“A woman is always fickle. Foolish is he who trusts her.”
I know quoting quotes is a bit highbrow for me, but those old fogies knew a thing or two about insults. And not to forget, women too.
I am an adventurer who, like the bold space explorers of sci-fi, has boldly gone where no one has gone before. The prized possession of a beautiful, smart, independent woman, we have spent some moving times together, when I have sent her into delighted raptures.
But recently she has ditched me for another plaything. A man nonetheless!
I lie forgotten under the same sofa where those two get up to such shenanigans that would turn my ears red with shame. If I had them!
Today the two of them keep talking of an impending meeting. His mother is coming to judge the home-management skills of her prospective daughter-in-law and it is a huge, anxiety-inducing event. Everything must happen without a hitch.
By the evening, the room is spick-and-span. But I escape the purge, hiding under the sofa cushions.
The bell rings. The guests are here.
My lady has transformed into one of those Hindi serial bahus she is fond of making fun of. The man is completely covered for a change. He leads a woman, who seems to be his mother evidenced by the shared vacuous expressions, to the sofa.
He fluffs the cushions and in the mayhem, dislodges me from my hiding place, before following my lady to bring in refreshments like a loyal mutt. My attention however is fixed on the ample backside of the mother, which descends on me, smothering me thoroughly.
I am turned on!
Not that turned on, you perv! Whatever you might say, asphyxiation for erotic purposes is not my thing.
No, actually my button is turned on.
The woman yelps. Shivers run not only down her spine but in other places I would rather not think of. She shifts in her place, and the yelps turn into moans as I find myself wedged someplace soft and warm. Her fingers stretch on the sofa, clutching the fabric as if her life depends on it.
She is probably apoplectic with pleasure when her son and my lady arrive on the scene. All around me, faces turn red, each for a different reason.
“Maa is having a heart attack!” Mama’s boy screams.
Maa’s fingers curve around my sleek, hard form and pull me out from under her. She looks at me, eyes veiled with unexplained emotions.
“Maa, wha… what is that in your hand?” the unfortunate man utters.
“Ask your girlfriend. It is her house, after all. Is this the kind of woman you want to make my bahu? Today’s girls, chheee…!”
While my erstwhile lady and her lover turn on each other with raging words and simmering hurts, Maa walks out of the door, clutching me like her ‘precious’.
I look forward to exploring new territories. Not only women, but I can also be fickle too.
Pic courtesy: Pixabay from Pexel.com