Hi readers, My name is Zarina. I work for a US-based company operating in Pune, India. I’m 37, separated, and raising my 13-year-old daughter. I got married early because I am from a Muslim family. My marriage was arranged. I was just 23 years old when I got married. I gave birth to my daughter when I was 24. At first my husband didn’t want me to get a job, but after his business failed, I told him I could help by getting a job because I was well educated. Reluctantly he agreed to let me work. I was lucky to get a job as an HR assistant. From that position I worked my way up. My husband became jealous and abusive. I couldn’t tolerate him anymore, so I just applied for a job in Pune and got the job as HR manager. I moved with my daughter to Pune without telling anybody in my family. I didn’t bother to legally apply for divorce, fearing my husband’s family. Luckily, after a year, he married another woman and moved on.
My life has been great after separating from my husband. My parents also moved to Pune, and they’ve been helping me take care of my daughter. My job requires me to interact with a lot of people. That gave me the opportunity to meet men who gave me the attention I had craved from my husband. But among all my experiences, only a few experiences have been memorable. One such memorable experience I had was five years ago, in the US.
I was only 32 years old at that time. I had been promoted at work, and I was required to visit the head office in the US. I had been told that I would stay in LA for a month, and I had to meet the top-level management. I was very happy with the promotion, and I was very excited to visit the US for the first time.
Everything went well, and I reached LA safely. I was received at the airport by one of our company’s HR assistants. He introduced himself as Jordan Thornton. He looked intimidating because he was very tall, muscular, and Black, but surprisingly, he was a well-mannered guy. He drove me to the hotel and made sure the reception checked me into the room the company had booked for me. After making sure everything was alright, he told me goodbye and left.
I was impressed by Jordan. During our drive to the hotel, I had chatted with him and learned that he was 27 years old and he had been assigned to take care of all my needs during my short stay in LA.
That night, I rested well, and the next day, Jordan called me about 11am to make sure I was doing good. I assured him everything was good, and we discussed my schedule before ending the call. I didn’t have to go to the office that day. The management had anticipated I’d have jet lag, so I was given the day off to rest.
The next day, I had to go to the US office for the first time. I woke up early and got ready by 8am. Jordan came to the hotel, and we went to the office together. He drove the car, and I sat in the front passenger seat. Traffic moved slowly because it was peak hour. Jordan used the opportunity to get friendly with me. He cracked jokes, made me laugh, and complimented my appearance. I was used to compliments from men, but I was happy when he complimented my appearance because he was a handsome young guy. Even though I was 5′ 6″ with a good-looking face and fair skin, I didn’t think he’d be impressed by my looks because I was five years older than him. But I was wrong. He said Indian women were really beautiful, and I was one of the prettiest Indian women he had ever seen. I blushed and thanked him for the compliment. But, when he said Indian actresses look beautiful in movies dressed in a saree and with a dot on the forehead, I let him know I am an Indian Muslim and I was not allowed to keep a dot on my forehead. He apologized and said he couldn’t tell the difference. I told him he didn’t have to apologize, because regardless of the religions, I just looked like an average good-looking woman from India. Then, I changed the topic and asked him to tell me more about him.
We got to know each other better on the drive to the office. After we reached the office, he parked the car, we got out, and we went to the office. He showed me around, and I was introduced to the staff. Then I had a couple of meetings with managers, and everything went according to plan. After work, Jordan offered to drive me back to the hotel. Even though I could have taken an Uber at the company’s expense, I accepted his offer because we had good chemistry. The drive back to the hotel was a good experience because he was very friendly.
The next day, Jordan picked me up from the hotel, and we went to the office together. At the office things went as planned. After work Jordan offered to drop me back at the hotel. I accepted. On the drive back, he told me there was a good restaurant near the hotel and asked if I was interested in dining out with him. I told him I’d be happy to have dinner with him. That night we had dinner together and got to know each other better.
The next day passed very much like the previous day. After work Jordan recommended dinner at a Korean restaurant, and I agreed to have dinner with him. After dinner, he dropped me back to the hotel room and left after a short time.
The first week had gone well. Every day Jordan and I had gone to the office together. After work, we’d had dinner in a good restaurant, and he had dropped me at the hotel. On Friday evening, he’d asked me if I wanted to go with him to a nightclub on Saturday evening. I wasn’t sure about going to a nightclub on my first weekend in US, so I’d told him I was visiting a friend’s family.
Saturday afternoon, I went to Little India. I had lunch in an Indian restaurant and shopped around. I returned to the hotel in the evening and enjoyed the city view from my window, eating snacks and drinking tea. I spent the night alone, drinking wine, singing, and dancing. I blacked out that night and woke up on Sunday morning with a hangover. I had breakfast in my room and tried to get over the hangover. Jordan called me that afternoon and asked if I was doing alright. I missed him, but I just told him I was alright.
On Monday, the routine started again. Jordan picked me up from the hotel. Work was easy. After work we had dinner, and he dropped me back at the hotel. We spent a little more time together, just talking and laughing, before he left.
The second week passed quickly. On Saturday afternoon, Jordan called and asked if I wanted to go to a nightclub with him. This time, I agreed.
On Saturday evening, I took a shower and dressed in a maroon, knee-length, A-line dress. It had a floral lace V-neck trimmed with floral lace and cap sleeves. The dress was designed to hug my full figure from the shoulders to the waist before flaring out to the hem. This style perfectly hid my wide hips and big bottom, though it did little to conceal my full breasts and cleavage. It was a beautiful dress I’d happily worn to parties twice before.
Jordon arrived at about half past seven. He lavished me with compliments, and his eyes lingered on my body with a lustful gaze. The way he looked at me made me feel vulnerable. I thought he would try to force himself on me, but he did a good job of controlling himself.
The club was just a 20-minute drive from the hotel. Jordan parked the car, and we got out. As we walked to the entrance of the club, lusty eyes scanned my body. I felt like a pretty young girl in my twenties walking with a handsome young Black guy. We reached the entrance, where the doorman immediately recognized Jordan and let us into the club.
The club was cramped with people. People were standing, dancing, and sitting on stools and couches. There were groups of drunk couples, drunk guys, and giggling drunk girls. There was a big bar on one corner, a DJ booth on the other corner, and a stage for live performances. As my eyes adjusted to the slightly dim lighting, I noticed a few couples kissing and fondling.
We made our way to the bar. Near the bar, I saw one girl in a mini skirt sitting on the lap of a man who was sitting on a bar stool. One of his hands was inside her skirt, and his other hand was around her waist. The girls’ arms were around his neck, and they were kissing. The intimate scene made my legs feel weak and my stomach flutter. I blushed, feeling a little aroused. I felt a hand on my lower back and looked to my side, startled. It was Jordon. “Are you okay?” he asked.
I nodded. That was the first time he had touched me intentionally.
“What do you want to drink?” he asked.
“Vodka cocktail,” I said, confused by his hand gently rubbing my lower back.
“Vodka soda? Moscow mule? Espresso martini?” he asked.
“Espresso martini,” I said, realizing I had not tried it.
We reached the bar, and Jordan ordered drinks. I looked around curiously, unable to ignore the erotic scenes going on around me.
Suddenly, I was pushed from behind. I fell on Jordan, and he quickly put an arm around my waist. Terrified, I looked up at him.
“Nothing to fear. It’s that drunk woman. She staggered and pushed you, trying to reach the bar,” he said.
I smirked and shook my head. He pulled me closer to him and pecked a kiss on my forehead. I looked up at him, surprised. “It happens in clubs, you know,” he said.
‘What happens?’ I thought. ‘People pushing accidentally or people touching and kissing unexpectedly?’
His right arm was around my waist, holding me against him as if I am his girlfriend or wife. I was a bit bothered by it because he had come across as a decent guy who would ask for my consent before touching me intimately. But I realized, I felt safe in his arms, and subconsciously I felt a need to blend in with the erotic crowd. So I played along.
The bartender gave us our drinks. Jordan freed me from his protective arm and took his glass. We looked around for a place to sit, but we couldn’t find any. So we stood there, clinked our glasses, and started drinking. I liked the flavor of espresso and coffee liqueur mixed with vodka. We enjoyed our drinks and talked about whatever came to mind.
Before emptying our glasses, Jordan thoughtfully ordered more drinks. We continued drinking and talking. At the same time, I was glancing at the couple who were sitting about ten feet behind Jordan. The woman was wearing a dress that looked similar to my dress, but it was navy blue in color. Her legs were spread, and the dress was lifted. The man was rubbing her inner thighs. They seemed to be lost in a moment of sexual passion, kissing, fondling, and whispering sweet nothings. The woman was cooing again and again, obviously enjoying every moment. They began to kiss again, and I wished I had someone who could love me that much. The man suddenly looked at me while kissing the woman. I looked away.
The alcohol and the erotic scene had started taking effect on me. I felt bolder, but I was aroused. I hoped Jordan wouldn’t spot my swollen breasts and erect nipples poking through my dress. I felt my vagina expanding and lubricating in anticipation of sexual intercourse.
“Zarina, are you alright?” Jordan asked.
“Yes, why do you ask?” I replied.
“Your face is red. You’re blushing, and…” He glanced down at my breasts. His hungry eyes gazed at my cleavage, swollen breasts, and protruding nipples.
I looked up into his eyes, feeling guilty. He gave me a sly smile.
“It’s just this place. I’m not used to clubs like this. People are so open,” I said.
“You’ll get used to it,” he said and moved closer to me.
My breasts pressed against him, but I was too aroused to stop him. He held the sides of my waist and looked into my eyes. I looked up into his eyes, longing to be kissed. His hands moved down, behind me, and cupped the cheeks of my bottom. He lifted me till I was standing on my toes. He kissed my lips, and I surrendered to him.
It was a long, passionate kiss, and it was heartwarming. I didn’t want him to stop, and he didn’t stop until people were rubbing against us. He broke the kiss and slowly lowered me. I stood flat on my feet and looked at him thankfully.
“Do you feel better now?” He asked and gave me an affectionate smile.
I nodded, feeling shy after our first kiss.
“Let’s get another drink to celebrate our first kiss!” he said.
I nodded and said, “I’m okay now. But after I finish the next drink, you have to carry me to the hotel.”
Jordan grinned and said, “It’ll be my pleasure.”
“Why?” I asked, joking. “Are you going to rape me after I black out?”
He laughed at the joke and replied, “A man’s gotta do what a man’s gotta do!”
“Why?” I asked with mock anger. “Have you taken advantage of drunk women?”
“No. I’ve never done that!” He defended himself, though he knew I was joking.
“So! Why me?” I asked, stuttering but aware that I was high.
“Because you are a hot Indian beauty!” he replied, laughed, and turned towards the bartender.
I smirked, knowing men complimented a woman sometimes just to have sex with the woman. I took my glass and sipped. I liked the flavor. I kept the glass back on the counter. I looked behind Jordan, slightly to the left. I had been observing another couple for some time. The Black man had both his hands clamped on a blonde woman’s hips. The woman was standing in front of the man, and one of her hands was thrust into the man’s trousers. Her eyes were wide open, and she was looking at the man as if she had found treasure. I couldn’t help wondering if all Black men had big penises. The thought made me curious about Jordan.