Older men are so sexy ...

So I was going to screw Mohini Ghosh's husband and ensure she learnt of it.

The next three days at work proved that Mohini Ghosh was not the only bitch around. Not just that, I also realized that you did not have to be married or frustrated to be a bitch. Most women, I have decided, have the capacity to be a bitch. And since there were many bitches around in office – most of them dating someone or the other or definitely eyeing men – there were many more men to sleep with. Now if you force a girl to prove a point, what'a girl to do, ya?

But if you ask me about my priority list and if there was anyone who I wanted to screw – and not just for point proving mind you – there was one. Or two. Sexy Butt, who's name I still don't know and who had somehow managed to evade me after that one time… And now there was Runu Malik. Older, wiser, one of the department heads at work and he has the most amazing salt and pepper hair I had ever seen. To top it all, it was said that Runu had quite the glad eye for pretty girls. And I have said before, that I am pretty. In fact I think I am growing prettier by the day. Earlier there was this very small-town-girl prettiness to me, but now it's becoming sort of a chic-prettiness. Like earlier I was just smart, now I am beginning to be street smart.

I had seen Runu notice me. Not in any obvious way – he was much senior and I was much junior – but each time he passed my desk, he always checked me out. The other day he was coming down the stairs with the CEO of the company and I happened to look up from the chat I was having online… and our eyes met. Despite the fact that it looked as if Runu was having some sort of an important discussion, he stopped long enough to look at me. This time, he pretended to answer his phone. All the while he was ostensibly trying to connect to whoever he was calling, Runu kept looking at me. He never looks at the cleavage or the legs or anywhere else. Even when I wear my belly-button showing tops, Runu always looks at my eyes.

As I looked back at him and he approached my desk, Runu suddenly stopped. He looked at me and said, "There is an office party tomorrow. Why don't you come along as well?"
To be continued...

(Suparna's story appears every Tuesday in Metro Now, New Delhi, Page 33)

Meeting Tall Boy, the absolute dish

"He doesn't use detergent. I do. Want to smell my boxers and take a guess?" said another voice from behind us.

I turned, half-certain, half-hoping that it was Model Boy… but it was someone I had not met before. He was clearly above six feet tall and very, very good looking. I could not talk…he was THAT good looking. A clean-shaven face, broad shoulders and very long, long, strong legs. He was wearing a full-sleeve shirt, faded jeans and had a duffel bag carelessly slung across his shoulders. The bag looked puny on his huge form. His hair was all over the place, dark brown and moppy… and constantly kept falling over his eyes. I had the craziest urge to push it back from his face and then hold his face in my hands and kiss him. I looked at him and wondered if he would pick me up, I was small and he was really tall. And I could see his chest hair peeking from his top most shirt button. It was not too much, just a hint of hair. He had the bushiest eyebrows I had seen and the brownest eyes. He just looked so good that I knew I was standing and staring and I really did not care.

"Can I have my underveer back?" asked Call Centre boy meekly, looking from me to Tall Boy. I held the ugly pieces out to him without moving my eyes off Tall Boy, who too, was staring at me. As Call Centre boy took his undergarments and turned to leave, Tall Boy turned to leave with him. I had to do something, find out his name… I had understood that he was one of the NIIT boys… but why hadn't I seen him before?
"Do you live here?" I asked, breaking all rules of First Communication With Subject of Interest. He stopped in his tracks, turned around deliberately to look at me. "I am your neighbour," he said.
"I have not seen you around," I replied.
"You have not looked hard enough," he said, half-smiling, half-smirking.
And I really, really wanted to kiss him. And tear his clothes apart. And throw him there on the terrace and ride him till late night and into the morning…. I wanted to see is his shoulders were really that wide under that shirt…
"Aren't you coming down, I've been waiting," interfered a petulant voice in my fantasy of Tall Boy. It was a woman, looking from me to Tall Boy and back.
"Meet my girlfriend," said Tall Boy, smiling.
To be continued...

Want to smell my underwear?

However, life has her own surprises and much before I could involve Uncleji with helping me finding Sexy Butt, there was landlord trouble. Now my rented apartment – one big room, a small verandah and a small kitchenette – is on the terrace of my landlord's bungalow. In Delhi, such houses are called 'barsaatis'. I had thought that living on the top most floor would not draw much attention to me and would keep the others out of my hair as well. But…

It had been two weeks that I had been staying at my current pad now. One morning, I got on to the terrace to put out my wet towel and… There were ugly, gray, blue and faded green VIP men's underwear in various stages of elastic-repair that were taking up the entire clothesline. My clothesline. And that too when I was paying for exclusive use of the terrace and the clothesline.

Since no one had bothered to ask me about the use of my clothesline, I decided to take things – in this case the underwear – in my hands. As I took the offending pieces of undergarments off my clothesline, and neatly folded them and kept on the chair on the terrace, I heard someone chuckle. I turned around – half expecting and hoping it was the model dude – and came face to… top of the head with one of the four boys' who were my neighbours. Since he was all decked up in a shirt, trousers and tie and yet looked ready to fall asleep at 8 am in the morning, I deduced it was the call center guy coming back from his night shift.

"Those are our underveer," Call Centre Boy said, his pronunciation screaming he was a typical spineless man… does not look into your eyes when talking, but has trouble keeping his eyes off your breasts. The fact that my wet hair – hanging down my left side – were dripping over my left breast, which now had an erect nipple, were making matters tougher. His visible discomfort and yet his visible effort to not be caught out while he stared at my breasts, made the whole scenario rather funny. I decided to tease him a little.

"These are your undies?" I asked, while slowly beginning to fondle the flimsy garments. His breathing visibly increased. He nodded his head."So what detergent do you use?" I asked, stopping short of sniffing the garment…"He doesn't use detergent. I do. Want to smell my boxers and take a guess?" said another voice from behind us.

To be continued…

All about office affairs

I did not see Sexy Butt after that and since I had no idea who he was or what floor he was on, there was no way of finding out. So while I kept a lookout for him, I concentrated on the people that were around me. Strangely, the Anonymous Caller had started leaving jokes on the voice mail at my extension. The same nice voice and jokes, all delivered in a deadpan tone but with solid punch lines. One day, as I laughed at the latest joke, Anonymous Caller, well, called.
"You look really nice when you throw your head back and laugh…it's worth sending you those jokes, just to see you laugh," said he and hung up, as usual. Though I was really intrigued as to who the Anonymous Caller could be – he had a very sexy voice – I decided to wait it out. If he was taking the trouble to leave jokes but was not bothered about meeting… well, two could play the game.
I had always thought that office environments were very serious. I had seen my Father go for his government job at a particular hour and return home at a specified time. Socialising was with your colony people or family, and definitely not with your colleagues. Coming to Delhi and joining the media house I was working for changed my perspective about the working environment for sure. Most people walked in at whatever time they were supposed to… and left at strange hours. Often, I saw many just lounging in the canteen or the Smoking Area, even after their work was over. I used to wonder earlier why people never seemed in a hurry to go back home. And then I realised… they were having much more fun away from home!
The first week, I made three friends: Moona Microphone, Robby the Player and Uncleji. Moona – I figured within five minutes of her talking – was the office gossip, the one person who had the most boring life and therefore needed to talk about everyone else. I knew she would be important if I had to get a hang of the place before the place got a hang of me. Robby was the guy who hit on every other girl, without success. He had potential and since he had been very sweet to me, I had decided to teach him stuff… in my free time. And of course Uncleji, he was the admin guy who was supposed to help us out with everything. My first mission with him was finding Sexy Butt.

To be continued…Every Tuesday
(Published in Metro Now, New Delhi, May 1, 2007)

This is work, butt seriously

My job involves meeting a lot of people, from almost all walks of life. I am the liaising point between my colleagues and those who might be interested in working with us. From important phone calls, to material that comes in through post, to who's using the office phone to do personal talk and who's sleeping with whom, I know it all.

The first day I was not sure what to wear, so I wore the safest option when in doubt: tight, blue, faded jeans and a collared, white, fitted shirt. I prefer button-down shirts to tee shirts when coming to work. You can look professional and yet sexy at the same time. So the first day I had men coming down from various floors in the building just to check me out. It is quite obvious when men do that: they have a habit of checking out women in groups. Then when I walked into the canteen for my first meal, everyone just stopped ordering food and gaped at me. Where there are men giving attention to one woman, there are going to be women who are jealous of that woman. That's what happened at office too. Even without doing a thing myself, the women at work were giving me strange vibes. I can't help if I am sexy and they are not, ya?

And the most interesting thing happened: someone kept calling from different extension numbers. He had a very nice voice. He first asked my name, then welcomed me on joining, then said that if I had any problems at work, I should ask him and he would sort it out for me. But he did not leave his name. However, I have an inkling as to who it might be. Either the much-married, but definitely cute, HR manager or it's one of the technical support boys I was introduced too. Somehow the tech boys always get this very glazed look in their eyes whenever they are introduced to a girl.. or maybe it's too much programming.

As I was attending to another call and sipping water from a paper cup… the cup tipped and all the water spilled on my shirt.
"Your shirt is transparent," announced a voice and as I looked up, I was staring into the most beautiful eyes I have ever seen on a man. "I am sorry, I was not staring at you… but you are the first person one sees on entering office," with that he walked away leaving me staring at his rather shapely butt.
To be continued…

Love thy neighbour!

For the last six months now, I have been taking in Delhi: the sites, sounds, shenanigans and the people. And so far, things have been promising. Despite the initial hitch in finding a house, things have worked out fine for me. Especially since Delhi likes women who are fair, pretty and busty.

I first realized Delhi's fascination with big breasts – more than that of the men in my small town – when I went house hunting. The first day I was in a tight spaghetti top and jeans and from the broker to the prospective landlords, everyone just looked at my chest while talking. However, I didn't find a room that I liked enough. And then some of the landlords were a bit too keen on renting out their space to me. Now, had they been young and good looking, I might have thought over things. But old geezers scratching their balls through their Patiala salwars is not my idea of interesting. Even the easiest of girls doesn't sleep around with every man, ya?

The next day, I wore a transparent, fitting salwar-kameez with a big dupatta. I had decided that if it was a house I really wanted, I would let the dupatta just hang as a scarf; and if it were old men I didn't like, the dupatta would remain draped like a good girl. I found the place I wanted in Lajpat Nagar. It's a third floor flat, with one small room and a small balcony that looks onto a playground. The locality is dinghy, but my neighbours are four boys. Two are studying at NIIT, one is an aspiring model and the fourth works at a call center. And all four have offered to help me with 'anything' at all.

As I was house hunting and I had come up to my current place with the broker, I saw one of the boys – I learnt he was the model later – come out on to the balcony to dry his towel on the railing. He was bare-chested and wearing boxers and had the widest chest I have ever seen. The hair on his chest was evenly distributed: some in the center, slightly spreading to the side and then tapering down into the waistband of his boxers rather tantalizingly. As I had stood there taking him in, he put the towel out and saw me looking at him. He didn't look away but instead stretched, keeping his eyes on me. His arms bulged and his chest expanded further and I knew I wanted the house. Really badly.
To be continued...