the fourth lesson an erotic story

The Fourth Lesson
Sandeep Agarwal was a fifteen-year-old high school student. He was basically a science student who aspired to be a doctor or an engineer and thus did not have much to do with the arts classes. Nevertheless, Sandeep Agarwal was an artist at heart and when ever he crossed the arts room, would hesitate outside the door for a little while and peep in. Depending upon the day or the hour he would see carbon pencils, or wax crayons or oils, turpentine’s, brushes, pastels, modeling clay or plaster of Paris. He would take a deep breath, sniff the art smells, look at the boys and girls deeply engrossed in their assignments, feel a little sad, nod his head and walk ahead. He always remembered his mothers words “This art shart thing is meant for stupid people without brains. Not all can became a Pablo Picasso or M.F. Hussain. You my son, are well endowed with grey matter and come first in the class. For you it is going to be science, Physics-Chemistry-Biology and mathematics. I don’t particularly care if you eventually become a doctor or an engineer. But no Jhadoo on the canvas for you!
Sandeep Agarwal did not have a father. His mother was a doctor, a divorcee, and a single mother who would not encourage any conversation about her ex-husband. She doted on her son as much as he did on her, and for Sandeep, there was absolutely no question about disobeying his mother. He was thus a science student by choice and an excellent science student at that. But the artist, imprisoned deep in his heart tried to explore methods to peek out and display its existence in each and every molecule of his. This obviously showed in many ways. His drawings of the microscopic section of the plant stems would look prettier than that in Dutta’s text book. His drawings of the human anatomy in the zoology practical would look alive. Even the way that he wrote his name on his notebooks was artistic. The Arts Teacher was a Mr. Hussain, with a goatee beard and square spectacles, who pretended to be a great artist but was basically mediocre in his work, else he would not be working as an Arts teacher in Vivekananda High School. He would occasionally glance at an anxious Sandeep peeking into his class but did not pay too much heed because he did not have time enough for his regular art students. It would thus be too much to expect him to take any interest in a science student dabbling in arts. But Sandeep did not want anything from Mr. Hussain. He just wanted to imbibe the aura of the art class, the sights and smells of which produced an immense pleasure in him. Sandeep, however spent his spare time on art. He had two passions, oils and sculpting.
Two events occurred, which changed Sandeep’s future and inexorably brought him towards the world of the art, which consequences not necessarily pleasant, especially for his doctor mother, and the first of these events was Mrs. Mohini Sanyal. The current arts teacher, Mr. Hussain, got a job as a lecturer in the government arts college and the new arts teacher was Mrs. Mohini Sanyal. She was a twenty eight year old lady who justified her name in more than one ways. Mohini is a Sanskrit word which does not have an exact English translation, but the closest you could get would be bewitchingly pretty. Mrs. Mohini Sanyal was not only herself bewitchingly pretty, but her creations were equally bewitching. Be it a drawing or sculpture or a painting, if it was done by Mohini, then it would leave an incomparable imprint.
No one knew about Mr. Sanyal. Mrs. Mohini seemed to be rich and well placed, because, when even the principal came to the school in a scooter, Mohini drove her own Maruti. The moment she joined the school, there was a sudden revival in arts and crafts. Exactly one month after she took over duties, Mohini announced a painting competition. It was to be held on a Sunday and participation was not restricted to arts students alone. Notices were plastered all over the school and Mrs. Mohini Sanyal announced that the first prize would be a pair of roller skates. It was not that Sandeep had any great interest in roller skating, but his interest in painting had not diminished and he decided to participate. His mother Dr (Mrs.) Agarwal was not happy that her son was wasting a Sunday in this manner, but he was insistent, and it was after all such a small thing! She finally agreed.
Sandeep’s creation, Oil and Canvas, titled “Hurricane-Katrina” was the unanimous choice for the first prize, and that evening when Mohini Sanyal’s soft palms brushed his as she handed over the box with roller skates, for the first time in his life, Sandeep felt a clear sexual thrill. At fifteen and a half, Sandeep was not a stranger to sex. However all his experiences were restricted to books, magazines, movie and television. On his way home, though he thought all the while about Mohini Sanyal, he chided himself for his stupidity. Actually it was really strange. He suddenly did not want to refer to her as Mrs. He thought of her as plain Mohini Sanyal. His mother was not too impressed by the prize but Sandeep could not control both his pride and pleasure.
Mohini Sanyal had looked extremely pretty on that day. She was wearing a dark brown nylon saree with an almost transparent poplin blouse. The sleeveless blouse clearly displayed her clean shaved armpits as she moved them about, instructing the students. Her complexion was almost milk white and contrasted brilliantly with the dark saree which seemed to flow carelessly around her dangerous curves. The blouse was low cut both in the front and the back. When she showed her back, it was almost bare and the clear outline of the bra was visible under the fabric. When she bent down, the paloo carelessly slipped, displaying an abundant cleavage. Mohini seemed to be oblivious to the devastating effect that she was causing, but a little later, Sandeep understood that this devastation was for him and him alone. All the other students were busy with their boards, paints, papers and canvas. That night, when he tossed on the bed, he could not get her lithe and sensuous image out of his head.
Most young men, in their growing up, pass through a stage, when they would face a severe embarrassment at being abruptly woken up, wetting their underpants in the middle of their dreams, when the body’s biological urges break through and burst out. In Sandeep’s case it was the sensuous and lascivious images of Mohini Sanyal that accompanied his nightfall and he could not sleep a wink for the rest of the night. The next morning Sandeep realized that he was a changed man. He was no longer interested in physics and zoology. All he wanted was to study arts. Of course he was too scared of his mother to go beyond her wishes, but the love for art kept him restless and fidgety. He was not able to say for certain whether it was the love of art or the art teacher.
Any way he finally decided to work out a compromise. He met the arts teacher during a free period and told her about his interest. He then expressed a desire to train under her. She did not reply immediately but asked him to come back the next day. Sandeep too was worried because even if Mohini agreed, he would have to convince his mother. Finally the next day, with baited breath, he walked to the teacher’s room. She told him that it would be against the school rules to allow a science student to take arts classes. However she was willing to teach him in her spare time in her house. Once a week, he could go to her house and she would teach him the basics of sculpting and oils. There were still about six weeks to the final exams and Mohini told him that two to three hours a week, and that too in the evenings would not affect his studies adversely. They decided to meet at her house at 7.00 pm each Saturday.
“I will give you four lessons, and at the end of this, am certain that you would be something to be proud of!”
He was a little worried about the four lesson bit, but beggars could not be choosers. Each opportunity of meeting with her would be an experience. He just nodded his head.
“And what are you going to tell at your house?” She asked as she bent down. Her paloo slipped again giving him a tantalizing glimpse at her sumptuous cleavage and Sandeep stammered
“W-whatever m-m-madam says!”
“Well young man, in the normal course of events, it would be no big deal for a teacher to invite a student to her home and teach him”
“Yes madam”
“But in my case things are a little different”
“Yes madam”
“I live alone and you are a young man. People may misconstrued things!”
“Yes madam”
“So what would you do?”
“I will tell my mother that I am joining coaching classes in a tutorial institute. Actually I was planning to join one this week. I would choose the 7-9 pm classes but skip the Saturday classes alone. No one would know anything!’
“That sounds like a wonderful idea. Today is Thursday. Let us start from this Saturday”.
Sandeep Agarwal could not control his happiness as he looked up to Mohini once again and exactly at this moment her paloo fell down giving him another exposure which produced an uncontrollable tightness in his crotch. He had to thus kept a note book in front of his groin as he slowly got up and walked out of the room. He was so desperate that he could not wait till Saturday.
He joined the tutorial classes the next day and his mother was actually pleased that he was taking special interest in his studies. On Friday evening, he met Mohini Sanyal (he had stopped thinking of her as a Mrs.) who gave her the directions to her house which was an independent bungalow in civil lines, a little outside the town. At 6.55 pm on Saturday evening he was outside the huge teak doors of her house which was an ancient bungalow in a huge compound. As he rang the bell, he was thinking about the four lessons that she had promised. Sandeep was so excited and fluttery that he could feel his heart flutter under his shirt. Art of course, he was interested in, but he was anxious and expectant at any other lessons that may come as a bonus.
The first Saturday was a day of white. She had worn an almost transparent white silk saree with an equally diaphanous white blouse under which, the outline of her black bra was clearly visible. The blouse seemed to be a little tight and it appeared as if her constrained anatomy was bursting to break free from its confines. She had worn a detectable perfume and carried a glass of clear liquid in her hand, from which tiny silver bubbles rose with great rapidity. Her smile was big and welcome was effusive. Holding him by his wrist, Mohini pulled Sandeep in and took him to the drawing room. She made him sit on a lush sofa. Walking to the drinks cupboard she pulled a glass. A can of coca cola came out from the fridge and the chilled drink was poured into the glass. Sandeep was a little surprised that she had not served him the transparent and fizzy drink that she was drinking. Much later, he would know that it was vodka-soda.
She handed him his glass, their hands brushed accidentally and sent shudders through him. She sat down on a low stool at his foot and said softly “cheers”. He could not understand if the seating was deliberate or accidental but Sandeep found that from his position, when he looked down at her, he could not avoid peeping into her magnificent melons. She slowly took the glass to her lips and took a gentle sip. They looked at each other and their eyes met. He could see the fine films of pink in her sclera while he perceived a faint aroma of alcohol waft to him. He looked around and found no art material in sight. Even he had not got his sketch pad or charcoal sticks. He continued to look into her eyes as he sipped the coke. Very slowly and in a seductive voice Mohini started
“Today would be your first lesson. The most important and desirable quality for an artist would be his power of observation. You should be able to observe the form both in staticity and fluidity. Even before he picks up a pencil or a brush, the artist should have captured the image in his brain. For this, a very careful observation is needed. Do you understand?”
“Yes madam!”
“No Sandeep. Don’t call me madam. Plain Mohini would do. And so, to continue our lesson, we are going to plan a sculpture. In four sessions, or may be four sittings, the artist would conceive the idea. And then the creation process would start!’
“I understand Mohini. As a first lesson, you want me to observe”
“And Sandeep, this work of art would be based on a human form. The artist should use all his imagination to look at the model from every conceivable angle and finally imprint it in his mind”
It was quite simple and Sandeep nodded his head. Mohini gently got up and he imagined that he saw her sway like a snake dancer when she slithered up. She took a few steps to the stereo to one side and pressed a button. The room was suddenly filled with smooth strings of music, a symphony of some sort. Sandeep gripped his cola glass with a great frenzy and any more pressure would have shattered the delicate glass. His eyes almost bulged out of his sockets as he observed her. In moments her lithe body had started swaying with the rhythm of the music and Sandeep had never seen a sexier dance. She gave him a bewitching smile and gently unclipped the paloo from the shoulder.
The music rose to a crescendo, she gave a twirl and in the same motion removed the saree and flung it in the air. The six yards of silk fluttered silkily towards him and its extreme edge caressed his cheek. Sandeep was about to get up from the sofa when he saw her eye signals which commanded him to remain seated. As if stung by an invisible arrow, Sandeep collapsed back on the soft sofa, as he took the glass to his lips Mohini was dressed in a white contour hugging silk petticoat slit up to her calf and as she twirled and danced with gay abandon, Sandeep could perceive the shapely calf and leg, which sent in another dozen arrows of desire into his heart. The music picked up rhythm and so did her dance. The fabric of both the blouse and petticoat was so sheer that he could clearly see the black bra and panties underneath. The blouse was fastened by hooks in front and she started slowly unhooking them one by one.
She had some difficulty with the hooks because her delectable a anatomy was pushing forth and when the last hook finally came off, the two globules pounced out defying not only sir Isaac Newton, but a few others as well. The music had become a little slow and she started gently peeling the blouse. It was almost as if the blouse was pasted to her torso and as she struggled to peel it off, matching the sensuous rhythm of the music, the lovely white breasts; less than one third covered by the frilly back bra, jiggled in such an inviting manner that Sandeep stood up yet once again. The perfumed silky blouse floated to him and landed on his nose, filling him with a detectable aroma and blinding him for a second. Very slowly he removed the sheer fabric as he caressed the silk and attempted to take one step forward.
Her eyes once again moved as a whiplash and Sandeep sat down. The petticoat was string type and her fingers were next fumbling with it. The loop around the waist was unstrung and she gradually slipped it out, emerging like a butterfly from a pupa. The music had now become faster and clad in her black bra and panties, Mohini danced a detectable dance which proved that she had been named appropriately.
The bra was clasped in the back and she had some difficulty in opening it, but once it was snapped and unhooked, it almost came fluttering out. Her anatomy was absolutely unbelievable. She then walked slowly to him and still swaying to the rhythm, placed her dainty and shapely leg on the stool, on which she was originally sitting and ever so gently peeled off the black panty as well. In her nudity she seemed to become energized. She danced with gay abandon giving him an ample opportunity to observe her. Mohini too was very carefully observing his expressions and mannerisms as she could clearly understand the devastating effect that she was having on him.
Once she completed the dance, she picked up her clothes and walked to the middle of the room. She changed the music and this time it was a rap tune. Swinging to it, her ample breasts juggling to the tune provocatively, she started dressing up. It was almost a striptease in reverse and much to Sandeep’s surprise this was a little more exciting then the undressing act. After a few chidings, he knew that she wanted him to stay put on the sofa and just observe. She had been quite clear. The first lesson was observation and observation alone. Once she wore the saree, she gave him a deep bow, once again displaying a detectable cleavage and Rahul Agarwal came in his pants.
“One lesson over and three more to go. Hope the artist has observed the model” She said in quite a business like manner as she collected the empty coke glass from him and placed it back on the shelf. He looked at the watch and it was only 8.30. He had until 9.00 pm, but as far as Mohini Sanyal was concerned, the lesson was over. He could not actually believe what had happened. He was not sure if what he had seen was dream or reality. However the stickiness in his underpants told him that something had happened. The stickiness embarrassed him and he got up briskly. He looked straight into her face as he said good bye because he did not want her to glance down and look at his crotch. Hastily he said a good bye and walked out. His mind was in a great turmoil as he pedaled the bicycle furiously to his house. He was not able to make up his mind if it was an art lesson or a lesson in seduction.
The whole of the next week ……
(I am certain that like me, you too would be curious as to what happened on the next Saturday during the second lesson. The author had wasted three pages describing the intervening week and apart from being a complex thesis on an adolescent’s confusions on his first attempt at sexual awareness, these three pages contributed nothing to the story. I have thus deleted those descriptions to make the story more laconic and have come straight to the next Saturday when Sandeep waits outside Mohini’s house. This time of course he has a sketch pad and a couple of charcoal sticks --- editor)
The door opened and a waft of divine female perfume hit Sandeep’s nose. He looked at her and continued looking with fixed unblinking eyes. Today she was dressed so different. Today, it was a maroon party gown in soft suede velvet. It was a sexy piece that you would see on Aishwarya Rai in Cannes film festival party. This was a special velvet that gave the fabric a wet look, if you brushed it with your palm. It had a high chocker neck, no sleeves and a slit almost up to the left buttock. The stretch fabric was almost stretched to its limits as it enveloped her like a gift wrapping. She had worn a slight lip gloss and as usual had the vodka glass in her hand and a bewitching smile on her lips as she opened the door and invited him. He saw that the gown was so tight, that he could see the outline of both the bra and panty underneath. This time, she did not hold his hand and pull him in. This time she just gestured him in and pointed to the sofa. She bolted the door and walked slowly ahead. Her shapely buttocks moved seductively with the fabric and an occasional step would spread the slit displaying her extremely shapely and very pretty leg almost till if flared up into the buttock. If the white saree on the previous occasion was deadly, this gown was devastating. she paused in the middle of the drawing room looking at the sofa and then hesitated. Mohini Sanyal then seemed to make a decision and turned to him. His heart missed a beat when she said “I think you can have your second lesson in art in my bed room. Let me fix up a drink for you and we will go in together”
Once again, it was clear vodka and soda for her, and just before she poured him coke, Mohini gave a smile and said
“A little alcohol, definitely expands your horizon and makes you perceive things better. I will add a dash of vodka for you. It is Smirnoff and I hope you enjoy it”.
She poured a dash of Vodka and topped it up with chill cola. She gave a gentle lick to her tongue and said
“To “Perceive” is the key. Perception is the magic. An artist cannot create unless he perceives what he has to create. Come along and we shall explore the second lesson!”
They clicked the glasses and Sandeep took a sip. Though he perceived a faint medicinal smell, the taste was not too different. As they sipped the drinks, they walked into the carpeted corridor towards the bedroom. It was a huge and ancient house, richly furnished, and Rahul told himself that Mohini was a rich woman and need not work as an arts teacher in the school. The bedroom was not too big. It was rather cozy with a queen sized bed in the middle and a small television in one corner. Besides the TV was a music system and he could see the two speakers on the wall.
She sat on the bed with a bounce and patted close to her. Like an obedient boy, Sandeep sat down beside her but was a few inches away. She moved a little closer and the next instant her thighs rubbed his though the fabric of his trouser. He was excited in such an incredible manner that to cover up his embarrassment, he took the glass to his mouth and drained it in a shot. In moments he felt a strange sort of light headedness and euphoria. The world seemed to be a different place. Mohini’s beauty was suddenly multiplied a hundred fold. His hands involuntarily moved to her thigh and started gently stroking the fabric. The smooth velvet was indeed sensual. Mohini slowly held his wrist and replaced his palm back on his thigh.
“Don’t hurry. Today is the day of touch. You would be allowed to feel but all in due time. Let us get to the second lesson of art. It is touch or feel. The first was observe or look and the second to logically follow is touch and feel. You would be allowed to both touch and feel. And while you do that, I want you to loosen all restrictions on your mind and absorb the observations in your mind closely blending it with what you had seen last week.”
Poor Sandeep. For one, the talk was too complex. Secondly the vodka had done strange things to him. And thirdly the woman’s presence so close to him was exciting him so terribly that he could do nothing but keep his palms on his groin and hope that she did not look at his erection.
“In feeling, you have to use your fingers. The most important point is delicateness. The moment you press an object, your brain gets confusing signals about it shape and size. To get a precise idea about the exact shape, your touch should be gentle. It should be as soft as a caress. You should avoid fumbling and groping. Use the flat of your palm and tip of your fingers. Be gentle and feel. FEEL and TOUCH. And as you do that, co-relate with what you have observed. Allow everything to be stored in your mind. Do you understand?” Sandeep nodded as his cheeks blushed. It was besides the point that he could not understand a thing. But one thing that he was certain of was that today’s touch lesson was going to be decidedly better than last weeks look lesson. Leaving him on the bed, she got up and walked to the music system, flashing a glimpse or her shapely thigh and erotic half buttock almost to the frill of the panties.
(The next four pages was more or less a repeat of what had happened the previous weak. I seriously think that the author was in an erotic mood and had gone overboard in his descriptions. At some places it read a little hotter than four x’s. This is not a story for ‘Play boy’ or ‘Asian babes’, and thus I decided to delete all the lascivious and erotic descriptions and zoom straight to the point where, the story resumes again. However for the sake of completeness I have to tell you what actually happened in that room. Mohini did a striptease and half way through signaled to Sandeep to take of his clothes as well. And now when we get back to the story, Mohini and Sandeep are sitting next to each other on the queen sized bed, buck naked looking into each others eyes.– editor)
Mohini picked up her glass and drained it. She then arched herself in such a way that her lithe body rippled as one curve blended into another and quivered every muscle in her lascivious body.
“And now we touch each other. We feel. We don’t squeeze but we caress. We use the tips of our ten fingers and our palm. We feel each other and correlate these feelings with our last weeks observations. Let your mind be free. Let each expression become unbridled. Smell the words I speak, taste the smells I emit but use only the palms of your hand and tips of the ten fingers to feel”
Very gently she took her hand to his chest and stroked his nipple. She felt it rather. Sandeep needed no further invitation and started his tactile observation. His lips were hungry for a kiss, but Mohini allowed him nothing but caress. Her soft hands caressed the inside of his thigh.
The instant her palm folded over his organ, he could control no more and once again had an orgasm. She looked at the intense feeling on his face and watched him exhaust himself, but the change in her after this was dramatic. She got up briskly, collected her clothes and walked into the bathroom. Sandeep stared at the closed bathroom door for a few moments and then looked at his own nudity. He quickly wore his dress and wiped himself with his handkerchief. When Mohini Sanyal came out of the toilet, she was all business like and told him that he had learnt his lesson well and the next lesson would happen in the arts room downstairs. They would then move on to the third step. She almost herded him out and as Sandeep pedaled furiously towards his house, he was both happy and unhappy. Happy at his progress from his underpants to her palm but sorry that it had not gone beyond that.
Looking at the fact that the editor is so mercilessly slashing the lines I have taken so much trouble to write, I decided not to write them in the first place. I have thus fast forwarded the whole week until next Saturday 7.14 pm, where we find Mohini taking Sandeep to her studio. She is in a white shorts and a mini T shirt displaying more of her body than covered with whites. If she was detectable last week, she was rape bait today. The studio was beyond the bedroom and they had to climb down a narrow flight of stairs, which made Sandeep suppose that it was in the basement. Once they got into the dark room, his suspicious were confirmed because there were no windows. She then switched on the light.
Sandeep was overwhelmed. It was a huge hall with a lot of paintings on all walls. Sculptures rested on their stands. A lot of sketches and drawings were strewn around. But what he saw in the center bedazzled him so much that he stood unblinking looking at the four black statues. One animal and three humans. The statutes were life size and jet black. But even from the distance he could say that each statue had been carved with intricate detail. She saw the bewilderment in his face and slowly took him forward. From close up, he was really startled. He had to agree that Mohini was excellent at sculpture. Except for their black color, they looked life like in every way. Each strand of hair, each eye lash, each wrinkle of skin and each bulge of a muscle or a sag of the breast was captured in breathtaking detail.
There were four sculptures. One was a dog with an open mouth, its black teeth bared and black tongue hanging out as each of his hair stood out individually black as the night. Beside the dog, stood the man. Middle aged, paunched, shriveled testicles, small penis, pointed nose and head up chin up looking into the eyes of a girl in an oil painting across the room. Had it not been black, it would have looked alive. Even a lipoma of the calf had been carved to exact detail. Next to it was an old lady, shriveled, wrinkled skinned, her droopy breasts hanging down like cocker spaniel’s ears. Her shapeless legs bent into a knock knee. Head bent, chin down she looked at the table where the last sculpture lay.
This was a new born baby, its umbilical chord still attached to it belly, arms akimbo legs kicking, mouth wide open, almost as if she would start crying any moment. Sandeep did not have much to say about the choice of subjects but the sculptures were a work of a genius. Only a superb artist could get this amount of perfection. However Sandeep did not have an idea about the material with which the sculptures had been made. She took him to the next room and showed two rectangular stainless steel pots full of a dark substance. She explained that it was a special resin which can be carved with great intricacy and once it set, would become more sold than granite. This was a special medium that she had invented for the sculptures. Sandeep was a little upset that he had asked such a stupid question.
He did not want to spend any more time in the smelly room with utensils full of molten resin. He was anxious to get out and start his third lesson. In her white dress, Mohini looked like Sanya Mirza’s elder sister and Sandeep could not control his emotions and excitement. Coming back to the statues, he ran his hand over them. Smooth and cold to touch they were, but he thought that he could actually feel each wrinkle on the skin. This time she had made arrangements for drinks in the studio itself. She made a slightly larger drink for Sandeep and once again walked to the music system. Just as she crossed the sculpture of the middle aged man, she licked his left ear lobe.
“Taste! That is your third lesson. A tongue is a lot more perceptive than you finger. What you did last week with your fingers you now do with your tongue. Explore your subject taste the hidden nooks and corners. Think back to your touch. Now correlate look with touch with taste. Let the three blend together in an intricate mix, which would stimulate the hidden creative potential of the artist. Do you understand?”
Sandeep nodded his head energetically though he did not understand a word. Exactly like my editor, who would not understand that the subsequent descriptions are essential for the smooth flow of the story. The editor is hell bent on moral policing and determined to use his sharp scissors to snip-snip, censor the next few pages and thus I have decided not to waste my time writing it up in the first place. I will use the appropriate fast forward techniques and get to the point where after a strip the two are standing next to each other.
Mohini then bent down and licked his nipple. She then tasted every inch of Sandeep’s body exactly as she allowed Sandeep to taste every bit of her. And once again Sandeep fired before ready and aim, exactly the moment as her lips encircled him, and the moment he came, the expected happened. She carried the shorts, shirt and underwear under her arm as she walked into the toilet swaying her shapely posterior. As Sandeep furiously pedaled home he told himself that from hand he had come to the lips! May be the fourth lesson would take him to his final destination.
Next Saturday – She in a lovely jeans and tube tops – Down to the studio – She drinks – He drinks – music on – she strips – he strips – slowly continue drinking – sit on the floor close to each other – He then places his head on her lap – she bends down and he flicks her areolae – she runs her hand slowly through his hair – tells him a story.
“You see Sandeep, I never told you about my models. The little baby on the table is my daughter. Born dead they say. But I don’t believe them. My husband and the nurse killed my baby. And Brutus! Our dog would have looked on when they killed my daughter. Bo no! I am an artist and would not allow my dreams to die. And so I decided ….”
Sandeep suddenly sat up and his check brushed against her luscious mammeries. He had felt a sudden inexplicable shiver run up his spine but now it was gone. She continued
“I did not bury my baby. I did not burn my baby. I made a sculpture instead. The special resin I have concocted would form an airtight coat over the body encasing her like a statute freezing her for ever eternity. Of course we had to sterilize the body by gamma radiation and as the resin was air tight, no microbe would enter in to rot the body. My little daughter could thus be preserved for ever. Of course I did not want my daughter to be alone. I first poisoned my husband and then painstakingly coated him with the resin till I got his statue.”
Sandeep felt a little giddy. He looked at her sensuous face and shapely mammaries. His heart was slowly filling with dread but he could do nothing but silently listen to his fourth lesson. “The nurse who killed my daughter and my husband’s beloved dog Brutus were next. Once I had the statues ready I set them in a tableau, and there they lie before you. Tomorrow my daughter would be fourteen and I want a companion for her. I evaluated the companion. I approved the companion. I saw, I felt and I tasted the companion. You are my next model Sandeep, my daughter’s companion. In moments the poison in the drink would have taken effect. The resin is melting in the next room. And the fourth lesson is that don’t be under the mistaken impression that you are an artist. You could end up being a model!”