I’ll never forget the first time I had sex. I was nineteen years old and had just graduated from high school. Being young and probably a little bit naïve, it seemed that the whole world was opened up to me. Soon I would be going away to college, getting a good job, and doing whatever it is that a “typical” young person does in America. I really don’t know.
But the one big thing that still kind of bugged me? I was still a virgin! From the gossip I’d heard, maybe three fourths of the school had lost their virginity by senior year. But not me. No, you see, not only was I something of a nerd, but I was also the only Desi kid in the entire school district. Don’t ask me how that one happened. Once they came to America, my parents — both successful doctors and hailing from the Indian state of Uttar Pradesh — had decided to set up a family practice in some small town in the deep south. We were miles away from the nearest Hindu temple or Indian grocery store, and most people we knew always commented that they “never met an Indian before.” Never mind the fact that I was actually born and raised here in America.
And to top things off, my parents were very traditional too. They insisted that I marry a good, traditional Indian Hindu girl. Hell, I’m pretty sure that they would have been happy forcing me into an arranged marriage of some sort, if they could have done that. As it was, they had to settle for keeping me from ever having any intimate contact with a girl from the day that I hit puberty. They didn’t let me get a driver’s license, let alone a car. They kept me from going out to parties, school events and just about any other place I would want to guy. They even kept tabs of what I did on the computer.
Looking back on it, I’m not entirely sure that they needed to go so far. Like I said before, I was kind of nerdy back then, and being the only Indian kid in a predominantly white school district probably didn’t help things. And between homework and my after school job, I never had more than fifteen minutes worth of contact with a girl outside of school anyway. More than anything, that’s why I wanted to go away for college. Finally, I’d be free from my parents and be able to do whatever the hell I wanted… drink, experiment with drugs, make out with girls, watch American tv… you get the idea.
Well I didn’t expect that I would finally lose my virginity, not in some far off dorm room, but in Guyana of all places.
And now I bet you are wondering how that one happened, right? Well as you may or may not know, the South American country of Guyana has a huge Indian and Pakistani population. In fact, something like half of the country is descendant from South Asian laborers who came over in the 19th century. So it shouldn’t come as any surprise to find out that my family has relatives down there, and that the same year as my graduation, my family went down there to visit some old relatives and friends.
Of course, needless to say, a trip to Guyana was probably the last thing on my nineteen-year old mind. I was young and horny. At the time, I would have much rather gone out to Atlanta, Miami or New Orleans and partied my ass off. Guyana just made me think of a bunch of old timer sitting around speaking Bhojpuri and watching pirated copies of old Bollywood movies from the ’70s. It was… sort of embarrassing.
But Indian parents don’t usually take “no” for an answer. Even if I could have worked up the balls to say something like that to them, my father would have probably just slapped me across the face. With that in mind, I decided to just bite my tongue and go along with it. It’s not like I was going to have to spend any money or anything. So that’s how I wound up in Guyana.
Since we were visiting family, we wound up staying with one of my (many) uncles who owned a place down there. It was pretty humble, especially by American standards, but it had a nice warm bed, a kitchen, and a roof to keep the rain out, so it wasn’t really that bad. Especially since the weather down in Guyana is warm and tropical year round. It was also located in the middle of a bustling Indo-Guyanese town. And I know that back then I was sort of embarrassed about my ethnicity, but being surrounded by brown people for the first time in my life made me feel… I don’t know, less weird.
I was extremely surprised how relaxed my parents were about letting me go out around town. When we were back in the US, they wouldn’t have let me out of the house without knowing where I was going, who I was going with, and exactly when I would be coming back. But when I said that I want to go look around and see what Guyana was like, they just casually nodded and let me go. I don’t think they even said goodbye, in fact.
“He wants to explore his Indian heritage,” my father proudly boasted to my uncle.
Well like I said before, this wasn’t exactly a big town we are talking about here. In fact, I think that I probably exhausted everything of interest within only a couple of hours. But I had saved one thing for last; the Indian video store. Pretty much every South Asian neighborhood has a little mom and pop video store that carries all those old Bollywood movies, as well as movies in other languages I Punjabi, Gujarati, Bengali, Tamil, Telugu and so forth. I never really watched a lot of Indian movies at the time, except for the ones that my parents owned, but for some reason felt like checking this place out anyway. In the end, I’m glad that I did.
I don’t really know what I was expecting the guy who ran the store to be like. In my experience, they were usually either married couples (hence the term “mom and pops”) or old mustachioed Punjabi guys who smell of too much chutney and tikka masala. Very little middle ground on those two stereotyped. The last thing I was expecting was to see such a beautiful looking woman sitting at the counter.
“Namaste,” she casually greeted me as I entered her establishment.
Maybe I’m exaggerating, or maybe it’s because she was the first woman I had sex with, but if I saw her again today, I’d still tap that. She was admittedly an older woman who looked to be in her forties, and like many South Asian women, she had definitely put on some weight. But she was still a very attractive looking woman. Voluptuous would probably be the best word to describe her.
In fact, truth be told, the first thing that I noticed about her were her boobs… her big, round, juicy Indian boobs. Sure, I was a hormone-crazed nineteen year old who couldn’t stop thinking about boobs for more than twenty seconds, but ANYONE would have been hard pressed not to notice those puppies! They must have been freaking F cups, and they were desperately straining to escape from the dark green saree that she wore. As it was, it took all of my effort NOT to stare at her monstrously large breasts.
“May I help you,” she asked in English, her heavy Indo-Guyanese accent coming through.
“Ummm yeah,” I said as I tried not to stare, “I’m looking for… Devdas.”
I don’t really know why. It was just the first Hindi movie that popped into my head.
“Oh yes,” she said as she reached under the counter, “That is a very good movie! Very popular!”
She pulled out a rather dusty looking old VHS in a clear plastic case. There wasn’t any doubt that this copy was definitely bootlegged. The title was even crudely scrawled out across the label in both the Roman and Devanagri scripts in permanent marker.
“That will be two dollars,” she said.
I slipped her a couple of dollars, plus an extra dollar as baksheesh, and picked up the VHS. Out of the corner of my eye, I noticed that she seemed to be staring at me, so I looked over at her.
“I haven’t seen you around here before,” she said rather matter of factly, “You are an American yes? Did you come down here to visit family perhaps?”
“Yes that’s right,” I responded, “I’m with my family. We’re staying in town over at my uncle Narayan’s place.”
“Oh yes,” she smiled, “Mr. Sharma! I know Sharma-ji very well. You will have to tell him that I said hello. I haven’t seen him in a long time.”
Looking over at the clock, I realized that I should really get going. My family was going to expect me back for dinner soon, so I decided to say goodbye and run back to my uncle’s place. The woman seemed very friendly about the whole thing.
“Please come back soon,” she said as I left, “Maybe I could recommend some other Hindi movies for you.”
I thanked her and hurried out the door. Even though I was thoroughly out of breath by the time I got to my uncle’s place, I was still late. The rest of my family had already started eating without me, and they barely even seemed to acknowledge my arrival. Like any good, conservative Hindu family, my uncle completely eschewed the use of furniture, opting instead to eat on the ground. I sat down on the floor next to my mother and helped myself to some rice, curry and naan.
“You’re late,” my mother said rather casually to me.
“Yes,” I said apologetically, “I’m sorry but I just wanted to see what was going on in town and there was this little video store.”
My uncle set down his plate and looked up at me. He seemed somewhat surprised at this.
“Oh,” he said seeming somewhat surprised, “So you went in there, yes? How was Mrs. Patel?”
This time it was my turn to be surprised.
“You mean the woman who runs the store,” I asked, “You know her?”
My father just laughed.
“Of course he does,” my father said, “It’s a small town after all… and Narayan knows everybody here!”
My uncle simply nodded at this statement.
“It’s so sad,” my auntie chimed in, “Her being all by herself.”
“What do you mean,” I asked.
“Didn’t you know,” she said, “Mrs. Patel is a widow! Her husband died in a car accident about ten years ago and her children grew up and moved to America. She’s been alone ever since.”
Since I hadn’t even set foot in the country for two or three years, I’m not exactly sure why my auntie would have expected me to know all of the local gossip, but I politely avoided saying anything. Instead, I decided to finish up the meal, but her words put some new ideas in my head. If Mrs. Patel was all alone for all this time, then maybe she wanted a virile young lover to come and satisfy her needs. Sure, it’s something of a stereotypical teen’s fantasy, dreaming about the hot older woman next door and all, but like I said before, I was nineteen at the time.
Later on that night, when everyone else was asleep, I got up and went to the bathroom to masturbate. Again, I was nineteen and horny back then, so it wasn’t exactly unusual for me to do that. I grabbed a couple pieces of toilet paper (one of the few typically American luxuries my uncle’s family allowed themselves to have, thankfully), then started to stroke my cock and think about Mrs. Patel. I imagined her taking off her sari and exposing those big Indian breasts of hers. As I came, I fantasized about shooting my load all over those big Indian breasts of hers. After taking a minute to catch my breath, I flushed the sticky, balled up wad of toilet paper and flushed it. Then I crept out of the water closet and went back to sleep.
Needless to say, my horny teenaged mind thought about that woman quite a bit down there. However, I didn’t work up the courage to go back and see her until a couple days after the video was due back. I was afraid that she would be furious and ban me from the video store or something, but instead, when I got there the video stored seemed to be entirely empty.
“Hello,” I said nervously as I walked towards the counter in back.
There was no answer.
“Is anyone here,” I continued after a few moments of silence, “I just came by to return this video. I rented it the other day and…”
I stopped. For a brief moment, I thought that I could hear something. I stood absolutely motionless as I tried to hear what was going on. It sounded like it was coming from the room in back. And it sounded like somebody was sobbing. Now, I’m not normally all that nosy. I don’t just walk into a room without being invited or anything, but I was worried that… I don’t know, something might have been going on. Like maybe Mrs. Patel was being robbed or something, so without really thinking it through, I rushed into the back room.
Sure enough, Mrs. Patel sat there crying, but there were no robbers, no assailants. She was completely alone. She looked up at me, tears running down her face and streaking her make-up. She seemed completely surprised to see me, and quite frankly I don’t really blame her. Honestly, I’m not even sure that she heard me come in.
“I’m sorry Mrs. Patel,” I said scratching my head, “I just came in to return the video and… I don’t know, I heard you in back and thought something might be wrong… I’m really sorry… I’ll just let myself out.”
I started to make my way towards the door, but much to my surprise, Mrs. Patel stopped me.
“No wait,” she said as she tried to regain some sense of composure, “I’m sorry, it’s just that things have been so difficult since my husband died. I’m a widow you know.”
“Yes,” I said, “My auntie told me.”
“Then you must know how lonely it can be for me here. My husband is gone and my children have all grown up. It’s just… so hard not having a man around in my life. And sometimes…”
Now, it was at about this time that the whole thing was starting to seem a bit too much like a scenario from one of those old school porno movies where the lonely middle aged house wife tries to seduce the handsome young delivery man or pool boy. I think you already know exactly where I’m going with this.
“It’s okay,” I said to her as I sat down next to her and tried to comfort her, “I think you are still a very beautiful woman.”
Mrs. Patel stopped sobbing for a bit and looked over at me.
“Do you really think so,” she said. Her heavy Indo-Guyanese accent was really starting to come through.
Without even really thinking about it, I turned to face her and gave her a kiss on the lips. It wasn’t my first kiss; I wasn’t THAT deprived after all. But it was certainly the most passionate kiss I’d ever given anyone at the time. It was quick, but there was open mouth and some tongue involved. I’m not quite sure what came over me… hell, I’m not even sure if Mrs. Patel knew what was going on either, but she certainly seemed to go along with it.
It took a moment for me… for both of us to regain some sense of composure. We sat there, for a brief moment of silence, neither of us entirely certain of what to say or do. To be honest, I’ve never felt so vulnerable. I was afraid she might kick me out and cause a scene. I was afraid my parents would find out. Trust me, you have no idea how much South Asian parents react to that kind of stuff. But most of all, I was terrified that she might turn me away, reject me. And so I sat there, paralyzed with fear…
Instead, it was Mrs. Patel who made the first move.
“I… I see,” was all that she said.
What happened next really got me, though.
Mrs. Patel stood up and dropped her dark green saree to the floor, exposing her gigantic Indian breasts. Like so many Indian women, she was not wearing a bra, so she now stood before me almost totally naked. For a middle aged woman, she was still extremely beautiful. She had put on a little weight, as is common, but I wouldn’t really call her fat. Curvy works much better. In fact, almost all of her weight seems to have gone to her big ass and those F cups of hers.
“Do you like what you see now,” she said, smiling slightly as she wiped the last of the tears from her eyes.
A light sheen of sweat covered Mrs. Patel’s dark brown skin, one of the more fortunate elements of living down in the tropics. Her deliciously curvy body — and especially those enormous breasts of hers — swayed temptingly as she walked back over toward me.
“Yes,” I whispered excitedly, “Absolutely!”
Of course, by this time my teenaged cock was already rock hard, forming a noticeable bump in my pants. Mrs. Patel must have noticed, because she walked over and began to stroke it through the thick denim of my pants. Quickly fidgeting with the zipper, I whipped out my erection to give her a better grip. A tiny dribble of precum was already starting to come out.
She began to jerk my cock, gently but quite vigorously. Now, I wasn’t all that naive by this point in my life. Like any guy my age, I was horny 24/7 and all too well versed in the art of masturbation. But let me tell you, my very first hand job definitely beat all of my own efforts; pun intended. Gradually, Mrs. Patel built up a little more tempo to her efforts. I just kind of sat there groaning in pleasure. It was the best thing I had experienced up to that point in my life, and it was about to get much, much better.
After she had worked my horny teenaged cock for a while, Mrs. Patel looked up at me and smiled. She then knelt down and tossed back her long black hair. Yeah, she started to suck on my cock. And let me just tell you, she was going at it like a pro too. To this day, I don’t think that I’ve gotten a better blowjob. It helped that my cock was already a little wet and lubricated from the drops of precum that had spilled out earlier.
I could hear Mrs. Patel’s muffled sounds as she lovingly sucked on my cock. It took her a while to accommodate the whole length of my shaft, but soon she was bobbing her head up and down, making certain to get as much in as she could. Soon she had me all the way in. I could feel her full lips tickling my shaft, and her tongue and the back of her throat tantalizingly tickling the head of my cock. God, it felt so damned good.
Honestly, I didn’t know what to do, so I just kind of sat there as this beautiful Indo-Guyanese cougar sucked me off. Needless to say, being a horny nineteen-year old at the time, it wasn’t too long before I wound up shooting off my load inside of her mouth. I could feel it coming, and as soon as it happened, Mrs. Patel stopped. She waited for the first, then second spurt to come in her mouth.
I really wasn’t expecting her to swallow it, but she happily did so, then got up and wiped her mouth.
“Wow,” I said rather dumbfounded, “That was amazing.”
“So was that your first time with a woman,” she asked, that beautiful smile still on her face.
I just nodded, still somewhat embarrassed to admit to my virginity.
“Well then,” she said, “Do you think you have enough in you to go again?”
I don’t even think she needed to ask me that one. Like I said, at that age I was so horny that I would have been in the mood for sex pretty much any time of day… or night for that matter.
Mrs. Patel took me to a small mattress in back of her store and simply laid down, her legs spread wide open. Just because I was a virgin didn’t mean I was entirely ignorant about sex. I knew exactly how to position myself. My teenage cock — still sticky from her earlier blowjob — was once again rock hard. I should probably point out that condom usage wasn’t all that widespread in Guyana at the time. Hell, for all I know it STILL might not be.
I took a deep breath as pushed forward and entered Mrs. Patel’s middle aged Indian pussy. She was surprisingly wet already, so it was pretty easy. Looking down, I could see her writhing in pleasure, her eyes closed tightly. She moaned a little as I thrust into her. At first, I was a little afraid that I might have been hurting her. I stopped for a moment, but Mrs. Patel just looked up at me and smiled.
“It’s all right,” she said, “Please go ahead.”
I eagerly obliged her request and started to fuck her. Wanting to please her, I began to kiss her neck and rub my hands over her body. I’d seen those moves on late night skin flicks, so I figured that was the way to arouse a woman. I must have been doing something right, because Mrs. Patel ran her hands through my hair and across my back as I kept thrusting into her, getting a little braver and a little more forceful with each try.
“Yes,” she cried out meekly, “Oh! Yes! Keep going!”
Finally, I began to fondle her huge boobs, playfully squeezing the dark brown nipples. She seemed to moan in pleasure each time I did so. I’m not sure what came over me, but I decided to suck on her boobs. She seemed a little surprised when I gently bit her nipple, but I think she liked it.
Of course, by this point both of our bodies were literally covered in a light sheen of sweat due to both the tropical heat and our own vigorous fucking. Mrs. Patel wrapped her powerful legs around me, squeezing as hard as she could. I think she knew that I must have been close to cumming, because I could feel it too. Only a few seconds later I was shooting my teenage spunk into her middle aged womb. Again, I don’t think she really cared about it that much. Like I’d said, condom usage just wasn’t that common down there.
It took us both a few moments to catch our breath after that. By the time I looked over, Mrs. Patel was already getting dressed.
“Don’t worry lover,” she said quietly to me, “I’ll be back. I just have to get back to business for the rest of the day.”
I had completely forgotten that we were in the backroom of an Indian video store. I guess your first time will do that to you. But Mrs. Patel kept her word, and sure enough, we had sex several more times before my family went back to the States. And she taught me many, many different positions… I will always be in love with her for that. In fact, I still have an old Polaroid of her that I keep in my wallet. I will always remember my busty Indo-Guyanese lover, and I will always be grateful to her.
But, you are probably wondering what inspired me to write all of this down so many years after the fact. About two weeks ago I was talking to my cousin, who came up here from Guyana to go to college. Subtly, I asked him what was going on with friends and family down there, and I eventually worked up the courage to ask about Mrs. Patel.
“Oh,” he said, “You know about her too then?”
I was more than a little surprised by that, so I asked what was going on. Eventually, I got the whole story out of him. It turns out that Mrs. Patel has something of a reputation down there. You see, she is more than just a video store owner. It’s also something of an open secret that Mrs. Patel is a prostitute, and that many men, including my uncle, have been fooling around with her. But that wasn’t the biggest shock.
Apparently, her fame stretches across the whole country. My cousin showed me a small porno site which boldly proclaimed that Mrs. Patel has “the biggest boobs in Guyana.” Oh, they used the fake name ‘Indira’ and had blocked out her face, but I would absolutely recognize those massive F-cup boobs of hers anywhere.
Like I said before though, I’m not mad at her. Maybe I’m being sentimental, but she was my first sexual partner, and she never led me on or made me think that we had some sort of exclusive relationship. In fact, we never could have. But if it wasn’t for her… well her love, I’m not entirely sure that I would have turned out to be the happy person that I am today. And so, at the risk of sounding a bit repetitive here, I’ll always love her and be grateful for those magical nights we laid together.
Yes, I will always love you Mrs. Patel, and I hope that maybe, just maybe, you are reading this somewhere out there in Guyana.