Those were the late 90s in small town India, dating meant for most love letters, chocolates and meeting discreetly. It was what I giggled about with my girlfriends at college and in the mixed gender theatre group I was a part of, that was the main topic of gossip, who wants to date whom or who was dating whom.
I had met him outside the group a couple of times for coffee, but things hadn’t progressed much beyond a hug held a little too longer, or a hurried brushing of the lips on the cheeks, he always brought me a chocolate!
It was a Samuel Beckett play at the local theatre, cold winter evening and I was wearing a long jacket. Sitting next to each other, we were leaning on each other and holding hands inside the pocket of my jacket, but it wasn’t a film theatre so it wasn’t as dark as a movie hall and any noise would have been noticed, we didn’t proceed any further.
The chocolate bar between our hands rubbing and clinging in my pocket had turned into a mush and it was one of the most sensual things I had experienced so far. I don’t remember a single word from the play obviously!
He was supposed to walk me back home like a good chivalrous boyfriend, midway it started snowing. The lights in the hill town seemed dimmed for the perfect romantic ambience. By the time we reached home we were half frozen.
Parents were away attending a function and wouldn’t be back for a couple of hours and he was anyways always allowed into the house, so I called him in for tea before he walked further in the snow to his place.
As soon as we were inside the porch our hands began to brush the snowflakes from each other and more. His cold hands felt warm on my face and wherever else they traced my contours. The jackets were off in no time by the time we reached the living room, and before I knew it his face was between my legs, I don’t even remember when he pulled my pants down.
The chocolate episode had left me quite aroused and now his tongue and fingers were doing magic I had never experienced before. It was like an electrifying titillation that left me gasping for breath.
There besides the fireplace in our living room I had my first cunnilingus orgasm which for years later we secretly called the “melted chocolate.”
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