Sin City
Copyright© 2009 by Audrey Haber
Chapter 29
Erotica Sex Story: Chapter 29 - A tale about Page 3 lifestyles and relationships set in Bombay, India, in the late Nineties.
Caution: This Erotica Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa Consensual Romantic NonConsensual Rape Blackmail Cheating Cuckold Rough Torture Interracial White Male Slow
Merlyn spent Sunday morning spring-cleaning her apartment. Usually, she did it around Diwali time each year. Because at home in Bangalore, her mother had always spring-cleaned around Diwali time. But this time, she did it not because the house was really that messed-up, but because ... well, because she needed to scrub out all traces of The Unnamed.
That was how she thought of him now: The Nameless One. Anamika. Mr No-Name. Anonymous Ditcher. Woh Kaun Tha? Hemant Who?
As she worked the vaccuum cleaner, pressing it hard into the dhurrie on the living room floor, she took a perverse pleasure in pausing to grab a book here, an audio tape there, a holistic health magazine, and any other item that was a link to Him. Grabbed it and dumped it into an oversize black polythene garbage bag.
The bag was already a third full.
A telephone diary? Bag it. (It had his handwriting in it, and she already had all the numbers in her laptop anyway).
A pack of cigarettes? Hate the damn cancer sticks. Bag it.
A polaroid of the two of them standing before the Gateway of India like two cheesy tourists -- they had gone for a boat ride that day? Bag it.
A pile of print-outs of files he had downloaded from some website on Aromatherapy? Bag it.
A set of Singapore Airlines swizzle sticks he had brought back when he'd gone for that job interview? Bag it. No, snap them into bits and then bag them. Never mind if you scratch your palm in the process. Destroy! Wipe out! Nuke'em!
A brand new copy of Bridges of Madison County which he'd been trying to get her to read for months -- she told him she would puke before she read "that sentimental tripe"? Hold it in two hands, rip it fiercely down the middle -- How's that for a critical opinion, Robert James Waller? -- then rip it up some more, randomly, then shove the debris into the bag.
She went on in this way, destroying, tearing, smashing, breaking, cutting up, snapping, ripping apart ... until finally the bag was full and she found herself sitting on the passage floor, the vaccuum still whining away in the living room behind her, holding her head in her hands and feeling sick to the core.
What am I doing? I'm not falling apart, am I? No way, not me. I'm chilled. I can deal with this. He was an SOB anyway, I'm better off without him, I deserve better. It would never have lasted. It was not meant to be. We were fundamentally incompatible. Our chakras were not in harmony. He was Red-aura and I was Green. We just happened to travel together for a while on the Path of Life, and then we came to a crossroad.
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