Rolled Monk

Real Sex in a Real City

In Paati sonna stories!, Singaara Chennai! on June 11, 2010 at 2:51 am

Hello random reader,

It was another bad night. The time, Shanti noted, was nearing 11 pm and nobody had picked her up. The dogs had started howling and in another 15 minutes time, a patrol car would come along in one of its usual night-time rounds.

It was a dangerous affair, getting caught by the police. For if one didn’t have enough money to pay them off, the constables will take you to the station. What happened then, depended entirely on one’s luck. You could just be in the lock-up all night and let go with a warning in the morning or be photographed the next day, and produced in court. But, the worst thing that could happen was, one of the policemen might decide that he was in the mood for some whoring around and fuck you in one of the holding cells (read as rape you) and throw you out the next morning.

Shanti, prayed to the Gods that she get a customer and to appear innocuous, she began walking in a random direction. Even though she was a prostitute, her faith in the almighty was unshakable. It was honed in her, from a very young age, of which she had vague sepia-tinted memories.

Life had always been unfair to Shanti. Born in a lower-class family, her father was a drunkard who did not work. Her mother was the only earning member of the family and most of her earnings were taken from her by force by her husband, who rushed to the wine shop for his daily dose. She hid the money here and there, and somehow saved enough to send Shanti to the government school. Like all mothers, she too dreamed her daughter’s dreams and wanted to see her educated and break away from the non-existence of their existence.

Shanti was 15 when her mother fell ill. Constant work and physical abuse from her husband for money had rendered the woman bandy-legged and had given her a stoop and an aged appearance. She was only 38 when she died, while one could have easily pegged her for over 50 years of age. Shanti was devastated and so was her father.

“How am I going to get money for my drinks?”, he asked himself, looking at the day old corpse of his wife lying in the middle of their impoverished hut. He realized that he didn’t even have enough money to give it a decent burial. He looked about the house, and his eyes fell on Shanti and he saw her properly for the first time.

He realized that his daughter was beautiful. She had breasts, a young woman’s breasts, that had begun to mature. Firm, round things they were. He looked at her figure and her smooth legs, “not too fat. not too thin”, he made a mental note. It was then that he made the decision to sell her. He got up and left the house.

She was sitting beside her mother’s corpse, stony-faced, staring into the roof of the hut. She wasn’t crying over her mother’s body. The tears were for the people who had a purpose in life, whose tears had some purpose. Her tears had dried up. She barely noticed her father leaving the house, for she too was thinking. Shanti, knew that one of two options were open to her now. She could continue living with her father and suffer the torture her mother endured or she could run away and try to eke out a living. She was thinking.

Shanti had noticed the men staring at her. She had noticed them for about a year now. In the beginning, she felt odd. As time passed on, she didn’t mind and sometimes, she even enjoyed the attention. She knew that her body was an asset and saw an opportunity present itself when her father came with a man who asked her to stand up, felt her up from head to toe and turned back and grinned at her father, who in turn grinned back. A deal was made and money exchanged hands.

That night, she lost her virginity to the highest bidder. A man of 50, who was fascinated by young virgins. It was a more painful experience than she had thought, and there was no pleasure. She had masturbated quite a few times before, in the leaky bathroom at the back of her house, and had found it quite pleasurable, unlike the sex she just had. But she hid all of it under a fake smile.

When Shanti came out and told the woman, who was to be her nanny from that day forth that, “It is just painful and I am not doing it anymore”, she just laughed and replied saying, “It’s your first time, that’s why. The more times you are fucked, the easier it becomes and the pleasure improves”.

About the same time Shanti was learning about pleasure and pain, her drunk father was setting fire to her mother’s corpse.

It had been 13 years since that fateful day and since then there was no turning back. She had seen penises in all shapes, sizes and colors and none of them had ever quenched her thirst for pleasure. She had been fucked, beaten, burnt, raped and what not? She hated the men who did weird things to her, but they paid more. She had to fake all her orgasms and her nanny had taught her well.

She had been sold and resold so many times that she had lost count of it. So now, here she was, in the middle of the night waiting for someone to pick her up. She saw a police jeep coming in her direction, put on her best smile and said to herself : “here we go again”.

So till I write again…ciao ciao.

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  1. inspiration from manoj’s newest obsession?? 🙂
    flow was impeccable…!!

  2. Well well, the dark story finally surfaces huh!

    I like the way you tell the story- simple and well put. Though I WAS expecting a nice twist in the end. But all in all, really good!

  3. This is plagiarism. This story is a piece of a Spanish film. With very little differences.

    • yah?? no idea mate!! send me the references!! oh and btw, prostitutes are the same everywhere, the set of situations tht make a woman take tht road are limited
      I cannot push a woman into prostitution because her family was abducted by aliens or shit like that! So before commenting, get your head outta your ass, and have the decency to write ur name!

  4. gud stuff nav.. if u read contemporary malayalam literature (not trying to be the pedantic prick here but i have read some short stories by not so great authors in mally ) u will find a lot of stuff that is simply put like this… kinda odd but still primal and hence appealing in an odd way.

  5. @beryl the twist is that there is no twist! its my take on lyf…how shit happens!

    @manjo thnx mate tho no clue how tht makes u a pedantic prick! 😛

  6. Nice flow but it lacked a surprise, all of your posts always have a new idea or a new view point or something different but this was a really well written cliche. But then again the point that i expected something different and didn’t get it could have been the difference but that would make it a paradox

    • thnx for the nice flow part! apart from tht, I guess ur just contradicting urself 😛 and yah its a cliché but i felt like writing it! look at the anonymous comment!!

  7. Well narrated. And well written. Dark, but true!

  8. Am awestruck by the language used. Exceptional Narration. It takes a whole lot of contemplation and a mind’s eye to engrave something like this. I read many posts of yours and gotto say that; u r a rebel; n i like it…! Your thoughts may be bland, but your vision is insidious..
    And about this story; shanti would have been flabbergasted and be in high spirits with your writing. I am actually waiting for ur future writings now… 🙂

  9. That’s a really good post! There are different approaches to prostitution; yours is the first one I have read that is so realistic. The worst and most despicable part of prostitution is how these women are so brain washed, that they actually begin to like it, by the end. I liked how you mentioned that!

    http://labels-or-luv.blogspot.com/2010/05/of-life-and-death-based-on-true.html

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