably they’re what white men prefer.”

“Even in Sri Lanka they always seem to want girls to be fair,” she said in a hurt tone. “People say I will never find a husband because I am so dark. There are girls who go to Colombo for skin lightening treatments, but I could not afford—”

“Manjula,” he said quietly, turning around to face her, “there is nothing wrong with your colour. You are more beautiful than any of these girls.”

He began to sing the Tamil song Mersalayitten. Translated, it started simply, “I am mesmerized… mesmerized… mesmerized…” He hadn’t stopped to think that, now that he was facing her, his erection was plainly visible through his pants. This gave his song an entirely different meaning.

Manjula had never seen a live erection before. Her eyes were moist.

“Have you… have you masturbated and thought about me?”

Oh, shit! What do I say to that?

She had trusted him into her room, and was literally watching him ogle girls in front of her. Didn’t he owe her the truth?

“Yes. Yes, I have.” Tony’s fingers shook. He found himself tensing up, his cock softening, waiting for the inevitable sneer of disdain.

What he did not expect was the look of pure, unadulterated happiness on Manjula’s face. Her eyes were as radiant as the sun, her smile could have lit up a mansion, every particle of her being seemed possessed by energy.

This time it was she who stood up, boldly sat in his lap, put her arms around him, and leaned in. There was an energy in her now. He was not kissing her, she was kissing him. Her lips pressed on his with a hot force, her breath hot on his, her arms squeezing him tightly. Her scent all around him was intoxicating. He felt his cock growing hard again, felt it press against her leg, he knew she could feel it too.

Somehow, his mouth was open. He felt the soft wetness of her tongue inside his mouth, gingerly probing into him. Tony had only ever seen this in movies, he could not remember how it was done, all he was conscious of was the overwhelming desire he felt. His hands were on Manjula’s back, holding her tightly, drifting slowly downward—

She came up for air. “We have seen enough of girls. I want to see a boy.”

Tony nodded and turned towards the computer.

“Not photos. A real boy.”

She looked pointedly at his erection, then sat down on her bed, expectantly.

It took all the affection he had for Manjula for Tony to overcome his fear.

“I… I am not large.”

“What does that mean to me?” she countered. “I have nothing to compare it with.”

That wasn’t really true, of course. Male porn stars are chosen in no small part because of their size, and many is the man who feels inferior and self-conscious compared to them.

But Tony also realized, that if disrobing would be scary for him, that was nothing compared to how frightening it would be for her. This was a girl who had only just shown her legs in public for the first time two days ago.

He stood up. From this angle he could clearly see some silky material under her sundress. Was that the lingerie they’d bought together?

Tony’s pulse was racing. He was thrilled and scared in equal measure. The thought of exposing himself to a girl, especially this girl, was practically making him jump with the pressure in his cock.

But the fear ran deep. It was the fear he’d had since a girl called him “ugly”, right to his face. The fear from when a group of girls sarcastically shouted “nice legs!” before snickering maliciously. He had once been walking on the sidewalk when a passing car lowered its windows. Someone shouted out, “is it true you have a small dick?” and drove off. He remembered spending prom night brooding at home, rejected by everyone he’d asked, too ashamed to go by himself.

As he often did, Tony turned to music to calm himself down. He began to sing again, choosing Kalangalil Aval Vasantham, another sixties Tamil song famous for the poetry of its lyrics:

“She is the spring among seasons.” He took off his shoes and socks.

“She is the painting among art forms.” He pulled off his shirt.

“She is the April among months.” (April was Tamil New Year, a holy month.) He untied his belt and slid it off.

“She is the jasmine among flowers.” He undid the button of his pants.

“She is like a baby, her smile without guile.” Down came the zipper.

“She is a fair maiden, her embrace like the snow.” The pants descended. He stepped out of them.

“She is the apple of my eye.” He stood there, his briefs pushing away into a triangle, a large wet spot at its peak. Manjula’s eyes were as wide as saucers. She was breathing hard, her fingers digging into the bed.

“She has turned me into a poet.” He slipped off the briefs. He stood there, his pulse racing, his cock roaring with desire, precum pooling on his tip. What was she thinking? What was she feeling? The curiosity was making him almost crazed. He had to know. He had to. But he remained silent, giving her the space to explore her feelings.

She got up, circling around him, eyeing every inch of him as if he were Michelangelo’s David. He stared back at her breasts, ass, and legs shamelessly. Imagine that mouth on his dick. Imagine that pussy on it. Yes. At the thought his cock squirmed and another drop appeared. Manjula looked startled.

“Your… your penis does that… when you are thinking of me?”

“We call it ‘cock’, remember. Also ‘dick’.”

“What is your, uh, cock thinking?”

“It… no, I want to see you naked too. I want to have sex with you.”

Had he gone too far? Manjula did not answer.

“I am not ready to be married.”

“You do not have to be. It is enough for me just to look at you, and be with you.”

She stepped towards him, stood on her toes, and kissed him again, deeply. His cock poked her in the stomach. She pulled back, peered down, and started giggling on seeing the wet spot it had left on her dress.

“Now that dress is stained. You’ll have to change out of it,” he said, only half joking.

She met his gaze proudly. “I will do it. On one condition. No, two conditions.”

“Name them.”

“Only the dress comes off. I am not ready to be naked in front of you.”

“Agreed.”

“And,” she licked her lips. “I want to see you masturbate, while you are looking at me.”

Wild horses could not have prevented Tony from agreeing to that. “We call it jerking off, or sometimes whacking off, or wanking off—” but she had darted into the bathroom. She emerged with a towel. “Sit there,” she directed, laying it on the bed.

He sat there, cock aimed directly at her, while she peeled off the dress. It was like a divine revelation. All the life he had lived seemed to lead to this moment, this vision of unearthly, heavenly beauty. That waist, oh that waist, so thin, so curved, so magnetic…

Her lingerie was indeed a silky white. The lace bra was thin and porous, making it translucent. He could clearly see the shape of her breasts, her dark areolas, even how hard her nipples were. And her panties… flimsy and translucent. They looked a size too big, as if they were about to fall off. He could see her black pubic hair very clearly through them. And behind, a glimpse of heaven itself. Manjula’s pussy. For him, it was now the very centre of the universe.

Manjula shivered. Quite aside from the sexuality, it was cold standing there dressed like that — she was not used to temperatures under thirty Celsius. The expression of hot desire was clear in Tony’s eyes. She had not told him that she’d already looked at videos of men masturbating, on a gay site. She expected him to take his penis — no, his cock — in his fist and yank it, like milking a cow.

Instead, he squeezed it gently, like a bottle of jelly. A drop of semen obligingly came out. Hers! That semen was for her! He drew the drop all the way down the bottom of his cock with one finger, then began to massage the underside of his organ with the flat of just two fingers.

“Tell me what you are thinking,” she said.

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“I’m thinking about your hands on my cock. Of how I want you to touch me like this one day. That this cum — this semen — could land on your fingers. Or maybe your belly.”

Manjula swallowed.

“Or maybe your tongue.”

She gaped so wide he had a good view of that tongue. He went on, recklessly. “I want you to suck my cock. I can’t deny it. I want to cum in your mouth. I want you to swallow my cum.”

She was shivering. Was she afraid? But she was listening. The sight of an unbelievably gorgeous, nearly nude brown girl watching him jerk off while listening to his fantasies — almost nothing in that sentence seemed even possible.

“I can see your pussy. Did you know that? I can see it. It’s amazing. I want it. I want you. I want to be inside you. You’re so amazing. You’re smart and you’re funny and you’re cute and you’re fun. And you’re so hot. I want to—to… oh… Manjula… MANJULA!”

Manjula had feared that the cum would shoot out like a water hose and stain her carpet, but it just dribbled out, like squeezing a bottle of oil.

She stared in wonder at the cum on her bed. The thought of sleeping on that bed, tonight, sent shivers up her spine. She felt an unfamiliar wetness in her own nether regions. Tony was heaving, panting, staring at her.

The door opened. It was Rachel, Manjula’s roommate. “Hey Manj—”

She stopped and took in the sight. Manjula clad only in flimsy white lingerie. Tony naked on the bed, a cum stain in front of him.

Without a word, she walked out and closed the door behind her. Tony and Manjula burst out laughing and kept laughing for a long time.

Liked it? Vote and comment! On to Chapter 3!

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