in his parents’ house, as tradition demanded. Prakash’s old bedroom had been decorated for the event. His mother had painstakingly sprinkled rose petals on the white sheets of a newly purchased double bed and had sprayed a cloying rose perfume around the whole room.
An auspicious time had been picked out for the first-night ritual of copulation, and I was supposed to be ready for my husband. My mother installed me in the bedroom an hour before Prakash was supposed to be there. She made sure my nightgown was not crumpled and complained about my drooping eyes, then left me alone to wait for my future.
When Prakash entered the room I could smell alcohol on his breath. I instantly wanted to throw a tantrum about it, but this was our wedding night and I didn’t want him to think I was a shrew. I realized then that I knew nothing about Prakash, and that he knew nothing about me. Divya Auntie had said that he didn’t drink alcohol and she was obviously mistaken, which meant that he was a mystery and every day would be a revelation. It was intimidating and exciting. We had a lifetime to get to know one another and I couldn’t wait for the lifetime to begin.
As soon as he closed the door behind him he started taking his clothes off. The enormity of what was to happen struck me. All my life my parents had worked toward protecting my virginity. Now this man, a veritable stranger, would breach my virginity and honor and my parents were happy about it because he had tied a mangala sutra around my neck.
I clamped my mouth shut when Prakash sat down on the bed, crushing rose petals, and started to remove his underwear. I had never seen a naked man in my life. His body was hairy and his penis . . . I looked away. It was sticking out of his body and it looked big. I knew the basics of sex and my mother, despite my protests, had explained the process. Her rules were simple: lie down and let him do whatever he wants to do.
“A woman doesn’t have to enjoy sex. There is nothing to enjoy really. It is the means to have a baby and men like it,” she had said.
My mother’s explanation aside, I had started taking birth control pills two weeks before the wedding. Prakash had told me that he didn’t want children for at least one year after the wedding, and I agreed. It would be like one long honeymoon, my delusional brain deduced.
He sat next to me on the bed, naked. “Are you scared?” he asked politely, and I nodded, not looking at him at all.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I looked up then. “Have you done it before?”
He seemed angry and uncomfortable with my question. “I am sorry,” I immediately soothed. “It was a stupid question.”
The anger left his eyes as soon as I apologized. But I had my answer. My army officer had done this before. I should’ve been angry, and I was, but I was also excited. He was an experienced man; he would know how to do it right. Just like the tall, dark, and handsome men in romance novels.
His hands found their way to the ties of my nightgown and I held my breath. He slipped the shoulder straps down my arms and the nightgown slithered to my waist and almost immediately his hands launched an attack on my breasts. I was too nervous to be aroused or excited. I kept wondering why he didn’t kiss me. The kissing after our fight had been fun. This part, however, scared the living daylights out of me.
He pushed me onto the bed and removed my nightgown. My white panties followed. My thighs instantly crossed, trying to protect my virtue. Prakash seemed too far gone to care what I felt and, in less than a minute after my panties had joined the nightgown on the floor, my army officer forced himself inside me, while I cried bloody murder.
He pounded in and out and I kept crying. His eyes were closed and his breathing was harsh. Finally, he heaved and groaned and then fell over my body. To make matters worse he was heavy. I tried to push him off me gently, not wanting to insult him in any
An auspicious time had been picked out for the first-night ritual of copulation, and I was supposed to be ready for my husband. My mother installed me in the bedroom an hour before Prakash was supposed to be there. She made sure my nightgown was not crumpled and complained about my drooping eyes, then left me alone to wait for my future.
When Prakash entered the room I could smell alcohol on his breath. I instantly wanted to throw a tantrum about it, but this was our wedding night and I didn’t want him to think I was a shrew. I realized then that I knew nothing about Prakash, and that he knew nothing about me. Divya Auntie had said that he didn’t drink alcohol and she was obviously mistaken, which meant that he was a mystery and every day would be a revelation. It was intimidating and exciting. We had a lifetime to get to know one another and I couldn’t wait for the lifetime to begin.
As soon as he closed the door behind him he started taking his clothes off. The enormity of what was to happen struck me. All my life my parents had worked toward protecting my virginity. Now this man, a veritable stranger, would breach my virginity and honor and my parents were happy about it because he had tied a mangala sutra around my neck.
I clamped my mouth shut when Prakash sat down on the bed, crushing rose petals, and started to remove his underwear. I had never seen a naked man in my life. His body was hairy and his penis . . . I looked away. It was sticking out of his body and it looked big. I knew the basics of sex and my mother, despite my protests, had explained the process. Her rules were simple: lie down and let him do whatever he wants to do.
“A woman doesn’t have to enjoy sex. There is nothing to enjoy really. It is the means to have a baby and men like it,” she had said.
My mother’s explanation aside, I had started taking birth control pills two weeks before the wedding. Prakash had told me that he didn’t want children for at least one year after the wedding, and I agreed. It would be like one long honeymoon, my delusional brain deduced.
He sat next to me on the bed, naked. “Are you scared?” he asked politely, and I nodded, not looking at him at all.
“You’ll get used to it.”
I looked up then. “Have you done it before?”
He seemed angry and uncomfortable with my question. “I am sorry,” I immediately soothed. “It was a stupid question.”
The anger left his eyes as soon as I apologized. But I had my answer. My army officer had done this before. I should’ve been angry, and I was, but I was also excited. He was an experienced man; he would know how to do it right. Just like the tall, dark, and handsome men in romance novels.
His hands found their way to the ties of my nightgown and I held my breath. He slipped the shoulder straps down my arms and the nightgown slithered to my waist and almost immediately his hands launched an attack on my breasts. I was too nervous to be aroused or excited. I kept wondering why he didn’t kiss me. The kissing after our fight had been fun. This part, however, scared the living daylights out of me.
He pushed me onto the bed and removed my nightgown. My white panties followed. My thighs instantly crossed, trying to protect my virtue. Prakash seemed too far gone to care what I felt and, in less than a minute after my panties had joined the nightgown on the floor, my army officer forced himself inside me, while I cried bloody murder.
He pounded in and out and I kept crying. His eyes were closed and his breathing was harsh. Finally, he heaved and groaned and then fell over my body. To make matters worse he was heavy. I tried to push him off me gently, not wanting to insult him in any
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