Miss Gobble

The unkempt municipal garden between the college and the railway station provides the setting for our action. In a secluded corner, shaded by the old neem squats a bench once probably green, now carved with sundry profanities. There once a week, we keep our tryst. At night if there are no drunks prowling, or cops on the beat, the park is your territory. Then carrying my awkward burden, of necessity, in you I seek release. Better your deal, I think than descending to base extremes; besides I am told, by shunning intercourse, one can prevent disease. But even if that's not true and I'm equally susceptible with you, I'd come-because, how shall I put it?- you have a way with such things. Also, you always perform single-handedly and I hate go-betweens, or solicitings. Last, but not the least, you charge only ten rupees. Once the money is paid and my knees are conveniently splayed, you consider it unprofessional to delay. So whether I am at my best or worst, I usually succumb, because you have me quite literally, under your thumb. Then in the crook of your palm, you give me a quick run-down of all the skills at your command; no wonder I prefer you to my right hand. But, by now I am ready to stand on my own, so you promote me to the preferred location. Sometimes I wonder at our situation. I don't know your name, or from where you come; we hardly speak the same language and, indeed, have so little in common; then how do we manage to get so much done? When my thoughts take such a turn, my position undergoes a drastic alteration. Suddenly, I become assailed by unwelcome sensations- the open noisome gutter, is just one example; then, your own not too pleasant odour, bothers. With our chronic water shortage, such inconveniences, I know, cannot be helped; but they add to the squalor of your already sullied vocation. In this manner, while you are busy plying your intention and in the dark, your face betrays no emotion, I lapse into these depressing cogitations: how do you, with only a mouthful or two for supper go to bed each night on an empty stomach? And despite my precautions, I get deeply involved in the poverty of your lot. But on this point I get unsettled: you deftly twist your tongue and without knowing it, I emit a deep groan. You grab the advantage, perk up operations; I retreat a bit from too much stimulation- at this critical juncture, I suddenly lose control over the situation: unable to prolong the transaction, heedless of repercussions, I acquit myself to my utmost satisfaction. But by this time the issue has staled, and, your dues being already settled, I feel disinclined to extend this session. Walking off, I leave you on the bench tidying-up. Incidentally, your next client happens to be someone I know; his room is opposite mine on the same floor. Perhaps he'll dropp in afterwards to compare notes. [From The Used Book]