The game played, in our own way: 1Posted: November 20, 2015
The game played, in our own way
Early the morning I followed my nose down the hall towards the front of the house.
I noticed the bedroom across from the bathroom was empty, before entering the living room and continuing into the adjoining kitchen, dining room combination.
I stood in the doorway in my boxers and t-shirt letting the aroma of frying bacon and fresh coffee drift up my nostrils.
My heart filled with love as I watched the beautiful woman, her back to me, pull slices of toast out of the toaster and lather them with butter.
She was dressed in a whitish, threadbare terry-cloth robe that had long ago forgot that it used to be yellow.
Two shapely toned calves stuck out from below the hem of the robe, her feet covered in fluffy pink house shoes.
The woman’s wavy shoulder length, grey streaked brown hair bounced slightly as she buttered the last piece of toast.
“Morning, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I said from the doorway as my black eyes took her in.
Startled she spun around, one hand holding the butter knife while the other one darted up and clutched the top half of her robe closed.
The greenish grey eyes fell on my face and her generous lips spread into a warm smile.
“Durgesh! Damn, you almost made me pee my pants. Don’t sneak up on me like that,” she croaked, the hand holding her robe loosening.
“Sorry, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid. That sure smells good,” I chuckled as I walked over next to her and fixed myself a cup of coffee, the top of her head barely reaching my shoulders.
She protested a little when I told her to sit and I’d bring us both some, but she did it anyway.
I put the plate of bacon between us on the table to share.
Neither of us wanted eggs, so we dined on toast and crispy bacon and washed it down with coffee.
She wouldn’t have it when I tried to take her cup to refill it; instead, she took mine and filled both of them up.
On her way back to the table, the top half of her robe parted some giving me a view of the top swell of her full Musalmān breast.
Creamy white skin sprinkled with freckles jiggled as she walked.
I didn’t chastise myself for the lewd thoughts that were bouncing around my head.
It was natural.
She was still extremely beautiful.
I sipped the hot coffee and thought back to how Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid had come to be staying with me.
Almost a year ago to the day, Åbdul Raħmān, her husband, had suffered a massive heart attack and passed away.
It shook Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid to her very core.
We were all surprised since Åbdul Raħmān seemed to be in great shape for a man nearing his sixties.
The doctors had said it was a blocked artery that had caused it.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid tried to make a go at keeping the house, but the pitiful amount of life insurance Åbdul Raħmān had didn’t stretch very far.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid had always been a housewife with no discernable jobs skills, which made it almost impossible for her to get a job that would cover the bills.
I offered to move the seven hundred miles back home and take care of her.
A month ago, I made her an offer she couldn’t refuse, especially now that the house was being foreclosed on; a fact that I hadn’t been aware of until it was too late.
If she came and stayed with me I wouldn’t even then get rid of my housekeeper, and she didn’t have to work for me in exchange for room and board and some spending cash too.
She offered to act as my housekeeper and I should get rid of the same.
I smiled and offered her to supervise on my housekeeper if she feels uncomfortable in living with me without doing anything in return for me.
She proposed she must be my employee as my house supervisor and would take a definite salary for it.
There should be a written legal agreement to such effect to ease her conscience that she isn’t taking any undue advantage of my generosity and humanity at all.
She couldn’t sacrifice her self-respect even for her survival.
I agreed to her terms, expressing gratefulness for not causing my existent housekeeper to lose her job.
She’d used the plane ticket I’d wired her the very next day, and now she was sitting in my kitchen enjoying a cup of joe and bacon.
I was pleased with myself even though her presence did put a damper on my love life, somewhat.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid held her cup in both hands with her elbows on the table as she sipped her coffee.
The top of her robe drooped open a ways and I could see parts of the round globes of her beautiful Musalmān tits pressed together provocatively.
The smattering of freckles made me want to ask if I could play connect the dots.
I kept my mouth shut, but felt a definite swelling in my boxers, as I stared at the white Musalmān creaminess.
I looked away just as her head lifted.
“I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” she began hesitantly.
“What’s that, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid?”
“Do you always sleep with your door open?”
“Usually. Why, is my TV too loud at night? Because if it is, I’ll turn it down or off,” I said.
The memory of feeling as if I had been watched last night returned.
“Oh no, nothing like that. I was just wondering is all,” she replied dipping her eyes to take another sip.
“Well, if it’ll make you feel better I’ll close it from now on,” I told her, stealing another glance at her milky extremely beautiful Musalmān cleavage.
“Please don’t…I feel safer knowing you’re able to hear if I need you for something in the middle of the night.” Her eyes caught mine and held them.
“You having trouble sleeping, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I asked returning her steady gaze.
“Sometimes I wake up and can’t remember where I am. Just a foolish old woman scared of the dark,” she chuckled.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get used to being here. By the way, you’re neither foolish nor old,” I told her, giving her my best Hindu smile.
Beaming, she rose and came around to my side of the dining table.
She bent down and hugged me before tousling my still black hair and taking our cups for a refill.
My eyes followed her, greedily taking in the gentle swaying of her gorgeous Musalmān buttocks as she walked away.
I also brazenly watched her walk back, the subtle bouncing of her chest making me wonder if she was wearing a bra.
I got the answer when she leaned over and placed my cup on the table.
Out of the corner of my eye, I could tell she knew what I was looking at but she didn’t say anything.
She gave me a kiss on my forehead and went back to her seat.
What was she pretending?
We were best friends?
A thoroughly platonic relationship?
Well, it was not.
I could read her activities myself.
I wasn’t born yesterday.
I knew she loved me even while her husband was alive.
I called her, Bhābhījān’ then, but the throwing of my words were as if I was calling her, ‘Mérī Jān’ instead.
Åbdul Raħmān used to slap on my back,
“Hindu scoundrel, seducing my wife even? Even before my eyes?”
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid laughed teasing her husband.
“My ever-proud-of-me husband, it’s entirely the other way around, you idiot.”
Åbdul Raħmān laughed.
“I can’t help it if you can’t believe even the truth.” Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid used to say boldly winking at me.
“Stop it.” Åbdul Raħmān used to laugh, “Durgesh is hardening. He is really believing what you fake.”
The hint of jasmine lingered in the air around my head as the hint of an oncoming erection swelled in my shorts.
“So, tell me, Durgesh,” she began, holding the cup with both hands and giving me another view of her still ever erect Musalmān boobs being squeezed together. “That Musalmān girl that was here last night, are the two of you serious?”
“Al Shafaq Al Åbbās? No, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, we’re just friends,” I said.
“Well, judging by the sounds I heard, you two must be real good friends.” Her eyes twinkled and I could see she was having trouble suppressing a smile.
“Don’t be sorry, there’s nothing wrong with persons, expressing themselves. Why, if your friend, Åbdul Raħmān, hadn’t clamped his hand over my mouth on occasion…” her voice trailed off and sadness filled her eyes.
Getting up and going over to her, I wrapped my arms around her shoulders and asked,
“You miss him, don’t you, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid?”
Turning in her chair, she wrapped her arms around my waist, lowered her head against my stomach and sobbed out,
“Very much so. I get so lonely sometimes without him.”
“You’re not alone anymore, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid. You have me now,” I told her softly.
She let out a funny laugh before saying,
“Uh, my dear, I didn’t mean I felt alone. I meant that I get lonely sometimes.”
I really did see the difference.
“How about I take you out to dinner tonight,” I asked stroking her hair.
“My dear, you don’t have to do that. I’ll be fine, really,” she replied her voice muffled since her mouth was pressed against me.
“I want to, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid. I think it’d do us both good to get out for a change. It’s Friday, I don’t have to work tomorrow so we can stay up as late as we want. What do you say?”
“If you really want to, then okay,” she whispered against my stomach.
I said it was a date, kissed her on the top of the head and went to get ready for work.
Once dressed I went back out into the front room where Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid was waiting, holding the sack lunch she had made me.
After giving me a tighter than usual hug she stood on tiptoes and gave me a soft peck on the lips before sending me on my way, an obvious Hindu bulge in my britches.
From the time I’d seen her, I had found Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid alluring.
I don’t know why; it wasn’t as if she had run around the house naked or anything.
Hell, I’ve never even seen her undressed.
No accidental nip slips, up skirts or any of the things fantasies are made of.
I had stood in the shower on many occasions seeing her face before me as I mauled my growing Hindu penis.
As it grew older her image had been replaced by the real thing, but it always lingered in the back of my mind.
I often thought that no girl could live up to Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s standard.
Even now, with her being as old as she was, I still got aroused by being near her.
Call it what you will, I can’t explain it.
On Fridays, we worked a little later than the rest of the week.
All the tools and equipment had to be put away for the weekend.
I walked in the front door shortly after six pm to find Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid sitting on the couch skimming through a magazine.
The 50-inch TV was tuned to the local news but the volume was so low that it couldn’t be heard.
She turned her head in my direction and smiled hugely as she stood to show off her outfit for our dinner date.
The vision in front of me took my breath away.
Her hair was swept back in a French braid, she wore tiny ruby-red earrings that matched the shade of her lipstick and a delicate strand of pearls hung around her neck.
What really caught my attention was the way the knee high black dress clung to the contours of her still young extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān body, accentuating her slim waist and full hips.
The modest plunge of the neckline was just enough to show off the top swell of her creamy breast to perfection.
On her feet, she wore low-heeled black pumps that pushed the muscles of her calves up, giving her bare legs and covered heavy Musalmān buttocks just the right touch of firmness.
“Well silly, tell me what you think,” she giggled at the look on my face.
“You…you…look absolutely beautiful, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I finally managed to say.
I saw her eyes dart to the front of my straining jeans then back up, before she said,
“Thank you, now come and help zip me up the rest of the way.”
She turned her back to me and I could see that she’d only managed to zip the dress up to not quite the middle of her back.
Stepping around the couch, I came up behind her and grasped the tiny zipper in my hand.
I watched in fascination as the two halves of the dress came together and hid the black bra under it.
The back of the dress was high, and I noticed that the zipper started where the beginning swell of Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s beautiful heavy Musalmān ass was.
By the time I had it completely zipped the front of my jeans were straining a lot harder.
I excused myself and took off for the shower.
Dressed in the suit, a navy-blue pinstripe, and a crisp white shirt, I went into the front room with the maroon tie dangling around my neck.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid took one look at me and whistled before coming up to me and knotting my tie.
The sweet smell of jasmine floated off her and into my nostrils for the second time that day.
“Your friend, Åbdul Raħmān, could never get this right either,” she chuckled, patting my cheek softly after fixing the tie.
I caught a glimpse of mist in her eyes before she turned away.
“So, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, you ready to go turn heads,” I gushed with pride.
“Aren’t you calling me by name? Why yes Durgesh, I am, although I doubt if I’ll turn too many heads,” she replied, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“What are you talking about? I’ll probably have to fight off a legion of smitten fellas,” I chuckled taking her hand in mine.
“Oh Durgesh, if that were only true. In case you haven’t noticed, your Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s no spring chicken anymore,” she made a clucking sound to emphasize her point.
“Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, you’re the sexiest Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān woman on the planet and don’t ever think otherwise,” I barked; her hand tightened on mine as we walked to my car.
We had dinner at Armando’s Fine Italian Foods, a restaurant with an attached lounge to it.
The pasta was great, and by the time, we finished eating she had almost killed off a bottle of red wine that I’d ordered for her.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid drank the entire of it, since ‘I was driving’.
Soft music coming from the lounge drew our attention.
She was having too good of a time for me to let it end too soon, so I suggested we go to the lounge to relax.
A suggestion she apparently liked.
She ordered a couple more glasses of wine then settled back to enjoy the music.
Halfway through the glass, a particularly slow song came on and Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid asked if I would dance with her.
I led her to the small platform the place called a dance floor and swelled with love as she glided into my arms.
With her arms around my back, her hands up on my shoulders, she let her head rest on my chest.
We went around in slow circles, my hands softly stroking up and down her spine as several of the male patrons shot envious glances our way.
Once, my hand slid down a little further than I’d planned.
I felt the swell of her backside before I could jerk my hand back up.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid snickered and moved in closer to me.
I was pretty sure that she felt the characteristic Hindu bulge in my pants, but she didn’t say anything.
We stayed another hour.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid drank some more wine, and danced one more time before Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid wanted to go home.
My euphoria burst like a collapsing dam when we entered the house and found Al Shafaq Al Åbbās sitting on the couch surfing through the TV channels.
I’d forgotten that I’d given her a key so she could come over late at night and not have to knock to get in.
A look of pure contempt on her face gave way to a small smile after I introduced Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid to her.
She told Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid what a pleasure it was to meet her, and she told me that she’d see me in the bedroom.
With a bold look of ‘embarrassment’, I said to Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid, “I’ll shut the door.”
“Please don’t. I’ll probably be out before you two even get started,” she smiled widely at me.
“I’m sure. Oh, before you go to bed I do need your help with something,” she said softly.
“Okay. What do you need, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid?”
“I need your help in getting out of this dress,” she said pointing toward her back.
“Right, the zipper. I forgot,” I said following her to her bedroom.
Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid flipped on the light and walked over in front of a dresser with a large mirror.
I stepped up behind her and felt my fingers start to shake as I lowered the zipper.
I had only intended to pull it down low enough for her to finish the job, but the lower it went the more intrigued I became.
First, the strap and hooks of the black bra appeared and I continued to pull the zipper lower.
When I’d pulled it down to just below her waist, I could see the waistband of her panties.
A little lower and I could tell that they were made of a sheer black fabric. By the time I had the zipper all the way down, I could see most of Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s extremely beautiful Panjvaqtah Namāzī Saåūdī Årab Wahābī Musalmān ass crack through the sheer material.
“That’s good my dear, thanks, I had a wonderful time. Goodnight,” she whispered keeping her back to me.
“’Night, Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid,” I croaked, tearing my eyes off her extremely beautiful Musalmān ass and heading for the door.
For some reason, when I reached the hallway I turned around and stood there watching Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid undress.
She reached up, and pushed the dress off her shoulders and let it glide down her legs where it bunched up around her ankles.
As she bent over to step out of the dress, I noticed the panties had a solid black strip of material that completely covered her Musalmān crotch.
I also noticed that her Musalmān thighs were toned, smooth and muscular, much more than of the women of her age usually were.
When she straightened up, she reached both hands behind her back and undid the hooks of her bra.
With a shrug of her shoulders, the bra fell to the floor.
Her reflection in the mirror stared at me as I tried to see her breasts in the glass.
All I got was a brief glimpse of quarter-sized brown areolas before Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s hands came up and cupped her tits.
I wasn’t sure, but I thought I saw that her nipples were stiff and aroused.
I stared at Al Zāhidah Al Kħālid’s face in the mirror as she stared back before she slowly turned to face me, her hands hiding her breast from view. She walked over and kissed me lightly on the lips.
“Goodnight, Durgesh, sweet dreams,” she purred, then turned and went back to stand in front of the dresser leaving the door wide open.
My jacket, shirt, tie and shoes were scattered in the hall by the time I reached the threshold of my bedroom.
On the bed in front of me, Al Shafaq Al Åbbās was kneeling with her Musalmān ass at the edge of it, trying to pull back the covers.
4. On History
6. On Hinduism
7. On Islam