Nirvana

The sound of Celma’s chatter and her girlie giggles worked magic on Amitav’s ears. Holding hands, the two walked upon the wet sand of Mussulo, a beach resort on the Atlantic coast, twenty miles out of Luanda. Almost every man they crossed stared at her with longing, and his chest swelled with pride when he noticed her absolute disinclination to even look at any one of them.

He stole sideward glances at her, motivated by desire. He loved the sight of her curly shoulder-length black hair. The gentle sea breeze would cause a few coils to scatter against her cheek, and he enjoyed her battle with Nature as she curled the errant locks behind her ears each time. When she gave in to the wind’s persistence, he came to her aid, allowing his fingers to linger for a few moments on her smooth face. He was happy when she didn’t pay undue attention to this gesture; it meant that it was the most natural thing for him to do.

She wore a skimpy blue bikini, and he realized that hungry eyes on all sides devoured her voluptuous black body especially the swell of her shapely breasts, the tiny front triangle of her thong and the exposed cheeks of her perfect hips. He resisted a strong urge to take her in his arms, bury his head in her deep cleavage and squeeze the tempting flesh of her bottom. Instead, he planted a shy kiss on her cheek. She rewarded him with a smile, her large expressive eyes shining with affection. He used the opportunity to gaze upon her sensuous face and full lips and felt his needs stir. Mustering all his boldness, he released her hand and put his arm around her bare waist, making sure that his fingertips caressed her round butt. The touch was electric.

“Can I offer a massage?”

The voice broke the spell which her beauty had cast on him. He turned to its owner and saw a handsome young man with blue eyes and thick blonde hair.

“Sorry, I don't need a massage,” Amitav replied.

“What about Senhora?” he enquired with a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“I'm not interested. Come, Amit,” urged Celma.

Amit noticed the disappointment in the man’s face, saw the unabashed admiration in his eyes for Celma.

“What’s your name?” Amit asked.

“Marcelo.”

“You don’t look Angolan.”

“I’m not. I’m from Brazil. I work here.”

“Where?”

“Over there!” He pointed to a shack a few meters away.

“Okay, let's go,” Amit accepted. Let me pamper my darling today, he thought.

“What?” protested Celma. Marcelo started to walk toward his place, expecting them to follow.

“Are you mad? I won’t have him touching me.” She pulled her mouth in a pout which made her even more alluring.

“Come on, Celma. Just a massage. It’ll help you relax.”

“No!”

“For my sake, please. It's my present,” he pleaded.

It took a lot of effort before she relented. Tentatively, they entered the shabby hut, but what they saw took their breath away. Quite different from the dilapidated exteriors, the inside was a brightly lit, modern room. There was no air-conditioning, but the temperature was just perfect.. The walls were adorned with rich paintings depicting ethnic looking buxom women in various stages of undress. In the center of the room was positioned an ornate looking table which obviously served as the massage board. The most remarkable feature of the room was the sweet and spicy fragrance which came from an assortment of glass jars atop a side-table by the massage board.. Placed upon the side-table were glass jars containing liquids of various colors.

“Oils,” Marcelo helped when he caught them staring . "Mixed with scented herbs,” he added, explaining the sweet perfume.

“Please lie down there, Senhora,” he told Celma, gesturing to the massage board in the center of the room. “And can you wait outside, Senhor.” With a shrug and one last look at her desirable body stretched out on the board, Amitav turned to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

Amitav stopped dead in his tracks when he heard her snap. He turned and found her sitting up on the table.

“He should wait outside. I need to work alone to focus,” explained Marcelo. He had removed his T- shirt and stood only in his jockeys.

“Either he remains or I leave.”

“Okay, Senhora. As you wish.” Marcelo gave up. Amitav heaved a sigh of relief. He really wanted Celma to have a good time, and as long as she kept resisting him, he persisted. But the moment she yielded, a morbid complex gripped his mind. He felt jealous of Marcelo’s matinee-idol looks. Seeing him bare-chested only added to his worries. His powerful muscular body tapered to a V at his flat belly and his arms were long and brawny. Though Celma displayed scant interest in this hulk, he couldn’t help his insecurity. Her firm stance calmed his disturbed mind.

Thank you, Celma. I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you alone with another man. He pondered, settling down upon a chair. He heard Marcelo’s voice. “You’ve to lie on your stomach, Senhora.”

She turned, placing her face on the circular hole cut for breathing.

XXX

Smelling the scented oil as it trickled down her shoulders, Celma felt strange and stupid. She cursed herself for yielding to her boyfriend. I hate the thought of some other man touching me.

But the moment Marcelo’s hands touched her, she had to suppress a sigh of pleasure. She closed her eyes and savored the treatment of his tough hands on the tired flesh of her neck and shoulders, kneading out all the weariness of her tiresome waitress job. She experienced the sweet caress of his finger tips, not certain whether he teased her or whether she imagined things.

She was pleased when he poured oil on her bare back, meaning that he would now gratify the rest of her body He sized me up thoroughly. Oh, my God ! He fancies me and it feels nice. She thought about his furtive glances on her cleavage and face when he made them his offer. I’ve never been with any other man after meeting Amit. I must be mad. I should get up and leave. She firmed up, but did no such thing. His deft touches made her putty in his hands and she didn’t even whimper a protest when he unclasped the string of her top. Amit is here. He will step in if I do something wrong. She moaned when his hands rubbed her back knowing well that Amit would listen too. But the sensations were so sweet that she couldn't contain herself. The fact that a handsome hunk who lusted for her undressed her in her lover’s presence made her hot. Suddenly, she was aware of a sweet ache between her inner thighs.

She wallowed under his delicious touches when the inevitable happened. Drops of oil fell on the cheeks of her bottom before powerful hands grabbed and squeezed them. Her hips were exceptionally sexy. She knew it because Amit and the lovers she had had before him were all obsessed with them. Guests at the restaurant drooled over them and passed lewd remarks in foreign tongues not realizing her skill with languages. Those same beauties were now exposed before this man and he squeezed and played with them, making her core quiver with desire. His hand slid between her thighs and she felt his fingers hover on top of her womanhood, over the material of her thong.

“You need to turn, Senhora. Let me help you,” he said softly.

Gently, he turned her. She clasped her hands on the cups so that the blouse not fall off, but it was to no avail. A sly smile playing on his lips, he moved her hands away and laid them by her side. She pleaded with her eyes, but that was not enough. Mocking her with his eyes he lifted her blouse around his finger and let it drop to the floor. His reaction to her marvelous firm breasts was evident in his body language. His lips twisted in a silent whistle and his breathing became urgent. For the first time she noticed how cute he looked. She uttered a silent prayer for the other familiar breathing sound she heard; her lover’s. Shyly, she turned her head toward Amit, derived comfort from the reassuring smile on his kind gentle features.

She felt embarrassed when those magical hands wrapped around her chocolaty rounded beauties, touched the black areola and tweaked the erect nipples. Her eyes communicated to her lover the pleasure she received at the hands of this other man. She relaxed only when Amit blew her a kiss. It melted away all her guilt and relaxed her. Dropping her eyelids she settled back to savor the wonderful present he had given her. At that moment a tender thought crossed her mind. Even if there comes a time when you no longer love me, I will always be yours…only yours. I will wait for you to come back to me. I will go to the grave with your face in my heart. Bolstered by her unshakeable faith in love, her confidence returned and her tentativeness disappeared. It brought a smile to her lovely face. Suddenly, Marcelo’s hands turned even more exquisite. She realized that the poor masseur mistook the expression on her face as an invite for greater intimacy. It motivated his touches to turn more sensuous.

Her breasts felt good and she could have climaxed just by the hunk's lavish and prolonged attentions on them. But she was now in perfect control of her mind and dragged herself back every time she touched the edge. She acknowledged Marcelo’s skills. His fingers used her body like a musical instrument, touching her in all the right places and making her womanhood slick with the essence of her excitement. She braced herself for a long battle against the demands of her flesh. If she caved in and climaxed which she wanted to desperately, it would mean that her love was not strong enough. She allowed the masseur to handhold her to the brink because only that would be the test of her love. The idea strengthened her resolve and she controlled her desires with superhuman effort. Bliss swarmed her mind with every victory. The inner sanctum of her core withstood his every onslaught with stoical forbearance. That was the space which only her beloved Amitav would occupy.

Marcelo’s hands slid down to her taut belly. Drops of oil teased the glowing black skin before reaching the depths of her bellybutton. He rubbed her delicate skin and explored her navel. He hooked his fingers inside the elastic band of her thong bottom. Instinctively, she raised her hips and he slid the panty down her long legs. She smelled the strong scent of her excitement and winced. He would interpret it as a sign of his victory. She felt him part her legs. He knew that his hungry eyes devoured her black womanhood. Surely, he would be able to see it gleam with her excitement.

Her eyes closed, she prepared herself to face his final assault, braced herself for his skilled touches on the seat of her pleasure. Instead, she became aware of a warm mouth kissing her womanhood and a tongue delve into the soft folds. She sensed victory. She had won.

“Oh, Amit. You made me suffer so much !” she moaned. She didn't need to see to know that it was her lover's mouth. She opened her eyes. Marcelo had moved from them. His jockeys were around his ankles and with a dreamy look he pumped his erect tool. She looked at him with utter distaste.

She arched her back slightly up to see her lover’s head buried between her legs.

“Darling, come to me,” she begged.

Heeding her plea, he rose to his feet and tore off his clothes in a hurry. He positioned himself on top of her and his weight comforted and calmed her frayed nerves.

“Let me see you.” She held his gentle face, gazed into his eyes and ran her fingers through his hair. Knowing his insecurities, she touched his receding hairline and whispered, “I love you.”

Next, she caressed the strands of gray at his temples and said, “You’re my life.” Much younger than him, she was aware of his concerns about their age difference and she used every opportunity to comfort and console him and tell him how much she adored him.

Marcelo’s ungainly grunt declared his climax. Engrossed in each other, Celma and Amitav ignored him. When the door clicked shut, they realized he had left them alone.

With a gentle move Celma rolled Amitav to his back. Straddling him, she took his hands, kissed them and placed them upon her chocolaty breasts. She sighed with joy when he pressed.

“Play with your girls,” she cajoled, caressing his hair. Her eyes shone with affection as he fondled and enjoyed her rounded beauties. You’re much better than any masseur. Perhaps she was too young to realize the intensity of her own love. She felt so gratified by even his slightest contact that his every touch was a blessing that stirred her soul.

She crouched over him and kissed his forehead. With one hand she stroked his hair and with her other hand she fed her breast into his mouth. She sighed when his tongue teased her nipple, moaned when his free hand reached between them and lingered over her shaved mound. Detecting her tender bud, his fingers went to work on it, making it flower and driving her rapturous with joy.

She sensed his arousal poke at her bottom. It was hard like a nail and made her breathless. She eased herself onto it, savoring every millimeter of his rigid member. Gradually she engulfed him, delighting in the exquisite friction generated as her unyielding softness made way for him. Once completely impaled, she threw back her head and paused for a few moments to allow the pleasurable sensations to sink in. The ache of being filled and stretched was a sweet reward, because it symbolized her unconditional surrender to him.

She began the joyous ride which would carry them both to Nirvana.

XXX

Next morning, Celma rose early. They would return that afternoon to Luanda. Amit was still fast asleep. She kissed his cheek and whispered into his ears, “I’ll go for a run. Will be back soon.” She smiled when he nodded in his sleep and mumbled, “Come back before I wake up.” She knew that he loved her to wake him up with a kiss.

She readied herself in silence, pulled on her tracksuit and reaching the beach, began to jog. When she stopped for a breath she realized that she faced the same shack they had been to the previous day. An old man cleaned the porch. She was intrigued and approached him. They exchanged greetings.

“You’re up early,” she observed.

“I’m alone. It takes awhile to get things ready.”

“Where is your owner?”

“I’m the owner,” he replied. “And you must be Celma!”. His eyes twinkled.

“How do you know?”

“Marcelo told me you would come. I’ve something for you.”

He reached inside the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a crumpled envelope. She accepted it from him, tore it open and extracted the letter written in a neat hand. It read

Dear Celma

I’m not a masseur. I work in a petroleum company in Luanda. My friends and I were in the same boat as you that brought us to Mussulo from Luanda. I’d my eyes on you right from the time I saw you and bet my friends that I would have you. Girls comes to me easily and I was confident that you would prefer me to your boyfriend. I hired this shack for a day and made plans to meet you. I lost the bet. Your boyfriend is lucky to have someone as devoted as you. If you ever want to contact me, my number is ...

With love

Marcelo.

She tore up the letter and threw it against the breeze which scattered the fragments on the sea.

“I’d better get back. Amit will wake up any moment.”

She had only one fear; of losing Amitav. Without his love, life would be meaningless.. Her uncomplicated mind could suggest only one foolproof way to guarantee that he forever remained hers. She had to always be his. Her loyalty and devotion to him would have to be beyond reproach. Having succeeded in her maiden test of love, her mind was at peace. She resumed her jog back to the resort, eager to be in the arms of her lover.


Word Count: 2847