Chapter 2

Jake returned early the next morning. It was Sunday and the mart was closed for the day. He'd thought all last night about the little display he'd seen through Sharmila's window. He hadn't arrived at any conclusions.

This whole cultural thing baffled him. He realised he knew so little about Indian culture and customs. Was it proper for him to suppose she was masturbating herself for his benefit? What veil of prudery hung around Indian sexuality? Should he pretend this was all an accident, even though it was pretty obvious she knew he was going to pass her window? Perhaps it was important for her to maintain her 'respectability?'

She had risen, her front door was open, and he could hear the hum of a vacuum cleaner. He decided to go straight on up and start work.

He had a plan, though, one he'd carefully gone through. At some stage Sharmila would be coming up to gather in her washing. What if she caught him with his dick out again? What would she do? Perhaps, later, she'd put on another performance for him? If that was so, then that would be proof positive she was teasing him.

But if so, then what next? Can this be taken to another level? Was she up for it? He needed to find out.

The day was going to be hot. Jake had decided to wear his shorts. They were denim and a little too small for him. He had a T-shirt but decided to discard it in favour of a bare chest. Would that turn her on? He hoped so. Checking himself in the bathroom wall mirror, he decided he quite liked the look, albeit he thought he was a little too pale. He'd never bothered to get a suntan and now regretted it.

He laid out his gear carefully, listening to the buzz from the vacuum cleaner downstairs. He trembled a little from anticipation and the dome of his shorts was cutting into his belly. He wanted to release it, move his dick around. Most of all he wanted to jerk off with the dark Indian lady watching from the window, wanted it practically beyond all else.

The buzz stopped and there was the sound of movement downstairs. It seemed she was moving furniture back into place, perhaps dusting? He couldn't tell.

Jake was out back for a breath of fresh air. The smell of paint was overwhelming. Presntly he heard her soft feet coming up the steps. No wonder, he thought, that he'd missed her walking up yesterday. She was so quiet she barely disturbed the dust, but he'd missed his opportunity and he had to improvise.

She appeared carrying the empty whicker basket for her laundry. Sharmila seemed momentarily taken aback by his appearance; short shorts and bare chest. Jake smiled and said hello.

"It's a nice day, isn't it?" she said, drawing herself to the task in hand. She was dressed western style in T-shirt and sweats. Her hair was unfettered, and glistening with moisture as if she'd just washed it. It was long and hung down to her waist. On her head was a baseball cap with the Panther's name and logo, the Australian NRL team.

"A beauty!" he agreed. "You support Penrith?" he asked.

"Who?"

"Penrith! On your cap? The Rugby League team?" He knew he was trying to make conversation, but he was stuck for ideas.

"Is it?" she replied, "I don't know... I got it from somewhere. Penrith? Where is that?"

"New South Wales," he told her.

"Ah!"

"Want a hand?"

"I have two already. What would I do with a third?" This time, he was awake to her corny sense of humour and chuckled.

He went over anyway and began unpegging clothes. Her protests were weak and he ignored them. "It's quite all right!" she insisted, "I'm quite capable..."

She seemed flustered, Jake thought, and for the first time she seemed unsure of herself. Whether it was because of his state of dress or his helping of her, he couldn't tell. Sharmila wore the same sandalwood aroma about her that sent Jake's head spinning. He left her carefully folding her clothes and fled back inside.

'Improvise!' he thought, and quickly fished out his dick. This time there was no time to fetch a cloth and he rung himself to hardness without it. Faintly, he heard her on the steps, a soft padding of feet as she ascended. He strained to hear as she came down towards the window. Jake closed his eyes and listened intently as the footsteps faltered, then stopped. This time there could be little doubt, she was watching from the window.

He was so pent up it didn't take long to cum. Grunting, the stuff sprayed over his bare thighs and onto the carpet. The feeling was intense and his arse rose out of the sofa as he pumped out the last gob of spunk. As he sat back down, breathing heavily, he could hear the faint footsteps continue downstairs.

Jake cleaned himself up with some old rags as he carefully listened. He distinctly heard Sharmila's front door close softly and her footfalls as she moved around. Would she now return the favour, he asked himself?

He cluttered about ostentatiously then went outside to the steps, pulling the door closed with a loud thud. He then waited a few minutes before venturing down the steps. Would she be ready for him? He hoped he'd given her enough time to get ready.

When he came level to her window, however, she was not in the room. He stopped, wondering whether he should proceed innocently to his ute to fetch something or pause to see what she would do. Jake felt silly just standing out there. He hoped there were no passersby wondering what the Hell he was doing. He finally made his mind to continue when he saw her come into the room.

She'd changed from her T-shirt to another. This time it was tighter and he could plainly see her breasts were unrestricted by a bra. They were surprisingly large and he could see her nipples through the cotton. She was in her panties, white and shimmering like satin. Jake had a brief glimpse of a dark triangle and errant pubic hair peeking out below the elastic.

Sharmila sat down in the same chair, the one facing the window, and spread her legs. As Jake watched, she smoothed her hands down her thighs. He saw they had a light feathery stubble, she clearly didn't shave her legs. Her eyes were closed and looked away from the window. Obviously, she must be pretending he wasn't there.

Jake's tongue was thick in his throat, his breath stilled lest he make a sound. Gradually Sharmila's hand rubbed the crotch of her panties a few times before she pushed it under the elastic. Jake had a fleeting view of dark pussy hair as she began to stroke herself.

Did she peek at him under her hooded eyes, he wondered? He caught a slight movement of her head towards the window, before she flopped back, hand moving faster and faster. There could be absolutely no doubt, now, this was all for his benefit. Her excitement was growing, her body twitched and twisted and she pushed out her crotch, much in the same way he'd done a half hour before.

Her rush came quickly and she clamped her legs closed on her hand as the spasms shook her. This time he distinctly heard her grunt at the release, before she flopped down, massaging herself slowly to wind down.

Mindless of appearances, Jake turned and bolted back up the stairs. Inside, he grabbed his dick once more. This time, he had to work it hard before he came, and suffered from the rawness of friction burns afterwards.

'The next level?' he thought. It had been progress of sorts. They'd paid less attention to the charade and deliberately set about putting on a performance for each other. But where to from here? Where was this heading? He smiled at the adventure. He was sure looking forward to the immediate future.

That night Sharmila was adamant that she'd fetch her own dinner. Jake decided not to force the issue and left things as they stood. He explained he'd arranged for the electrician tomorrow morning and told her he'd be only working in the evenings during the week.

She smiled a thank you. Jake noticed a gleam, something indefinable, in her eyes. Was it his imagination? He suspected it was, but he preferred to think there was now a silent communication between the two of them that was intensely erotic. But he was content to acquaint her with his schedual, hopeful as he was, that she'd put on another show for him. Perhaps, he thought, this time she'd dispense with a little more clothing? He hoped she would.

He knew of a market in the mall that sold massage oils. He decided he'd need some if he wasn't going to rub his dick raw again. Is was a sweet ache, one that had nice memories, but he thought there were limits to how many 'memories' he could take.

With a better idea what Sharmila looked like undraped, his dreams that night had more detail. Most of all it was her face, grimacing in pleasure, that set him off. He realised he was halfway through the massage oil already. He'd better cut it out or he'd run out before tomorrow.

The next day went agonisingly slowly. He checked with the electrician and, yes, the stove in Sharmila's flat had been connected okay.

Five o'clock came at last and he locked up doubly quick. He couldn't wait to get around to see Sharmila.

He used the pretext of checking whether the stove was going to knock on her door. She invited him inside to test it personally. Jake noticed she was dressed western fashion in her usual clothes but she wore a heavy sweatshirt. The whole flat was scented with whatever she was wearing. He noticed a joss stick smouldering on a shelf and worked out why.

"Well, I'll be getting to work, then," he told her, extravagantly.

"You must be close to finishing," she replied.

"A little bit of plastering to do," he explained, "and I've yet to finish painting the ceiling. Perhaps," he asked as an afterthought, "you'd like to check the colours?"

"I don't know whether I have the colour sense," she told him. But he urged for her second opinion and she eventually agreed.

She followed him up the steps and watched while he unlocked. The stench of paint still lingered and Jake threw open the windows. She cast a disinterested eye around and told him it was very nice. The top flat was bigger and sunnier and Jake suggested she could move in when it was finished.

"I'm quite comfortable below," she said, "I have no need of any more room."

The conversation paused and she looked anxious to leave. Jake wondered what he should do next. He thought of pinning her to the wall and planting a kiss on her lips, but she gave no obvious signals that he could detect. Was she waiting for him to make the first move? To Jake that'd never come easy, a fact, he believed, that'd let many a chance slip by.

"Want to stay," he said uncertainly, "for a bit?"

"For what?" she asked, curiousity written all over her face. Again there was no hint of coyness, of subtle messages in her body language.

"Well," he coughed, "I thought we could, ah, talk."

"What about?"

"Things," he shrugged, "I, ah, just feel like talking."

"I have washing up to do," she told him, "and there's a documentary on television soon."

"Really? Perhaps I can lend a hand? Would you like some company watching this documentary... on what did you say?"

"I didn't," she replied, a hint of steel in her tone, "it's about Fiji, about the military coup."

"Which one?" he tried to sound light hearted.

"The latest. Tell me? You don't strike me as one who'd be interested in Fijian politics, particularly. Why would you want to watch it with me?"

"I guess," he took a deep breath, "because of the company."

"You are lonely?"

"Partly."

"And the other part?"

Sharmila really was boxing him in, he thought. What the Hell was she trying to do? "The other part," he said, hesitantly, "the other part is that I'd really like to hang out with you."

"I see!" She shuffled nervously, which put Jake more on edge than he was already. "And tell me, Jake, what do you expect we would do?" Again, her voice had a sharp edge. There was no hint of a tease. Jake felt any confidence he had slipping away fast.

"Watch television?" It was the only answer he could give in the circumstances.

"I don't think so," she told him, while edging towards the door. Casually, she turned her back and left.

If it was possible Jake would've kicked himself. He'd tried to move things to the 'next level, ' whatever that was, and she'd bolted. There was nothing to do, he decided, but to leave it, close the door, draw a line, or whatever cliché seemed appropriate. The woman had sent out mixed messages and, in her own kinky, sexually repressed, or whatever, way, he'd completely missed the point.

"This never happened," he said to the ceiling, "and she'd never was here."

He tried to work but, again, his heart wasn't in it. Below he could hear the muffled drone of the TV, indistinct, unintelligible commentary. No doubt it was her documentary. Funnily enough, he was interested in Fijian politics and would've quite liked to see it with Sharmila providing a bit of local knowledge. Above all, however, he wanted her company. He was, he admitted, quite lonely at times.

Jake decided to call it quits. He gathered his gear normally, without making it obvious below he was preparing to leave. He didn't imagine she was now going to put on a show for him.

As he walked down past he window, he noticed the curtain was closed. It was now quite dark and there was just a faint glow of her standard lamp and the flickering of the TV.