A Classy Fuck


There is no reason not to flirt with the driver. He’s young, new and terrified of losing his job. And this arrangement of being driven around is appropriate for flirtation. The rear view mirror offers glimpses. She pretends to faint in the heat, be lost in the city, be sad when the husband is grumpy. She sometimes fantasizes about the driver’s Tanjore ass, sweating and stuck to his pants. The leather seats damp.

But he cannot speak in English. When he does, it’s the few words that have entangled themselves so much into Tamil that you cannot tell them apart.  See, this is the reason she cannot have sex with this man. He probably makes out the Tamil way. Grabbing every body part, thrusting for no reason. He lives in a small shack and and probably uses the railway track as his toilet. It’s reasonable to assume that there isn’t enough water to wash his ass after his morning shit. Suddenly, the idea of his sweating Tanjore ass is a lot less sexy. Besides, she thinks someone who knows fluent English probably has kinder hands. Not the kinds that knead and pinch. She wants to fuck in English.

She wishes she was in America. And was driven around by an English speaking driver. She has nothing against poverty. In fact she has nothing against caste either. She just has a problem with the lack of sophistication that the knowledge of English might bring. But then, in America they use toilet paper, which clearly isn’t adequate. Same story. Sweating ass. Still unclean.

So she drinks water and lets the rear view mirror in which the driver stares into show the water sliding down her throat and onto her clothes. Just his yearning his enough. If he really wanted to have sex with an upper class woman, he should have gone to school.

PS – TON doesn’t write erotica. She sometimes writes about sex. Which are entirely different subjects really.

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