Wounded Hearts

I had not wanted to attend the fifteenth reunion of my business school batch , though I owed so much to that education. It had given me the right breakthroughs and had launched my fairytale career. Providence had indeed blessed me with the Midas touch.  I had climbed the corporate ladder at a breakneck pace; scaled stratospheric heights at a young age. Anyone in my position would have looked forward to this occasion. It would be the ideal opportunity to showcase one's professional accomplishments and forge newer alliances. However, I had no wish to meet any one from my past. It would trigger painful memories.

Strangely, when the D day came, I found myself being driven to my alma mater by Harish, possibly the only person in this world whom I could call my friend. Harish had graduated along side me from the same institution fifteen years back.

“You ought to go, Raja,” Harish had cajoled. “The professors are really keen that you come.”

So, conceding his demands, I undertook the pleasant 200 miles ride to the institution that had contributed so much to my persona. When the massive gray building outlined in the distant horizon, unhappy forebodings wormed their way into my heart.

I’d have turned back from the gates had it not been for Harish’s insistence. “Don’t worry, Raja. You’ll be alright.” I believed him not because I should have, but because I wanted to. When I had left the gates of that venerable institution a decade and a half ago, a part of me had remained behind. I braced myself for the rendezvous, knowing well that my scarred heart risked being wounded even further.

We drove past the hallowed gates and registered ourselves.  I went straight to my allotted room and buried myself in my laptop to emerge only at lunch time. Food was served in the same mess where I had eaten so many times.  I saw familiar faces around the tables, but not the one I had come for. Crestfallen, I served my food and sat down to eat at a lonely table.

“Don’t worry. She isn’t coming,” a voice next to me whispered. I turned to find Harish by my side. I scanned his face to detect any hint of mockery or sarcasm. I found none.

“You  sure?” I queried.  How little he knows me! I thought.

“I checked the rooming lists.”

I tried hard to disguise my disappointment beneath a veneer of feigned relief. “It’d be too much to expect her to fly down all the way to Mumbai.” Secretly, I hoped for a miracle.

“Hi, Venky!” greeted Harish.

I looked up from plate to find Venkat Swamy, one of my batchmates beam at us.

“Hi, Venky!” I managed feebly.

Societal compulsions necessitated that I contribute to the conversation that commenced, most of which centered on the girls in our batch. Soon a group formed around the table, the discussions turned raunchy and surprisingly, I found myself laughing and backslapping with the same gusto of yore.

I was just beginning to thank Harish for bringing me in. I had not had so much fun for a long time. Suddenly, someone asked. “Does anyone know where Joaquina is?”

Another voice added, “That black chick? She was from Kenya, right?”

I could feel Harish squirm by my side.  He rose from the chair. “Guys, got to make some calls. See you at the evening ball. Coming, Raja?”
I almost sprang to my feet, but my ears strained to catch the tidbits from the table. “Last I heard, she was working with the UNICEF in
Darfur,” someone said.

The day was turning out to be full of surprises. I found myself taking a lots of pain to dress for the ball. Fortunately, Harish had insisted that I bring my jacket. I stared at the mirror for a long time, cursing the tufts of gray on my head. I used various combinations to comb my hair in a vain attempt to conceal my balding pate. Finally, I mustered enough courage to find my way across to the ball room.

Nervously, I scanned the old faces, some of them rendered unidentifiable by age and obesity. My eyes never left the doorway all evening. As night advanced, the hopes of a miracle faded, and my heart sank. Unable to bear the agony, I trooped out of the hall and rambled in the direction of the woods.

Even after so many years, I could easily find my way to the mango tree. I touched its bark. It felt the same. Going down to my knees, I blinked at the trunk and spotted Joaquina’s name etched in the wood. Adjacent to her name was the shape of a heart pierced by an arrow. And next to that symbol of love was my name. Gingerly, I felt the edges of her name. My tears welled up inside me. Sitting down on the ground with my back against the tree, I began to sob like a child.

If my professional life had been an embodiment of success, my personal life had been the contrary. If I ever wrote an autobiography, the chapters on my private life would read like a compendium of broken marriages and unfulfilled affairs. I was fast approaching 40, yet had not managed to build a family or a stable relationship.

Hearing footsteps, I looked up with teary eyes and gawked at the approaching figure. Silvery beams from the full moon illuminated her pathway. My eyes fixated on her trance like gait which coalesced inches before me into the shape of a tall, black woman. Her sudden manifestation numbed my senses with astonishment. I gaped at her long legs and heaving bosom. Her informal attire – tiny white shorts and a check shirt – reminded me of the pages of my private photo album.

The woman offered me her hand. When I touched it, dormant feelings kindled inside me.  Taking her help, I stood up and gazed at her beautiful  face. I had seen it every day of the last fifteen years, often in my dreams, sometimes in that album. Only her hair looked different. She looked even lovelier in real life, almost to the point of being unreal. Clearly, her beauty had the gift of eternity.

Eventually, when I found my voice, the only words that I could utter were, “Joaquina! Joaquina!”. Not that I felt like saying anything else.  My Hindu upbringing had taught me that chanting the names of the Gods frees one from his sins. Perhaps, the same thought crossed my mind. I couldn't think of any other way to atone for the crime that I had committed.

She should have despised me, treated me with utter contempt, but I could only discern sadness in her eyes. It reminded me of the day I had spurned her fifteen years back. Even then she had looked at me in the same way.

“You don’t look good, Raja,” she said.

Did I hear sympathy? Or was I merely hallucinating. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Why do you say that, Raja?”

“For the way I treated you.”

She laid a hand across my cheek. Those once silky fingers felt calloused and hard. She shook her head with a wry smile and said, “Come, let us take a walk.”

“Can I hold your hand?” I pleaded.

“Of course.”

Holding her hand, I walked beside her.

“Raja, you need to get on with your life. You’ve to forget me,” she started.

“I can’t, Joaquina. I was stupid.”

‘No, you weren’t. You did the right thing. You listened to your parents.”

“But, I loved you.”

“True, but your parents also had an equal right over your life. They wanted a traditional Indian housewife for their son. Not a black woman from Africa." Her voice choked and she couldn’t complete.

“Joaquina, after you left, I realized I couldn’t live without you.  My marriages failed because I looked for you in every woman. You’re the only one I truly loved.”

We had now returned to the same spot under the mango tree. “I received all your letters, Raja.”

I was dumbfounded. “You did? But, why didn’t you ever respond? I even visited your house in Kenya. It was locked. The neighbors said that you no longer lived there.”

“Raja, I want you to forget me. I’ve my life and am happy. You need to get on with your life. I came to this reunion for you. Your letters are so full of pain. You’ve to get out of it, Raja.”

“Your tonsured head looks sexy,” I commented.

She laughed in her same vivacious style. “I stopped wearing wigs or braiding my hair.”

I felt her smooth head. She had not put on any makeup. There was something sensuous about her raw beauty. I caressed her face. She didn’t resist, instead I caught a faint sigh emanate from her throat.  Emboldened, I framed her face and pressed my mouth against her lips.

My manhood stirred when her mouth opened.  Our tongues engaged in a delightful wrestle. Her spicy taste invoked memories from the past.  No woman had ever tasted so delicious. I swallowed as much of her saliva as I could. Meanwhile, my hands had travelled across her back ans stopped at the flare of her hips. 

I sensed her need.  My hot kisses on her slender neck elicited soft moans. I unfastened the buttons of her shirt and stared at the ebony mounds confined in a white brassiere. Reaching behind, I undid the hooks and slipped the tiny garment off her shoulders. Her twin babies sprung before me, with only the slightest hint of sag.

Joaquina helped me remove my jacket and shirt. She flattened her palms against my broad chest while our mouths pressed again. My swollen cock begged to be freed as she massaged it through my trousers.  Relief came my way, when she pushed me away and genuflected before me. She unbuckled and unzipped me with aplomb; pulled down my trousers and underpants in a single move.

My body shuddered when I felt her fingers and lips on my arousal. I looked down to see the erotic scene. Holding my inflamed member in one hand, she rolled her tongue sideways across its length before burying it in her throat.  I sensed the delightful suction of her mouth, and the slurping sound almost pushed me over the edge.

It was now my turn to repay the favor. I raised her to her feet and kneeled down. I peeled down her tight shorts and pulled down her cotton panties.  The puffed vaginal lips and their musky fragrance triggered memories of a long time ago. Innumerable times had I received untold joys from those perfect specimens of womanhood.  Pasting my face at the joint of her thighs, I lost myself in a world of unbridled lust.

I was hungry for her and sucked her clit.  Rolling my tongue across the length of her slit, I pushed it inside her vagina.  I lapped up all her creamy emissions; gobbled every precious droplet. After all, I had to make up for more than a decade. Her fingers entangled in my hair, and her feral moans rose in the night sky. In the distance, I could hear the music of the ball room.

When I turned her around, she assumed my favorite pose. Balancing her hands on the tree, she pushed her butt upwards. I yanked apart the fleshy cheeks and unleashed my tongue on her anal hole. She began to writhe under the ministrations of my mouth.

My cock felt like bursting. I rose to my feet and surveyed her perfect body. The moonbeams reflected off her ebony skin. I remembered my favorite dream - Venus emerging from a pool of molten chocolate. Her muscular frame showed that she had not given up her love of sports. She had always been a fitness freak and an excellent swimmer. Meanwhile, my eyes settled upon the perfect black moons of her wriggling ass.

I placed my member at the entrance of her vulva and pushed into her creamy softness. The familiar sensations of her sweet pussy stunned my senses. The same exquisite tightness clamped around my shaft. Embedded in her warmth, my hands reached forward to grab her breasts. I began to rock back and forth.

I mauled her breasts. Joaquina turned her neck sideways so that our mouths could lock. Thus, joined and entwined, our bodies writhed and heaved. Her hunger was as intense as mine. She had always been loud and uninhibited which is why during our college days we had made the forest our bedroom. Her feral moans meant she had not changed. It also proved that I had still not lost my skills.

Joaquina responded to my savage thrusts by powerful backward shoves of her butt. The agility of her moves indicated that she still packed immense strength in her toned body. When I had met her for the first time, she seemed to be God's answer to my youthful dreams. I had always wanted my woman to be tall, strong and curvy. She had fit the bill perfectly which is why I had fallen head over heels in love with her at first sight. Right now, but, my thoughts were far from romantic. My mind only obsessed on quenching my insatiable hunger for the woman with whose pussy my cock had formed a delightful bond. Her unyielding vaginal muscles generated heat and friction of the most delectable variety.  My individuality melted within the warmth of her core. We always were one soul; now we also were one body.

Her body tightened. I released her mouth to hear her screams. Bellowing like a bull, I erupted within her womb. Simultaneously, she climaxed, groaning like a hurt animal. I could feel the spasmodic convulsions of her vaginal muscles as they milked me dry. Is she on the pill? Is she ovulating? I wondered.

We lay down on the soft grass with my body spooned against her back, my hands fondling her breasts and my semi-hard cock nestled in the crevice between her butt cheeks.

“What you do?” I asked.

“I work in Darfur with the UNICEF.”

“Did you marry?”

“Yes,” she replied after a pause. “Met him at the UNICEF.”

Jealousy tore apart my heart.  Joaquina seemed to read my mind.

“He died two years back,” she added.

“Any children?”

“Yes, I’ve a son.”

‘How old?”

“Let's go to my room, Raja. I've something to show you."

Intrigued, I rose and dressed in a hurry not missing the fluid moves with which she slipped back into her clothes.

“You had asked about my son,” she said, once we were inside her room.

I nodded.

She showed me a photo. “Here he is.”

I stared with utter disbelief at a photo right out of my childhood.

“I was pregnant when you cast me away from your life. I came to know the same morning when you...”

I took her in my arms, and she buried her face in my chest.  Tears flowed down both our eyes.

“Promise me one thing, Raja.”

“What?”

“You’ll never try to meet me or my son.”

“But why?”

“It will shatter his world. He'll grow up full of hate if he ever knows the truth."

Stunned, I asked, "But, what will you tell him?"

"How I came here as a part of an exchange program, met you, fell in love. I told him you died in an accident when I was pregnant," she replied softly.

By the time I walked out of that room, my entire world had come shattering down. The faint hopes that had kept me going for long had been ground to the dust. Before leaving Joaquina extracted yet another promise from me. "Forget me and get on with your life, Raja," she prayed. I think even she realized that I'd not honor this part of the bargain.

Word Count: 2658