The Journey Ch. 03

Hola!

It'll be nice if you do not kill me for the delay. I have never received so much hatemale, er, hatemail ever in my life as when I left part 2 hanging.

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The next day, it began to rain heavily. Not that I knew -- I was out like a light till noon, dreaming of mom. It was five when I had slept, after two wank-off sessions.

Shortly after I woke, the rain overwhelmed the shallow storm-drains around the camp and we were moved to the covered common area, where all the people in the camp had assembled. We watched the approach road drown into a pool of slush while we devoured a packed breakfast of fruits and cold-cuts that the management had given. Finally, when the tents went under ankle-deep water snakes started being sighted, the camp management declared the area unsafe and broke camp.

SUVs dropped us at the car park, where we got into our cars and decided to continue to the next destination -- Bandhavgarh Forest Park. There was no point waiting till the next day.

The cars had just moved a short distance beyond the city when the car with the ladies -- the smaller one -- broke down. There were fields of rice on both sides, no place where we could stand, so the ladies got into the front seats of our SUV while both the drivers looked into the problem.

"I hope there's nothing major," Bushy said. "That'll screw up the trip good and proper."

"Well, we have this car," Bushy's daughter said.

"We can't all fit into this for six hours," Mom said. "The SUV can take six people at most, with the driver."

"Here they come," Bushy said, gesturing with her chin towards the drivers who were trudging towards us in the rain. "Doesn't look like they have good news."

"We have a busted radiator, and it will take five to six hours to fix," the driver of the car said. "That rules out travel today."

"Call in for a replacement then," Mom said.

"There's no replacement available, ma'am," the driver replied, the rain bouncing off his waterproof hat. "Every car we have is engaged, thanks to the rain."

Mom and Bushy looked at each other, disappointed writ on their faces.

"We drive back into town and check into a hotel," Uma said.

"Yes, makes sense to go back," mom said. "It's only fifteen minutes back into town. We should be able to travel that far fitted into the SUV like this."

We went back towards Khajuraho and the driver turned into the local Taj hotel.

"You guys wait here," Bushy said, "I and Nina will go and book the rooms first. No point filing out if they don't have rooms."

Bushy and mom went to the reception and came back in barely a minute.

"Just like I thought," Bushy said as she slid in, "the rain brought the tourists packing into hotels."

We all moved again, packed in the SUV like sardines in a tin. Mom and Bushy went in again at the next hotel and came back, shaking their heads, a scene repeated in about a dozen hotels that we went to.

"They have one room -- a double," Mom said, coming out of the last hotel that they went into. "What do we do?"

"Looks like two of us will have to stay back," nana said. "It's already three and if we move now, the rest of us can be in the forest resort by nine. I wouldn't recommend a delay, so decide who's going to stay behind."

Everyone looked at each other.

"Well, it very well cannot be two ladies. One of the men must travel with the women and children, that leaves Nina and Bobby. You ready to stay back till the car is fixed?"

My heart raced like crazy. This was it. At that moment, I wanted to kiss my old grandpa.

"Well?" Bushy asked.

Mom shrugged unenthusiastically, as did I. A man's got to do what he's got to do -- sacrifice for the benefit of the community.

"I'll book the room before they give the room to someone else," Bushy said, turning around on her heels.

I got our luggage off the SUV while mom and Bushy booked the room. Mom stayed with the bellboy who carted the luggage towards our room, while I stayed behind to see off the rest of the family.

"I'll miss you handsome," Bushy whispered as I kissed her cheek. "Come soon, my prince."

"I'll miss you too, aunt Bushy," I said, smiling flirtatiously, "I'll be thinking of you a lot."

"Take care of your mom, meanwhile," she said, smiling sweetly.

I looked at her face, searching for a double-entendre, but there was no hint of any. I waved as the SUV went out of the hotel's gates, my heart thudding against the chest.

Mom and I were alone! Free to continue where we left last night! Only I didn't know how to begin. What if she screamed if I touched her? With women you never knew where you stood, even if you charmed their pants off.

When I entered the room, mom was looking into the mirror, applying lipstick. Looked like she was on her way out.

"I am going downstairs to get something to eat. You want to come?"

I nodded.

"Well, freshen up and join me at the coffee shop. I'll be there."

Relief flooded me as she went out, and I went into the bathroom. I was sort of glad that we weren't in the same room with sexual tension stifling us, while not knowing what to do about it. That's right -- despite exploring every inch of her body with my hands and slurping on her pussy for half an hour, I still did not know where we stood.

I brushed, shaved, and took a leisurely bath in the tub. I wanted to delay facing mom again, even though my stomach was growling with hunger.

After almost an hour, I took the lift down into the lobby and walked into the coffee shop. I saw mom in a corner, sitting with three girls -- a redhead, a brunette, and a blonde. The blonde was the same one that I had seen sketching in the temple. They were sipping coffees and there was snacks on the table.

"Here comes my son," mom said. "Meet Bobby. Bobby, the girls are from good old USA!"

"This is Shawna, from NYC," she said, pointing towards the brunette sitting beside her. I nodded at her she raised her hand, saying hi.

"This is Joanna, from Boston" she said, introducing the redhead, who wiggled her fingers and I nodded.

"And this is Nora, from Fort Lauderdale, practically a neighbor!"

Nora was the blonde I had seen at the temple, and later in the camp. She wiggled her fingers and smiled.

"I saw you before," she said. "At the temple."

"And at the camp," I nodded and smiled, pulling a chair, sat down.

"Beautiful temple."

I nodded uncomfortably. Women are pretty comfortable calling pornographic sculpture 'beautiful'. Men are not, though older men learn to speak with women in the same language -- no wonder women adore older men. But among ourselves, we still don't speak that language ever. Imagine a man saying, 'that sculpture with a woman taking it in the ass and in the cunt at the same time were marvelous!' That'll probably earn you a, 'shut up, faggot!'

To my embarrassment, a conversation started on the intricacies of sculptures in the three rooms of the temples, and how they were so 'artistic' and 'beautifully carved'. Before the conversation veered towards 'beautiful' postures, I excused myself and went to the pastries counter. There I bought a couple of sandwiches, a pastry, a thick shake and wolfed them down at a standing counter. I was too hungry to eat politely. I stuffed my face and in about two minutes, all the good stuff was inside my stomach, placating the jumping acids of my stomach somewhat.

'That should keep it busy for a while,' I thought and ordered a coffee, moving to our table.

"I was just telling the ladies how you know about the significance of each room in the temple," mom said. "Care to tell the girls what you know?"

Four pairs of eyes looked at me, waiting for me to begin and I turned red with embarrassment.

"I, uh, it's like the, uh, the three stages of, uh, the thing ......." I mumbled and then looked outside the window, biting my lip hard.

"It's wonderful that you can talk to your son about sex, Nina," Nora came to my rescue. "I can hardly mention the word in front of my mother."

"Yes, I'd always thought Indians were more prudish," Joanna said.

"Sadly, they are," mom exclaimed in her girlish voice. "But they weren't prudish before the Muslim invasions, as you can see from these ancient temples of sex, and the kamasutra. There was a time when consenting man-woman pairs were free to have sex irrespective of their marital status. The only restriction was that the act would be done in a room, bush, or any shelter away from public eye. As common courtesy, when such a pair went into a bush, the eyes of the rest turned away to give them privacy. There was enough decency, but that doesn't exist any longer."

"So you tell your son about the birds and bees?" Nora asked.

"Not really," mom replied. "But when we saw this ancient temple, I thought, 'why not tell him what I know of the ancient art of sex?' Young people learn about sex from porn nowadays, and that is neither a wholesome education, nor a realistic depiction of sex. Porn leaves out the importance of an interesting conversation and sometimes leaves out foreplay, both of which are important for good sex. Most men go through life without realizing how difficult it is for women to achieve an orgasm without these, and I didn't want my son to be one of those."

The girls exchanged smiles, and I squirmed in my seat. The girls were mid-twenties, five / six / seven years older than me, and I guess you lose your bashfulness by that age.

"Er, I'll get some more coffee," I said, and started to move out of my seat. My mom's hand held mine and she forced me back on the seat.

"Have you girls had orgasms? Be honest," she asked the girls.

They exchanged smiles again and all of them nodded.

"Every time?" she persisted.

"That just wouldn't be possible, all women know that," Nora said. "But I've been getting lucky nowadays. We all have been."

The women exchanged a look and broke into a fit of giggles.

"Don't tell me you all got boyfriends here."

"Well, we're sharing one," Nora said. "And he's blown our mind every day in the past one month. Hung like a horse, and inexhaustible."

"Quite a young stud he must be," mom said. "Lucky girls."

That was it. I had to leave. If there's one thing a man dislikes about sex, it is hearing about other men getting lucky. I had just prised my wrist out of mom's grasp and got up when Nora gave a gasp.

"Here comes our stud," she said breathlessly. "God! Just the sight of him is enough to give me an orgasm."

A good-looking man in his fifties, about my height, was striding towards us -- European I would bet. He looked like Richard Gere in a goatie and wore a half-smirk -- Richard Gere was the most European looking American I had seen. I can't exactly put a finger on how I can spot a European apart from an American. It's probably the complacent, laid-back expressions, the unhurried walk, a lot more smiles with a lot less soul.

"Ricardo, this is Nina, Nina, Ricardo, and this is Bobby, Nina's son," Nora made the introductions. "We were just talking about you."

"Plizzed tu mit you, madame," Ricardo said in an Italian accent, and went on to kiss mom's hand. I swore I could see a bit of tongue.

Mom was floored, I could see. The man was a charmer. Ricardo acknowledged me with a mere nod, which I didn't return. I didn't like this man, I decided. Which bull with raging hormones liked another bull entering his territory? Bulls were known to gore each other to death when their turfs were encroached, and the hand that this bull's tongue had just licked was my woman's.

Ricardo pulled up a chair and sat down. I started to drift away, when my mom's voice stopped me.

"Sit!" she said in her most authoritative voice, and like a trained puppy, I did.

The group went on to tell how they had met at Manali in the northern Himalayas, where they would all smoke pot with different Israeli groups. Israelis ran drug cartels in the mountains, and they had bought off the authorities, and went about their business most brazenly. The locals were cooperative -- who wouldn't be? There was money to be made for everyone.

After almost a month of being in different groups, occasionally sleeping with different men, the three women had banded together. One night, after a marathon pot session, they had an orgy with Ricardo and two other men. When the other men had slept, Ricardo took turns with the three of them, bringing them to orgasms repeatedly.

After Manali, Ricardo had become a fixture in the group of girls. The girls then travelled to Goa, sharing rooms, rent, cabins, rented bikes, and Ricardo's penis.

"Do you have family back in Italy?" mom asked Ricardo.

Ricardo gave a typical exaggerated Mediterranean shrug.

"I was mountain climber," he said. "Stay away from home month, many month, but always faithful to my moglie - wife. One day I return home, find the puttana in bed with my friend."

He made the exaggerated expression of pain and mom made a sound of sympathy. The girls had apparently heard the tale before.

"We divorce, and I cry, I cry for month, and month. Then I think, 'Ricardo, you have so much love to give to women, why you waste life thinking of this worthless puttana?' And then I go around, spread love to so many beautiful women."

"Hey, why don't we get together at our room tonight?" Nora rescued us from Ricardo's sob story. "Like a party -- if you have no other plans that is."

Mom looked at me, a question in her eyes.

"Are there any plans tonight, darling?" mom asked me in a girlish voice.

The hard-on I had been wearing ever since I had been sitting here threatened to burst out of my pants and leap onto the table and dance the samba.

"Well, he's too shy, but we'll be there," she said, smiling at Nora.

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"You go into the bathroom first," mom said. "I have work to do."

I shaved and showered, jerked-off once. When I came out, I saw mom lying on the bed with a face-pack, her eyes closed.

"I'm done," I said. "The bathroom is all yours."

"I'll take time. I'll need some privacy, so you go on downstairs if you want. I'll meet you downstairs in about an hour."

Right. You would need privacy after we almost 'did it' last night -- technically, early this morning.

I pulled on my jeans and slinked out anyway. I got into the coffee-shop and got a sandwich and muffins, which I took with me to the garden of the hotel. It was early twilight and it had stopped raining, though when you looked up at the dense clouds in the sky, you knew it was only a short respite. It was quite pleasant, so I walked in the gardens of the hotel as I ate. Time passed quickly as I did the rounds of a pond, where colorful migratory birds had gathered. Birds flew into India from as far away as Siberia during the winter season, and the variety of birds in the pond was fascinating.

An hour passed by quickly, when I looked towards the entrance of the hotel, I saw a girl standing at the entrance in a mini-skirt and a halter-top. It was too far to see her features clearly, but she was a brunette with straight, long hair and was quite a knockout, judging by the looks she was getting from the men who stood around her.

There was something familiar about her, so I strolled towards the entrance, hoping not to appear too eager. She was scanning the area around, probably looking for someone -- lucky bastard, whoever was sleeping with her. When I got closer, she looked at me and raised her hands in familiar 'what' gesture.

"There you are!" she said.

Mom!

This was the first time I'd ever seen her in a mini-skirt. She was looking different. Younger. My age. No not my age, because the rump of her behind was curvier than most anorexic teenyboppers who wore mini-skirts. And the legs were fuller, more womanly. Think a 30-year-old Dimple Kapadia in a mini-skirt. You get the picture?

The little friend between my legs thrust its head out of my underwear, and threatened to grow out of the waist of the jean to touch my navel. Good thing I hadn't tucked my t-shirt, as I usually do.

"Beautiful garden, you want to take a stroll? There are colorful migratory birds over at the pond."

She looked at the time on her phone.

"Well, I guess we have time. We'll go to their room after it gets dark," she said. "Let's go."

She jumped off the step and took my arm as we walked towards the pond.

"Good thing I decided to wear a shoe instead of my six-inch pumps," she said chirpily.

"Good thing you didn't," I said. "Every male here would have died of a heart attack."

She punched my shoulder.

"People have a heart attack when they are aroused?"

"Um, they do, especially when all the blood accumulates down there, and the heart doesn't get any."

"I look that good, huh?'

"Good enough to eat. The Italian will be knocked out."

She laughed. It was a beautiful woman's flirtatious musical laugh.

"I had to match you," she said. "You look like Hrithik Roshan yourself, only better than him. I bet the girls will be all over you."

We reached the pond and mom oohed and aahed at the sight of the colorful birds.

"Too bad I don't have a camera, but the light isn't sufficient for good photos," she said.

"We'll probably get many such views in Bandhavgarh," I said.

She stood close to me and looked up at me, smiling flirtatiously.

"Who knows if we'll go there at all?" she said, smiling lopsidedly. "What is the car doesn't get fixed?"

My cock jumped a few feet into the air, and I swear it pumped its tiny fist. Just then a drizzle began.

"Let's go or we'll get drenched," mom said, pulling me. I was transfixed with arousal.

"Let's buy some wine and go straight to their room," mom said as we reached the shelter of the lobby.

We went into the bakery, bought two bottles of wine, and took the lift to Nora's room.

"How do I look?" mom asked when she had rung the bell.

I looked her over. There was moisture over her face from the rain, her hair looked wet, and her laughing eyes and slightly parted lips made her look horny. The buttery-smooth moisturized legs with remnants of rain on them looked inviting, yet forbidding at the same time. I remembered how they felt under my fingers as I massaged them the night before -- strong, supple, muscled, yet soft, the very essence of womanhood.

The door opened, and Nora smiled. She touched faces with mom in the manner of kissing, and let us in. The room turned out to be a spacious suite, and the party seemed to be already on. The sweet smell of pot wafted through the room and music was on. I counted eight stoned-out men and women of different ethnicities on sofas and floor of the living room.

They seemed to be playing a board game which had pictures of men and women exposing their breasts, penises, and some of the pictures had kissing and sex depicted. The board was extraordinarily large, almost 6 feet-by six feet.

Nora introduced them all. There were six women -- an Egyptian and Moroccan in their thirties, two Dutchwomen in their forties, a German in her late twenties or early thirties, and an Indian woman of similar age -- all of them gorgeous, but none came within a mile of mom's sex-appeal. The two males were Dutchmen, mid-forties.

Once introduced, they went back to their board game. The Moroccan woman rolled a dice and her piece came to a square which said, 'Kiss the person sitting to your right.'

She kissed the Egyptian woman full on the lips, and the rest clapped in appreciation.

Ricardo appeared from one of the bedrooms, his hair slicked back, looking suave in a colorful Indian kurta-pyjama. He wore a broad smile that made him appear oily, dishonest, and wicked -- just the kind women liked. Every female eye turned to look at him -- mom's eyes looked ready to pop out of her head. He walked towards mom and kissed the corners of her mouth, and she looked pleased. He whispered something in her ear and she looked shocked and turned beet-red and then laughed -- an embarrassed laugh that looked strangely erotic. It was clear something intimate -- and x-rated -- had been said.