Chapter 7
The first buds
ADITYA
Despite all the tough talk I gave myself on the way here, the butterflies in my stomach take flight at the sight of Jimmy leaning on the gym's reception desk.
The blue and white of the logo glow behind him, marking each bulge and hardened line of his muscled body in their hues.
The red-coloured Lycra t-shirt and black tights struggle to cover him.
The joy on his face shines brighter than the lights around him.
The matching wide grin on my face disappears when Sahil clears his throat.
“Shall we start? Twenty minutes on the cross-trainer.” Sahil summons me and sets the timing and stride level to three points.
“What?” I stare at him. Our usual warm-up is ten minutes at level one. Has Jimmy said something to Sahil? Is this Sahil's way of telling me to keep my eyes off his boss? He gives me the same stink-eye I give students who question my authority. Point taken.
“Sadist,” I mutter. The gruelling, seemingly endless minutes of moving my limbs drain my energy for my crush. Only so much. Once we move to the weights, my eyes search out Jimmy.
The session is spent exchanging sly glances. The ever-present lopsided, cheerful mouth or the tip of the tongue sticking out when he concentrates gives Jimmy a schoolboy charm. Can one orgasm by watching someone flex? Duh, what a stupid question. Those porn sites work so well for a reason.
“Aditya, sir, pick the dumbbells and do fifteen reps.” Sahil's sharp voice reminds me to start my next set. I should rein in my drooling.
As the exercise tempo increases and the weights' numbers rise, a dose of reality starts to settle in. Doubts prick my ballooning heart. Replace the ‘h’ in hope with ‘n,’ and you have a billion light-years of separation between what you want and what real life is. It’s almost like the disparity between Jimmy and me.
He is young, fit, vibrant, and proud. I am going through a heap of mid-life crises, struggling to keep my tummy in my clothes, and too scared to step out of the closet and face the world, even though the door is now smashed wide open.
“Argh.” I struggle to do twelve reps with the fifteen-kilo dumbbells, but Sahil pushes me further.
“Give me two more reps.”
He supports my elbows as I grunt and push the weights overhead.
“Eyes in front, Aditya ji.”
Sahil catches me staring at Jimmy’s flexed biceps as he demonstrates the bicep curls to his client.
Jatin would snigger at my behaviour. What can I do?
I missed such heady delights in my teenage years and college.
On rare occasions, when any attraction for a boy flashed in my heart, I shrugged the desire under the inappropriate label and locked the longing with the 'unrealistic' bolt.
But now I have a foot outside the door. Will I be able to walk out and extricate myself from the clutches of old habits?
Sahil wrings every bead of sweat out of me, so I have no energy or time left to search for Jimmy when we finish. After returning from the gym, I shower and collapse on my bed for a quick nap.
The alarm for 10.30am startles me awake.
The rest of the morning slips by on a giddy ride of preparations and fussing over what to wear.
The doorbell chimes through the cottage as I put the finishing touches on the table settings.
Wow, he is punctual. I straighten my dark red silk short kurta, pat my hair in place, and open the door, only to have my jaw drop to the floor.
Jimmy is in an olive-green t-shirt peeking out from the flaps of the unzipped white-and-black puffer jacket worn over snug blue jeans. He walks inside and pushes a bouquet of wildflowers and a paper bag into my hands.
“Hi, Professor”
My heart does a giddy hop. No one has ever got me flowers. The impulse is to gather him in my arms. However, I am the one who is in his late thirties and should act mature and in control. Still allowed to tease him, though.
“If you call me Professor or Sir again, your invite is cancelled.”
“Aww, what if I have a teacher fetish, master ji?” He pouts as he removes his jacket and hangs it on the hook in the lobby.
I smack him in the arm and regret the act in an instant. “Ouch. My God, your arm is a brick.”
“Touch now.” Jimmy flexes his arm, stretching the fabric of his olive-green Henley t-shirt.
While he is busy showing off, I rise on my toes and plant a kiss on his cheek. The wisdom of those extra years be damned. Jimmy grabs me and pulls me into a lip lock.
“Mmh. I. Like this. But. We. Need to stop.” I slip in words between the breaks Jimmy allows between the kisses. “I should feed you first. We can continue this exploration if you are a good boy and finish lunch on time. Remember, we have only two hours before you must return to the gym.”
“Ooh, we should do the exploration before the food.” Jimmy slides his hands from my shoulders to my ass and pushes me into the house. The squeeze of his hand floods my body with heat. I debate whether to take him to the kitchen or the couch.
Jimmy sniffs and decides for me, “No, I change my mind. First, the food. What did you cook?”
“Follow me and find out.” I walk him to my living room. On the way to the kitchen, I place flowers on the table and examine the paper bag. “What's in this?”
“Singauri, a Kumaoni dessert made from khoya.” Jimmy pulls out a cone wrapped in a leaf with a dollop of the dried whole milk peeping out. “We will make a Kumaoni chawra out of you.”
“Are you sure you are a fitness instructor? Or are you trying to stir trouble between Sahil and me? Yesterday, you gave me buttered curry for breakfast. Today, these sweets for lunch.”
“What can I say? I am an extremely corrupting influence.” Jimmy tickles my waist.
I squirm away from him. “Hey, if you continue this, we will never be able to get to our lunch.”
Jimmy's stomach growls. “Guess I have no choice.”
“Okay, I should feed you now.” I grab a vase, pour water, and place the flowers. They will go well with the table for two I have arranged on the porch.
“Wow, what a view.” Jimmy smiles at the small valley behind my home. “The sight must be amazing when the Buransh trees bloom.” He points at the slight decline converging from two sides, ending in a flat piece of land where a huge rhododendron tree rises into the sky.
“This small private valley is the reason I bought the house. The photo of the rhododendrons in full bloom shared by the realtor captivated me.” The rest of the area is covered in deodar and pine trees.
The foliage keeps the place cool even in the height of the noon sun. “Sit. Let me bring the food.”
“No, I will help. I am not a spoilt brat.” Jimmy follows me to the kitchen. Between the two of us, we set the table in two rounds.
“Oh, wow. Amazing. Roasted chicken and vegetable curry.” Jimmy pours the Buransh juice into our glasses while I serve the dishes.
“Yum!” Jimmy licks the gravy off his fingers after his first bite. “Why does this taste so good?”
“Finish, and I will show you a secret.” Over the next fifteen minutes, Jimmy does not speak as he devours the food.
Once done, he rubs his stomach. Images float in my mind of me feeding him after he returns home at night after a day’s work. I shake myself out of trotting down this imaginary road.
Why am I having these domestic thoughts?
What do I expect to come out of this? Is a relationship even on the table with such a young man?
These yearnings clouding my mind will soon morph into expectations.
A simple combination of twelve consonants and vowels in the English language, but together, they outweigh a black hole.
Fluid and ever-changing at any time in eternity.
I study Jimmy as he gathers the dishes and tidies the table.
“Who taught you to cook?” Jimmy breaks me out of my reverie.
“I lived alone for a significant part of my life. In my post-grad, cooking in my room costed less than eating outside. Ma brought in a single income. My father had died before my twelfth birthday.”
Jimmy reaches out and holds my hand, “I am sorry.”
I give him a wan smile and continue to pour my woes. Other than Jatin, I have no one else who would listen. Even though Jimmy and I are fresh, like the new leaves after the monsoon rains, a connection has formed.
“After my divorce, I took up cooking to pass the time, trying recipes and techniques. Two of my friends lived close by. They both work nine-to-seven jobs, so they were handy and eager guinea pigs.” My mood sobers at the recollection.
“Addy, can I ask you something personal?”
He is being polite. Though phrased as a question, his intention is clear. This was inevitable. So I gulp down my dread. These conversations cannot be avoided if anything is to become of Jimmy and me. “Hmm, go ahead. What is on your mind?”
He takes a deep breath, “You don't have to answer this, but I am curious. You are so genuine and straightforward. How did you remain married? How did you suppress your sexuality?”
Ah! I had expected this question, but not as the first shot. Will Jimmy judge me? What will be his reaction? My past is not a monument I can hide away. I might as well take him on a guided tour.
“After my father passed away, my mother raised me. She worked as a teacher at a prestigious science college in Delhi. We were lucky to have a home of our own. For many years, through school and college, we were the pillars of each other’s life.
Before I finished my Ph.D., Ma became sick. One thing led to another.”
The memory of Ma's frail body on the bed in her room brings tears, and my desperate effort to stop them by squeezing my eyes fails. Jimmy moves in front of me and gathers me in a hug.