Neo Note: All of my stories are, to the best of my knowledge, fiction. Any resemblance to characters living, dead or otherwise means you've had one drink too many. Also, if you are below 18 years of age, better get out of here - this isn't for kids.
The moment I walked into the house, I heard my parents arguing in the kitchen.
"I say she is not!" That was my mother's voice, characterized by her screechy voice. "She is eighteen years old, popular, goes out with boys at all awkward times..."
"That's not proof that she is not," countered my father. "Just because she is popular and friendly doesn't mean that she has to lose her virginity."
Aha! So that was the reason. Believe me when I tell you that I wasn't shocked at all; hell, I didn't even blink. This sort of a question had been long on the cards, and not without reason. The three of us had had the talk about birds and bees and their symbolizing certain universal phenomenon attached to teenage a long time ago, around half a decade.
"Hello Amma," I greeted my mother, walking into the kitchen, and gave her a hug. "Hello, Appa." With him, our greeting also involved a light brush against each other's lips. "What's today's topic?"
"Your virginity," my father replied, winking, "Or its alleged lack thereof."
"What do you think?" I asked them, looking first at my father.
"That you are," he replied. "I don't believe you are sexually active yet."
"And I say he is wrong," my mother retorted, giving me a glass of milk. "In today's age, a girl like you would have lost it when she was fifteen!"
Mom shrugged. "Your virginity. I am sure that you lost it to that smart guy you went out with last year - what was his name?"
"Vicky - Vikram. What makes you say that?"
"Nothing," Mom shrugged again, "Just a gut feeling."
This wasn't a serious argument at all, I knew then; my parents had this habit of betting amongst themselves for silly things, claiming that it kept the edge in their marriage. Since both of them worked, Dad as a freelancing consultant and Mom in a bank, they often wagered real money. It didn't matter who won or lost, as long as they played the game, according to them. "What's the wager?"
"Ten rupees," Dad answered, smiling.
"Ten rupees?" I had to ask, and the incredulity showed. "That's the worth you give my cherry?"
"Well," Mom explained, scratching her head, "Actually, I said five. Your dad was the one who doubled it."
I shook my head. Damn, even I would have priced myself higher! Hello, excuse me, I happen to be your daughter, I wanted to tell them.
"So... are you?" This came from my father who now had a very serious expression on his face. "Please, Ani, say that you are..."
"I mean, no, I won't tell unless you increase the stakes."
"I think we hurt her ego," Mom told Dad. "Okay, my only daughter, you name the bet."
"Thank you, I will," I nodded, getting up to put the empty glass in the sink. "How about if the loser has to do everything the winner says for one month?"
They nodded; no one could ever say my parents were poor sports.
Instead of answering right away, I took my time washing the glass and putting it away, quite aware that when I stretched, the dress that I had on would stretch my plump figure that was also, according to quite a few people, voluptuous. I am rather vain of my firm breasts, approximately the size of oranges, and no matter what I wore, nothing could hide their fullishness. Mom had once commented that it was definitely wholesome.
Then I drank a glass of water.
Then I looked at my parents, waiting with baited breath the whole time. Mom seated beside Dad, with a subtle air of confidence. Dad with his naughty grin under his lopsided moustache. Yep, they were waiting for my answer.
"Yes. I am still a virgin. I have an intact hymen. And for what it is worth, I have masturbated only twice. There, you satisfied?"
Dad let out a loud whoop; Mom stared at me, as if she couldn't believe that she had been wrong. It was understandable, I thought fleetingly, because she had gotten pregnant with me when she was barely seventeen. Here I was, eighteen, and still a...
"I don't believe it," she said.
"What's not to believe?" my father asked, laughing. "The girl said she's a virgin, that's good enough for me. Tell me, who would know it better, you or Anitha?"
Mom turned to Dad with an accusing finger pointed at me. "You set this up, didn't you? The two of you planned this so that you could cheat me, didn't you?"
"We did nothing of the sort. If you remember correctly, you were the one who brought up the issue earlier today."
"Yeah, but that doesn't mean you couldn't have conspired earlier itself, knowing that I would ask you something one day?"
Did I mention that my mother is as stubborn as two mules crossed into one?
"Mom, do you know how silly you sound?"
"You don't talk, Anitha, you always help him. You know what I think? I think you are lying so that your father will win the bet."
"Look," my father was enjoying this, "If it means that much to you, we'll think that you won the bet, that you were the one who said she's a virgin."
"I didn't say she was one, and I won't say it." Mom grinned at us, herself enjoying the verbal combat just as much as her spouse. "And I know just the way to prove it!"
"We'll examine you."
"WHAT???" That, obviously, was me gaping like a fish.
"WE?" That was Dad, and he, on the other hand, was unnervingly sounding... happy?
"Yes," Mom continued, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. "You, my dear husband, are going to put your fingers inside our daughter to see if she has her hymen; if she does, then I want to see for myself."
Dad was silent for a second, and I actually thought he was thinking of something to stop my mother. That was before he grinned and shook her hand. "I like it."
"Excuse me," I found my voice at last, and filled it with sarcasm. "But has everyone here forgotten that this happens to be MY virginity you are talking about, and that, by some quirk of fate eighteen years ago, I was born as your daughter?"
"Of course we haven't, my dear," Mom answered, her smile too wide for my comfort, "We know that you are our daughter..."
"Is that why you were talking about putting Appa between my legs?"
"Honey," Dad quipped, "In case you missed the anatomy lesson, that's where your vagina is."
For a second, I didn't know whether to laugh or to scream; the next second, I screamed when my mother pulled my skirt up!
She paused, still holding my dress around my waist, exposing panty-clad legs to the rest of the world, which at this moment, thankfully, was defined by my Dad alone. "Yes?" like it was normal.
I slapped the dress back over my legs. I had worn a half-sari to college, a contrasting combination of black blouse and skirt over which lay the red dupatta, spun about me. I smoothed the skirt.
"Come on, Anitha, be a sport," Mom pleaded. "What harm can it do?"
"Yeah, what harm can it do?" Dad joined in.
"No," I shook my head. "I don't -"
"Attack!" Dad shouted, and the next thing I knew, I was being carried into my parents' bedroom, arms and legs flailing helplessly, with my Dad's hands pressed firmly against my buttocks while Mom was tickling my exposed back. In spite of myself, I started laughing. Dad dumped me on the bed as if I had been nothing more but a sack; even as I bounced, he dived alongside Mom and started to tickle me. Hands flew everywhere as they attacked me in perfect co-ordination while I tried to fight them off; quite a few times, I felt hands squeezing my tits, hands too big to be Mom's, and it excited me even more. It had happened in the past, so it was no big deal...
Finally, I gave in.
"Okay," I sighed, still giggling. "You win. You win."
"Not yet," my father corrected, "But I will."
With that, with nothing more than that, he caught hold of the free end of my dupatta and tugged it off. Apparently, he knew not his own power and ended up tearing my blouse off, thanks to the bobby pin I had used to secure the swaying pallu. Mom never stopped laughing, not even after Dad had bared me down to my bra, which, for the record, was unfortunately the naughtiest one I had ever worn - it was tiny (that's the best description) translucent and tight - showing off a lot of skin.
"Wow," came Dad's apology.
"She looks cute, doesn't she?" added Mom, brushing my hands away from my chest. "And she's definitely bigger than me."
Shocking me, Dad squeezed my left breast, causing my nipple to jump out. "And firmer too."
"Ouch!" That was what I came up with when Dad pinched my exposed nipple, right in front of my mother, and rolled it between his fingers.
"Sorry," Dad grinned as he started to pull down the cup covering my right tit. Now it may seem unbelievable to you, but my Mom was still laughing her head off.
"Excuse me," once again, I turned to sarcasm. This time, though, it was to hide the heaviness I felt in my own voice, courtesy my body's reaction to his forbidden advances. "But I think my vagina is down there, right between my legs... I think you got off at the wrong place."
"Told you not to wear this," Mom said, tugging at the front clasp of my bra. Thankfully, it stayed locked, for what good it could do now. "It didn't stand a chance."
.... There is more of this story ...