Avasa (Part I)

"Things are moving real fast for you these days," says Saima, clearly upset. We are talking in her dorm room. "You've already landed a girlfriend...I mean, what, are you planning to live life in the fast lane now?"

"Calm down, she's not my girlfriend just yet," I say. "I mean, it's clear that we're going to see more of each other, but we're just...treading water, so to speak."

"Who the hell is she anyway? What do you even know about her?"

"I know her brother," I argue. "He's an assistant professor. Top-notch guy."

"Yeah, he seems like a real smart guy," says Saima. "Setting you up with a girl -- his sister, no less -- here! He's lost it!"

"No-one will find out," I insist. "We'll be careful."

"You're all mad."

"Can't you just be happy for me?" I start rubbing my temples with my fingers.

"Happy?" she yells. "Your life is becoming a Deepa Mehta movie!"

My eyes flash with defiance. "And I wouldn't want it any other way!" I pause for a second. "You know, you have to meet her."

"Oh, no," she says. "Really, Nadya...not interested."

"Why the hell not?"

"Because she'll just tick me off," she says. "I mean, God, I can't believe she tricked you into being alone with her, and then she *jumps* you, ANNNND now she's dragging you full circle into what appears to be some cross between film noir and soft porn."

"Oh, come on, she didn't jump me, we just kissed."

Saima is wide-eyed and is clearly contemplating all sorts of bad things. "She's femme fatale, and you are dumb enough to fall for it."

"Please. She's anything but femme."

"Oh, point well taken," she says, sarcastically.

I laugh cynically. "Well, what do you want me to do now?"

"Okay, Nadya," she says, trying to relax. "Please, please promise me that you're not going to do anything too stupid or flamboyant. Please tell me that you're going to be excruciatingly cautious. Promise?"

"I promise." I give her a hug. "Don't worry too much."

******

I hear Avi's voice behind me over the now-familiar sound of her motorbike. "Hey, Nadya." I turn around. We're in the parking lot. I've been waiting for her.

"Hi," I say, letting her kiss my cheek. She's in her customary street wear as usual, the denim jacket, the baggy jeans, and the tank top screaming out 'bad girl', all the while oozing sex and naughtiness. Fuck. I just want to kiss her neck.

"Ice-cream?" she asks me, staring appealingly at my conservative ankle-length sarong and matching blouse. "I know a great place nearby. I got that tourist guide you suggested, you know."

"Ice-cream is good," I say. Then I eye her bike. "So we're going to go on that thing?"

"Um, yeah," she says, grinning widely. "What's the matter? Scared, are ya?" She's taunting me. She holds up a helmet. "Here. For you."

"And you're too tough to wear one of those, I suppose," I rejoin.

"But of course," she says. "I'm pretty tough." She sure as heck looks the part. She looks at me impatiently. "So are you in or out?"

"Fine," I say. "Damn, I've never sat on one of these before."

"You'll survive," she says nonchalantly. I wear the helmet, irritated that my hair will now get spoilt, and get on the bike behind her. She gives me a bemused look. "You *do* realize you'll have to put your arms around me, right?"

I feel stupid. I think I'm blushing. "Um, yeah." I tentatively slide my arms around her waist, getting goose bumps as I do so. She *does* work out. I can so tell.

"Hang on tight," she says, revving up the bike. We race off.

She pulls over outside a coffee shop. We go inside, getting a few stares from people who are surprised to see two girls get off a motorbike, and order lattes. "Do you know any other girls like you around here?" Avi asks me.

"Sadly, no," I say. "I suspect there must be, though, but everyone is so paranoid and scared, I doubt if anyone will ever try to make it obvious."

"You know something?" she says. "I think it's damn spunky that you've come out on your own, sitting right here in Mumbai. Most indian girls who are lesbian only come out when they go abroad to study."

"Uh-huh," I smile, basking in her compliment. "I'm twenty years old, and coming out with a *vengeance*, baby."

"You're braver than most."

"And nastier than sex."

She laughs. "And can I safely assume that some of that is bullshit posturing?"

"A little bit, yeah." I shyly bring a hand to my forehead.

"Well, I gathered that you're new at this," she says, grinning at me.

"Uh, well," I begin, slightly embarrassed. "See, in this society..."

"So, basically, you have about as much sexual experience as a doorknob," she cuts in. I'm turning beetroot red. I really am transparent to her. "Until now, anyway..." She smiles broadly and rakes up a finger through a strand of my hair. I half-wish she would just jump me. I lean back, resting my head on my hand, and shifting my weight to reveal my curves to her. I know she's looking at me -- albeit discreetly.

There's no other word for it. I feel sexy.

"Don't worry, though." Avi puts her hand on my thigh and lets her voice become husky. "I'll take good care of you. If you let me take charge, that is."

I'm trying to come up with an appropriate response. "What are you suggesting, bondage?" I swear, I meant it as a joke.

"Sure, if that's what you want." She can't stop smiling at my innocence.

I was brought up with the notion that *any* kind of sex is bad if not with your husband. S&M is a far cry from any of *my* sexual fantasies.

"Uhhh, yeah, I don't think so," I said, becoming uncomfortable.

"Why not?" she says. "If there's one thing life has taught me, it's 'don't knock it till you've tried it'."

Yeah, I'm a little freaked out. "But won't it *hurt*?"

"Well, you tell me." I honestly think she's dying to laugh. She's talking to me like I'm a child. "When you're sexually aroused, your threshold for pain goes up. Your body releases endorphins in response to pain. Get it? Pain becomes a stimulus for pleasure."

I'm quite mortified at the idea. "It sounds degrading to me..."

"That's nonsense," Avi says smugly. "It's not like *political* submission...it's just *sexual* submission for that particular sexual scenario. It isn't reality."

She hasn't removed her hand from my thigh. "Besides," she grins, "it's consensual, negotiated beforehand, and the submissive can stop it any time. The whole point is that one person generates tremendous excitement out of completely *trusting* the other person and the other person generates the same excitement out of fulfilling that trust." She pauses to look at me. "I think it's an intense expression of love, don't you?"

She is gripping my thigh more tightly now.

I bite my lip to stop myself from moaning. Even though I can feel tingly in my nether regions, and I'm wishing I had worn that other panty, I'm stubborn. "It sounds like objectification to me. Like the dominant is using the submissive for pleasure."

"The dominant is going out of her way to please the submissive," argues Avi. "And as for objectification...for God's sake, there's always a power dynamic in sex and a small degree of objectification...and please don't tell me you've never objectified any human being."

"Not someone I love," I say. "When you love someone who loves you, it's consensual!"

"It's consensual objectification, then," Avi says easily. "Why can't you p.c. women just come to terms with it?"

"Excuse me for wanting to have sexual ethics!" I snap.

"Hey, I have sexual ethics too," Avi snaps right back. "But I'm honest enough to admit that I'm human, and to a small degree I can't help objectifying. Get your head out of stupid Dworkin for five seconds, and join the real world."

Now I'm irritated.

I push her hand off my thigh and light up a cigarette. "Don't assume," I say. "I'm not a big Dworkin fan anyway. And quit patronizing me."

"Put that out," she says, reaching for my cigarette. "My God, how much do you smoke?"

"What's your problem?" I move away.

She shrugs. "It's not healthy. I mean, for you in particular, 'cos you're so skinny." I ignore her and inhale more smoke.

"I'm serious," she says, sounding genuinely concerned. "It's not safe. If you were ever attacked, you'd be a goner."

"And I suppose you'd knock 'em dead." I roll my eyes.

"Of course," she says confidently. "I know self-defence. I even know some martial arts." She puts a hand on my shoulder. "You know, I could teach you some basics. Just enough to stun your attacker and get away."

She's not trying to impress me. I think she really cares.

"You should come over to my place. We'll jam in the basement and then I'll teach you a couple of things."

"You have a studio?" My eyes become saucers.

"Sound-proofed and everything."

"Allll riiiight!" I whoop in the air. "I am sooo there! When, when, when?"

"Whenever you want," she says, grabbing my hand. Why, oh, why are we in public? I am DYING to let her kiss me.

We smile at each other, still holding hands underneath the table. It suddenly hits me why I'm drawn to her, in spite of the fact that we disagree on so many things. I feel secure and protected around her.

To me, she's the picture of everything I always wanted to be but was taught not to be...tough, independent, and truly free. And I know that I want her.