Purity of the Periods
Man spilling blood in honourable, woman spilling blood is unclean, what logic is that?
I am Rohan. I am nineteen. I am in the second year of my bachelor degree course in engineering in a college near the extreme southern tip of India. My family consists of my father, a retired accountant from the revenue department, my mother, a housewife, and my elder sister. Her name is Sarala, but as I am younger I cannot call her by name. I call her Akka, which in the Tamil language means elder sister. She is 23 years old. After graduation she is at home waiting for marriage.
My story is strange, but I have a niggling suspicion that it is not as unusual as it may seem at first sight. My problem is my sex life—I do not have any. I believe that in Western countries by the time boys or girls graduate from school they have had sexual experiences. Incidentally I used to wonder why leaving school in those countries should amount to graduation whereas in India one graduates only when one acquires a degree like B.A. or B.E. or any other. If they have sex before leaving school I concede that they have the right to call themselves graduates. The chances are that when I acquire my B.E. degree two years from now I may not be a graduate in the Western sense. My case is the common lot of most young men of the middle class in India.
The rich know how to look after themselves. They have their parties where liquor flows freely, and men and women dance and have a good time. They give their children cars with lots of pocket money and leave them more or less to themselves. The poor live in such densely populated localities with several families occupying one room that sleeping floors are crowded. It is easy to have sex in such surroundings. It is the middle classes that have bound themselves hand and foot with stifling rules and prohibitions.
For my part I do the only thing I can do, I fantasise. The object of my fantasies is my sister. My sister is four years and three months my senior in age. She is pretty. Her breasts are big and shapely, and her hips are wide. Her features are such that someone like her must have modelled for the sculptures in our local temple, which incidentally is a famous one. Her nose is straight and sharp, and her eyes large with long lashes. From my seat at the computer I can see her when she is watching TV without her knowledge. At times her face will be serious, and at times she will smile a gentle smile. Her smile is the sweetest I have ever known. I would strip her in my mind. The sari is the first to go followed by the blouse and the skirt. I always teased myself by allowing my sister to be in the bra and knickers for a while. Then off went the bra. The pair of knickers I imagined her wearing is always a bright red one with tiny white dots on it. I have seen all her under garments drying in the clothesline. For some reason the red one is my favourite. Once I remove that I can visualise her naked body in various poses. The pose I like best is the one in which she sits on the kitchen stool with one knee over the other with me watching her from floor level. The partly hidden slit in her vulva always triggers a desire to masturbate that I have never been able to resist.
I have of course never seen her breasts and vulva or even her thighs. But from my extensive knowledge of female external anatomy gleaned from porn sites in the Internet I can fill in the blanks. I know she shaves her pubic hair for once she forgot to take her razor with her when she left the bathroom. Though I had shaved that morning I applied soap to my face and ran the razor on my chin. It was exciting to use the razor that had removed the public hair of my sister. I masturbated there and then.
Now I come to something that is my fancy. The phenomenon of menstruation excites me. I do not know why. I have surfed the Internet for information and I think I know a lot about it. When my sister has her periods I get really sexually aroused. On the first day she visits to the bathroom frequently spending more time than usual. What really makes my penis get hard is the sight of the thin bulge of the cord she wears low down her hips. She must be using it to anchor the pad. I believe that the modern way is to wear internal protection. I have seen advertisements that claim that by wearing such devices women can even swim. My sister either must be old fashioned, or for some other reason prefers external protection.
The orthodox Indian attitude to menstruation infuriates me. For example one classmate tells me that during the periods his sisters cannot enter the kitchen or the puja room because menstruating women are unclean. My family is only partly orthodox for my sister enters the kitchen during her periods, but not the puja room. Not only Hindus but Christians also hold similar views. Sam, my playmate in high school, has told me that his sister refrains from going to the alter to receive communion (which I understand is a ritual in church) when she has her periods. All religions while differing in almost everything else agree that women are inferior to men. One of the tools they use to bludgeon woman to submission is their monthly period.
From pendik escort the study menstruation in the Internet I know that on the first day of the period along with blood surface cells of the uterine lining form part of the discharge. From day two onwards, for the next two or three days, only blood flow. No one considers blood as anything but pure. Why should women be unclean when they discharge blood? Eradicating the notion that woman are unclean during their periods is an essential step in the campaign for gender equality. I am surprised that even militant feminists have not so far taken up cudgels against this belief.
My father after retirement took up a job as accountant to a cloth merchant. Unlike in government service he has to work hard, six days in a week from nine to seven. My mother and her many friends indulge in many activities mostly concerning temple visiting and listening to religious discourses. Afternoon hours she is rarely at home. I usually leave for college at about eight and return in the evening anytime between two and seven. Thus my sister is alone at home on most afternoons. My Akka is waiting for marriage. That is what most girls of the middle class do in small towns like ours. I larger towns and cities many take up jobs till they get married. Her horoscope is with many marriage brokers, and my mother’s religious activities centres round seeking God’s help for securing a good match for her. To those who do not know our customs I must point out that getting proper match for girls is a major, and very worrisome task for parents.
One afternoon I was home early. I sat at the computer scrolling through my extensive collection of porn images. I had placed my computer in a corner facing away from the wall to ensure secrecy. My sister is usually upstairs after lunch reading novels. Suddenly I got the feeling that I was not alone in the room. I looked back, and there was my sister looking intently at the monitor. I tired desperately to minimise the screen. My hand however was too unsteady to align the cursor.
“No need for that,” said Akka, “I have been watching for a while. You must be sick Rohan. Disgusting.” My feeling changed suddenly from embarrassment to annoyance.
“How do you think you and I were born? By this same disgusting process,” I said. She snorted. “And you are waiting for the day when you can do this same disgusting thing. I too am in the same boat, but for you it is months away whereas I will get my chance may be ten years from now.” Suddenly feeling of self-pity smothered me. “Ten years, and you are making a fuss about my watching these photos of others enjoying themselves.”
“Those sluts are not enjoying themselves.” My sister spoke casually. I was now quite angry.
“Don’t call them sluts. They give relief to men like me. They are philanthropists.”
“Don’t talk rot,” said Akka.
“Do you know that your brother is sex starved? Do you know that though he is nineteen he has not so much as touched a woman lovingly? Do you know that in Western countries boys and girls before they leave school have had sex? What of you? You are sex starved too. When I open the novels you read the pages that open out are all about this same disgusting thing. You must be reading it again and again, and surely you are masturbating.”
“Rohan you are going too far.”
“Sorry Akka. Now excuse me. I have to go to my room. After watching all these pictures I need to get relief. Sorry that I have to talk in this way before my Akka, but I am so full of my sorrows that I am unable to contain myself. Masturbating is not going to serve me long. Sooner or later I am going to pay money and get relief.” I turned off my computer and walked unhurriedly to my room upstairs. I closed the door, shot the bolt, and lay on my bed face down. The mood to masturbate had vanished in the skirmish with my sister.
I heard a tap. I knew it could only be my Akka. I opened the door. Akka came in. We both sat on the cot.
“Rohan please do not go to public women. You may get AIDS. I simply can’t bear to see my only brother wither away. Don’t do something foolish like that boy Suri either.” Suri was a young man who lived in the corner house in our street. Sensational happenings in his home are evergreen hot topics of conversation in our neighbourhood. This Suri had sex with his servant maid. The husband of the woman, with a bunch of his relatives, came one Saturday morning, and standing in front of the house loudly demanded ‘justice’. The father of the boy paid good money to square it up. That was not all. Soon after, Suri’s unmarried sister, who is a few years older than my sister, became pregnant by an electrician who was rewiring the house. They got her aborted, but the family had to leave town.
The case of Suri and his sister was a topic on which I had spent a lot of thought, and had come to some conclusions. I was eager to air those views.
“Suri had a need and his sister had a need, and both were identical. They should have satisfied it among themselves.” I expected to shock my sister, and I did.
“You are suggesting incest,” she said quite aghast, maltepe escort jumping up from the cot and facing me with arms on her hips. “Watching pornography has softened your brain.”
“I think incest is any day better than having sex with a married house maid, or an electrician who has come to rewire. You may not know it Akka but brother sister intimacy is common. It has to be in our society where sex starved boys and girls are in the same house. It is safer, much safer than the two seeking sex elsewhere—clean, and without complications.
“Enough, Rohan. You are sick, that’s all I have to say. Now you close the door and do whatever you planned to do. At least in moderation it is not harmful. You can enjoy your models to your heart’s content.”
“Want to know who my model is?” I was in an aggressive mood.
“Must be one of those sluts.”
“I told you once before that they are not sluts. Anyway want to know?”
“OK, tell me.”
“You are sick enough to need treatment.”
“No. It has to be you. You are the only young woman I see in three dimensions. You are pretty too, much prettier than any I see in two dimension.” Akka smiled. “I like your figure, and you may not know it but when I see that cord you wear during your periods bulge your back I am almost at bursting point.”
“You fellow. Do you keep note of that too.” She was not angry, just amused.
“I used to wonder why you are not modern.”
“Modern? What do you mean?”
“I am happy you are not modern, but why don’t you use internal protection?”
“May be I find external protection more comfortable. But it is dirty talk, Rohan.”
“You have touched upon another point that I feel strongly about. It is not dirty. It is after all blood. Man spilling blood in honourable, but woman spilling blood is unclean, what logic is that?”
“Religions say so.”
“I know they do. All religions proclaim the inferiority of women. This monthly period is one of the tools they use to keep you women down Akka, darling. So far I have been seeing you in my mind’s eye while masturbating, if you are kind to your brother why not I see you in person while I do it.”
“Rohan, you are going too far. It is horrible.”
“Akka darling, you just sit there fully clothed, just as you are.”
“And watch you as you do your stuff?”
“What’s wrong with that Akka? You have after all given me bath several times when I was younger. It is the same penis you have once washed. May be it was big too when you did that.”
“What wrong with you Rohan. Have you taken leave of your senses?”
“Far from it Akka, darling. For the first time I am talking practical sense. It will all be over in minutes. Please Akka, please.” Akka stood hesitating. I had to act or else I would lose the moment. I dropped my dhoti, and for the first time after I had grown up my sister saw my penis. She did not go away. If she had it would have be disaster for me. She just stood with no expression on her face, and that surprised me. Yes, she was excited too, and as sex starved as I was.
My penis was turgid with all the talk. I had to harden it. I closed my eyes and imagined my sister as she stood before me. I stripped her naked in my mind’s eye; she was wearing that cord round her waist. I have seen that cord once lying on her dressing table. It was a pink one. I have seen the soft surgical gauze she uses lying on her cot when she was cutting it and folding it. I knew just how broad the folded pieces were. It was so narrow that it could not have covered anything more than the slit. I had no idea how she attached it to the cord. In my imagination I used safety pins one in front and the other at the back. That is how she stood, naked but for this tiny bit of gauze covering her vulva and that magical cord low down on her waist. I was now erect. I opened my eyes. My sister was not looking at me. Her eyes were on my penis.
“Akka why not just touch it?” She came forward and putting her hand out she touched my penis with the tip of her fingers. “Come closer and grip it Akka.” She did so. I placed my hand over her hand and I moved them up and down the shaft. “Come closer Akka,” I said. My voice sounded different. Both our hands were moving up and down with the foreskin rolling over the glans of my penis. Akka’s was close enough for her thighs to touch my thighs. Faster and faster we went till I was on the verge of ejaculating.
“Akka, I may soil your hand,” I said, but she minded not. And then I ejaculated in spurts into the towel that I had placed on my lap. I held her arm tightly with my free hand to steady me in my orgasm. Both our hands were soiled. But she held it firm till the last drops flowed out. It was then that I had a reaction. The enormity of my act of making my sister masturbate me hit forcibly; resting my head on her shoulder I wailed.
“Excuse me Akka, I have done a terrible thing,” I said as I sobbed. And she, as only an elder sister can, wrapped her other hand round my head and kissed me on all parts of my face.
“No darling you have not done anything to fell kartal escort sorry about. Come we’ll go and wash.” I stood up, one hand still holding my sister’s hand on my now shrivelled penis, and the other on her shoulder. My dhoti was on the floor. I made a motion of trying to pick it up, but my sister by a gesture indicated that there was no need for that. We moved to the bathroom. Akka washed her hand and my hand, and then she washed my penis and groin and thighs as if I was a baby. She then washed my face and taking a towel wiped my face dry and they dried my thigh and penis. I was still bare below the waist. She led me to the room and taking a dhoti out of my dresser she tied it around my waist.
“Lie down and rest. I’ll fetch you some milk.” She was soon back with a tumbler full of warm milk. I drank the lot in rapid gulps, and then I slept. When I went down mother and sister were in the kitchen. It was late in the evening. Akka looked up and our eyes met. She smiled lovingly.
The next two days mother was at home in the afternoons. On the third day I came early from college. I let myself in with my spare key. I changed to dhoti and shirt and came to Akka’s room. She was reclining on her cot and reading a novel. She looked up when I entered,
“I was worried about you. I feared that you might lose focus on your studies,” she said.
“On the contrary I was able to concentrate better,” I said.
“Did you take down notes during the lectures,” she asked.
“I have. I’ll show you my note book,” I said. I went to my room and fetched the notebook. She opened it, and I pointed out the pages written that day. I, as usual, had noted the date and time of each lecture.
“Satisfied?” She nodded. “Have I earned my reward?” I said, and laughed somewhat nervously. She smiled and made room for me next to her on the bed. I lay down and rested my head on the pillow. Her head was next to mine. I could feel her hair brushing against my cheek. I lifted my head, turned, and kissed her on the lips. She held the back of my head and pressed. We kissed passionately. My hand went to her breast. I wondered if she would object. She did not. I undid the hooks of her blouse. She helpfully turned round when I tried to reach for the bra clasp. I was trembling as I uncovered her breasts. For the first time I saw her magnificent breasts, defiant even when she was lying on her back. The areola was a smooth mound and the nipples were flat. I ran my finger over the smoothness, and then I touched the nipples and the gently pressed them both into the soft breast tissue. When they sprung back they were turgid. I looked up. Our eyes met. She smiled her sweetest smile. She was not blushing. Even at that moment I felt how our middleclassness has so cruelly deprived us of our sexual needs in the prime of our sexual lives. I was thankful that my sister and I have found a solution.
With my lips I reached for the nipple nearest to me. She placed a hand under her breast and pushed it forward. Her nipple felt soft between my lips. She was reclining, almost sitting up, and my head was on her lap. I was suckling her as if I was her baby. My lips were not strong enough to hold her nipple. I covered my teeth with indrawn lips and bit on the nipple. Now I had the purchase to grip the nipple. She moaned. Thus encouraged I bit more firmly. I did not know then that babies bit on the nipple rather than suck at them. Milk poured into their mouths when the stimulation of the bite releases hormones that squeeze the milk from the breast. I also did not know that milk is not stored in the breast. As the baby suckled the glands of the breast produce fresh milk.
Akka now shifted my head to the other nipple. As I was settling on the nipple her hand went to my crotch. She removed my dhoti and held my penis with one hand. She worked on it the way I had taught her. She did it expertly. Once again I warned her that I was about to ejaculate, and once again she did not mind soiling her hands. As I spurted she held on till it was all over. My head was still on her lap pressed on her breasts. She lifted my head.
“Why are you weeping?” she asked. I did not reply. I do not know why but tears poured out like torrents. Her breasts were wet. I tried to wipe it off but Akka wanted it to remain.
“Come we’ll wash. Mother will be back soon.” Again she washed me as if I was a baby. I put on my dhoti, kissed my sister, a chaste brotherly kiss on the cheek, and went to my room.
“I do not need milk, Akka,” I said speaking for the first time. “I will come down later for coffee.”
That evening I had an important piece of shopping to do. I took a bus and went to a nearby town. I could not possibly purchase what I wanted to in my town. In this small town it is possible that someone known to my family might see me and report the purchase to my father. No mystery purchase, just condoms. I went into a shop near the bus station. I waited outside for the crowd to subside somewhat. It was a popular shop for the crowd, mostly young women, never seemed to thin. I walked to the next street. There were no customers in one of the shops. This is what I was looking for; but I was in error. If the shopkeeper had been busy he would not have had so much time to devote to me. In my hesitation I purchased a tube of toothpaste and one cake of soap before summoning sufficient courage to ask for condoms.