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Cupid's Kiss
Amit, Preity Zinta and Hrithik Roshan
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My stories are at ~swingingpuss
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Amit, Preity Zinta and Hrithik Roshan
A slight drool dribbled from his thick red lips and his tongue darted out to catch the precious liquid that slithered down his dimpled chin. His big baby brown eyes scanned the crowded bus in excitement.
'Pretty pretty Preity Zinta. Today he wanted to touch a Preity Zinta look-alike. Didn't matter how many buses he would have to change but Preity was who he wanted', he thought as he jostled through the caged mass of people knit tightly together in the overcrowded Delhi's Blue Liner Bus.
Not a whiff of wind could pass between the sea of humanity that silently endured the invasion of their personal space and the assaulting of their senses by the blaring bus music, appreciated only by the conductor who was counting his money in his dirty green bag and the driver who was singing the song bombastically.
"Meri sanso mi tu, meri bahon mi tu," the Jat driver sang more lustfully than Bobby curly locks Deol had sung in some godforsaken movie and swerved the bus drunkenly to avoid a foolish cyclist who could have been easily squashed like an erring motel roach on a death wish.
'Zinta, with those luscious hips and ample boobs; come on, you gotta exist. This is the fifth bus that I have boarded just to get a little close to paradise. Even the remotest similarity would be fine,' he thought and scratched his big boy. He cupped his boy. 'Mannn!! It was so big. He had reasons to be proud of his 12 inch member and the woman he gently bumped it against had reasons to be grateful.' He snickered at his devious thought.
Suddenly, he realized that his hand was stuck between his crotch and a fat old lady's lower back. She turned her head and gave him a dirty look. The smell of jasmine oil and sweat assailed his senses and made him remember his own mother. She loved jasmine flowers and there was always a string of flowers nestled in her thick dark hair.
But unlike this ugly pug faced witch she was a beauty to look like. More like a Parveen Babi type - all glamorous and neat. His father thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had seen or so he had mentioned to his younger wife who was about twenty years younger than his mother.
He raised an eyebrow and stared the woman down. She was a lower class woman, probably cleaned the dishes of some fat Punjaban bitch.
He slowly pulled his hand free and grinned at her as the back of his hand felt the contours of her fat laden body covered in a cheap cotton saree, over the two humps, the non existent waist and then the shoulders.
She pinched her eyes into little slits and let a volley of vulgarity slip from her lips.
"Besharam!! kutte!! Ghar me ma behan nahi hai kya?"
He laughed at the old clich�d line. All these Haramzadies knew only one line - Ghar me ma behan nahi hai kya?
As he melded into the crowd and his thoughts reverted to his womenfolk sitting at home a flame of pride swelled in his chest. They were the jewels on his crown though his father was a Lothario. Decent women, always in salwar kameez, they were the type who would never talk to strange men nor did they wear those shameless western clothes that girls wore nowadays to gain attention.
And men like him gave these girls what they wanted - attention. Zinta, where are you? he sang in his mind and in his mind's eye he saw what he would do to her. He would stand behind her so he could bump into her as the bus sank into every little pothole on the road.
He would slowly run his hands over her lithe body, starting from the denim covered jeans, the tightly belted waist and then cup the straining breasts in the sweaty t-shirt. A little sliver of excitement curled around his dick and nearly bought the sleeping snake to life.
Patience, he chided himself and was rewarded by a Preity Zinta look-alike standing a few meters away from him.
She was, in fact, way better than the dream queen. Her skin was whiter than milk, big kohl lined shy eyes dropped under his stare and her pouty lower lip was sucked under her firm teeth.
As he let her beauty wash over him he soon realized that she seemed quiver and twitch like a little helpless bunny being handled badly.
There was a man behind her doing what he liked to do, feeling the girl up and pushing against her, with a slight smile on his thin lips.
Disappointment washed over him and left him feeling like a cold, pulpy samosa. There was no way he could push that Harami away and take his place.
He made eye to eye contact with the girl and saw the mute plea in her doe eyes. If only he could cover those few meters and be near her. All he wanted to do was lay his hand on her, he wanted to touch that creamy skin, feel the softness and caress the translucent beauty.
Suddenly someone bumped against him and leaned his bulky frame heavily against Amit's slight body.
"Deekh ta nahi hai kya?" he craned his neck and barked at the stranger who leaned against him.
"Kya re chekanae? Aaage dekh bhanchod!" the gorilla replied.
Amit's adam's apple bobbed like a yo-yo on speed. The man was a foot taller than him. Bloodshot eyes glared into his and a ferocious smile spread across his lips revealing a gold tooth mixed with tobacco stained teeth. He looked like a goonda on the prowl for chekna boys.
Amit had heard about men like him but never across them and now there was no way out.
"Aaage dekh!" the giant spat at him.
He turned and looked ahead at Miss Zinta. But she had lost her charms. The gorilla poked him in the back with his boner. Amit tried to move but there was no place to squeeze through. He was crushed against people like a flower in a book.
He closed his eyes and felt the man's hands on his waist.
"No, please don't," he muttered and felt the man's breath fan his nape. He was being molested and there was no way he could get away.
He squirmed as the man groped his denim covered privates.
"Khare reh Hrithik Roshan ke Ollad" the harsh voice commanded him.
Tears of anger and humiliation sprang in his eyes. His mother had always said that he was the most handsome boy in the entire Pahar Ganj and used to talk about his prowess with girls. She was the one who first pointed out to the entire community that her son looked like the new superstar Hrithik Roshan with those light eyes, lean cheeks and dimpled cleft.
'If only his mother saw what was happening to her Hrithik Roshan,' he thought numbly as the man's hands caressed his well developed pecs.
"Rajori Garden ka bus stop ah gaya," the conductor's voice boomed and a wave of people pushed against Amit and his molester.
Seizing the opportunity Amit pushed the goon away and in the melee of pushing and cursing managed to squeeze through the crush of bodies.
He had to get out!! He couldn't breathe; his mind was in a shocked turmoil and his hands shook as he pushed people away.
"Neekal ne do!!" He screamed again and again till he was nearly thrown off the now moving bus.
The damp, sweltering heat of Delhi slapped his face ruthlessly and burned his violated body. 'He was glad to be off that hell on wheels, never again would he travel in a bus, the women weren't worth it, he could break the habit. His mother was willing to give him money to travel by three wheelers,' he reassured himself.
Drawing a deep breath, he looked around and saw the Zinta look-alike straighten her clothes. Their eyes met and then she climbed into another bus that had stopped at the crowded bus stop.