My not visiting home during the festive season was deliberate. Without Smitakashi in town, it would’ve been tough on me. I know I was being utterly selfish because I had something else in mind. So when November arrived, and my family left for a wedding in the hills, I seized the chance. Their departure meant a few precious days of privacy—an empty house where we could be ourselves, away from the constraints of a small town and prying eyes and may find time to express and experience a new language of love.
I took the Friday train and reached my destination early on Saturday morning. I freshened up and rushed to her hostel. She was waiting outside, her smile soft and shy but brimming with excitement. She held me like only she could on my bike. At times, I could feel her hot breath on my back. The weight of separation slowly melted away with each passing moment. This was part of the new language and experience.
Once we were at home, there was a torrent of updates. We talked about everything—college gossip, my loneliness in Mumbai, my office work, our plans for the future, her days at college and how much we’d missed each other.
That day, she decided to cook. Since the fridge was empty, I made a short trip to the market to get vegetables and milk. She served me tea and then cooked lunch, playfully shooing me away when I tried to help. The food was a testament to her care and love, and I teased her about spoiling me with such effort. Her sweet answer was that you better make it a habit.
The intimacy of the setting—just us, with no interruptions—drew us closer.
A simple lingering touch of her hand, a glance permitted to last longer than usual, and the hesitant pauses between our words felt warm, not awkward. And finally, when we could not take it anymore, we kissed. My hands found the curve of her back, hers moved to my chest, but when I ventured further, she paused, her breath catching. She was not ready to experience the new language of love.
“Not today,” she murmured, her voice a mix of nervousness and promise. The smile she gave me, though, held a playful glint. Tomorrow.
Sunday was different. I woke up early in anticipation and nervousness as I was about to take the train for Mumbai in the evening. From the moment I picked her up, there was a shift in her demeanour. She leaned into me, her fingers brushing mine, her laughter less restrained.
Once we were at the house, she closed the door and stood on her toes to kiss me, unhurried and confident. Her hands reached my face and shoulders as if she was trying to reclaim and memorise every inch of territory that only she owned. And ready to experience together a new way to unite and express love.
This time, there were no barriers. As we lay beside each other, her nervous giggles were met with my awkward laughter. Slowly, my hands playfully unbuttoned her shirt as she tugged my t-shirt. Clothes slipped away, not in haste but in curiosity. She guided my hands with shy confidence, her body responding with a trust that surprised me.
When I moved over her, her fingers gripped my arm, her voice barely a whisper, “Be gentle… it’s my first time.”
I nodded, a lump in my throat. “Mine too,” I confessed, the moment’s vulnerability binding us closer. Timme ripe for the experience of togetherness.
The first time was clumsy; our inexperience showed in the rushed frenzy of emotions and sensations. She was warm, inviting, and everything I had imagined. But it didn’t last long; my excitement got the better of me. I apologised, feeling a wave of self-consciousness brought me some degree of embarrassment, but she smiled, brushing her fingers across my cheek.
“It’s okay,” she whispered, “We’re learning together.”
Determined not to leave her unsatisfied, I turned to what I had gleaned from late-night explorations of books and, admittedly, some poorly understood films. I used my fingers, observing her reactions, and her sighs of encouragement gave me the courage to continue. She guided me, showing me what felt right, and when she finally reached her release, her soft cry of pleasure filled the room with a sense of triumph and tenderness I would never forget.
We stayed there, sharing whispered words and kisses until we were ready again—this time slower and deliberate. Each touch and movement was a discovery, and as our confidence grew, so did our connection. By the third time, the awkwardness had melted away completely, replaced by a rhythm that was uniquely ours.
Later, as we lay exhausted, her head resting on my chest tracing lazy circles, the room felt heavy with our scent and the warmth of something irrevocable.
“I’ll never forget this,” she murmured, her voice heavy with contentment.
Neither would I. And with that, we slept holding each other.
When we woke up, we realised that there was no way she would reach her hostel on time. Once again, today, she will have to hear from others and give some silly explanation, while every friend of hers will know the truth.
We rushed and did not have enough time for a decent post first love making farewell. I had to return home to park the bike and rush to the station to catch the train to Mumbai.
We hurried through our goodbyes, her smile glowing as I promised her this was just the beginning of new experience.
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This story with an undisclosed destination started as part of the @BlogChatter event #BlogChatterBlogHop, where I started weaving a story based on the weekly word prompts suggested by BlogChatter. However, after the 5th weekly prompt- Blogchatter took a break, but I continued to develop the story based on the prompts friends and readers suggested on social media. Do suggest some word prompts for the next chapter. And if you want ( which I wish you do) read the whole story- here are the rest of the chapters. https://sanjeevkotnala.com/category/story-undisclosed-destination/ and to start the first chapter – Rainy evening in a resort at Mukhteshwar
