In the months following his death, Kajal had considered moving into her father’s empty townhouse in Hampstead. It was more spacious than her cramped two-bedroom flat and in a much better location, situated on the edge of the Heath and only a five-minute walk from the tube station. However, after much soul-searching, she decided against it and put the old place up for sale, settling instead on a newly built house on the edge of town. Besides, the equity from her two properties and the fortune she made selling a majority stake in her father’s successful wholesale business had left Kajal a woman of considerable independent means. So she decided to take a few months to settle into her new home, then start making her dream of motherhood a reality.

Kajal had long been planning to get pregnant, but until then, it had never seemed the right time. Now, having reached her mid-thirties and with her biological clock ticking, she had reluctantly decided that finding Mister Right would have to wait. Having children couldn’t, or at least not for much longer. But now, with a spacious home, enough money to live comfortably, and the time to give a child her undivided attention, all the pieces were finally falling into place. All that was missing was a guy of a sufficiently high calibre to father her child.

She knew precisely the kind of guy she was looking for. Good looks were essential, as was intelligence; Kajal wanted to give her child the best chance of inheriting these advantageous traits. In addition, he needed to be polite, sensitive, and capable of sustaining a conversation; dull, boorish guys were such a turn-off. A professional, university-educated guy would be ideal, particularly if he had a talent for sports or the arts.

Unfortunately, finding such a guy was proving difficult, despite Kajal’s attractive appearance, vibrant personality, and willingness to quickly move beyond first base. It wasn’t that her expectations were unrealistically high; plenty of handsome, intelligent guys flirted with her at parties or in bars, but they were usually the husbands or partners of friends, and she didn’t want to shit on her own doorstep.

Ideally, she needed a relative stranger to enter into a temporary, no-strings fuck buddy arrangement with or, at a stretch, an extra-marital affair. A high-end online dating app had introduced her to some appropriate guys, but they were usually looking for a long-term commitment, and that was something Kajal wasn’t yet ready to consider. Besides, she wasn’t sure a monogamous lifestyle was something she ever wanted or could commit to.

So, until the right guy came along, Kajal decided to come off birth control and simply use a condom when opportunities for recreational, no-strings fucks presented themselves. Casual dating apps provided her with plenty of those, but Kajal knew she needed to broaden her search to find a guy suitable to father her child. So, until he came along, she concentrated on making her house ready to become a family home and diverted herself with mini-projects and hobbies.

Kajal’s latest project was researching her family history. Her parents had always been cagey about their past, and Kajal had thought it highly unusual that she had no relatives in India. Growing up, her Indian friends spent summers there visiting grandparents, aunts and cousins, but to Kajal’s knowledge, she had no such connections. Her father’s death had left her without any living family, and she was determined to find out if she had any remaining blood relatives in India or elsewhere.

Unfortunately, her search was proving fruitless. Between sketchy Indian records and considerable confusion with family surnames and spellings, even the most widely used databases produced no new information. So every day, she would log in, hoping to see a ‘hint’ next to one of the few names in her tree or - even better - a message from a distant relative, but she always ended up disappointed. Perhaps when her DNA results came back, there would be a breakthrough, she thought, desperate to hold onto some hope.

Checking the family history app one Saturday morning, Kajal once more drew a blank. Putting down her iPad, she decided to go next door to see if Jhansi was up for a cup of tea and a chat.

Jhansi had moved into the adjoining semi-detached house on the day Kajal moved in. With no forethought, the construction company had released all five homes at the end of the cul-de-sac on the same day, rendering the street impassable as five removal trucks disgorged their contents simultaneously. But the excitement of moving into Noble Avenue on the same day had forged close friendships between Kajal and her immediate neighbours, and she and Jhansi had become particularly close.

Slightly older and married with one baby and another on the way, Jhansi was like the big sister Kajal never had. Somehow she always managed to be upbeat, even if her drains had backed up or her boiler had broken down again. And she would patiently listen as Kajal recounted tales of her disastrous dates and avoid judgement when told of those which had gone somewhat too well to chime with Jhansi’s more conservative values.

Jhansi answered the door in leggings and a short smock. Kajal couldn’t remember seeing her in anything other than this frumpy, practical maternity clothing; however, the family photos around her home showed that she had previously taken much more care of her appearance. But even with no make-up and her lengthy, wavy black hair scraped back in a ponytail, Jhansi’s wide white smile revealed her natural beauty despite her dowdy clothing.

“Come in, Darling,” she said, drawing back to allow Kajal inside, although her growing baby bump made it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here. Aakash barely slept again last night, and I’m exhausted. He’s just nodded off now, so I was about to put the kettle on. It’ll be nice to have some company for a while.”

“You sit down, Didi. I’ll make the tea. Put your feet up for ten minutes. You must be shattered!” Kajal was insistent.

She could tell how tired Jhansi was by the way she didn’t put up a fight. Instead, she meekly waddled to the lounge and flopped onto the sofa. Although unhappy to see her friend looking so drained, Kajal was pleased that their friendship had reached the point that Jhansi no longer felt she had to entertain her as a guest when she called.

“I won’t stay long,” Kajal said, trying not to raise her voice enough to wake Aakash, who was asleep in the next room. “But I had an idea I thought might interest you. Although, on reflection, now might not be the best time to suggest it.”

As Kajal brought the tea into the lounge, Jhansi cleared a space on the coffee table and removed some junk from the sofa. Kajal sat down next to her friend.

“Sorry about the mess,” Jhansi said apologetically. “I don’t have the energy for housework at the moment. And, of course, Sahil doesn’t think it’s his responsibility because he is working long hours. I really thought Aakash would be sleeping through by now. But, if he doesn’t start soon, I don’t know how I’ll cope when the next one comes along. It will be like having twins!”

But Kajal knew a restless baby wasn’t the only reason Jhansi felt tired. With the layout of their adjoining homes a mirror image of one other, Kajal and Jhansi’s beds were separated by only a few feet of brick, insulation and plasterboard. Not surprisingly, this wasn’t sufficient to mask the sound of Jhansi and Sahil having sex, which happened much more frequently than Kajal would have expected, especially given Jhansi was seven months gone.

Still, who could blame her husband? Kajal had long considered women to be at their sexiest when pregnant; their allure most apparent as their bellies and breasts swelled, and their hormones bestowed a healthy, radiant glow on their skin. And besides, she knew it wasn’t only Sahil who had a high sex drive. Fragmented conversations Kajal had overheard through the wall revealed that Jhansi needed sex just as frequently as her husband and often more than once a night.

“Anyway, enough of my problems,” Jhansi continued. “What’s the idea you want to run by me? Not a double date with your latest young man, I hope.”

Kajal laughed. “What young man? It’s been two weeks since I had a date, which was a disaster.”

That was a lie.

“No, I was thinking about Coronation Day,” Kajal continued. It’s on the sixth of May, only a few weeks away. I know Aakash is probably still too young to enjoy a street party, but I thought we might suggest it to the other parents on the street. What do you think?”

“I think it’s a great idea,” Jhansi replied enthusiastically. “You know, I was thinking about it myself when I saw a feature on breakfast TV yesterday. People are organising them all over the country. So what do you have in mind?”

“I’ve not given it that much thought,” Kajal replied, feeling slightly foolish at going off half-cocked. “But I figured many of us on the street have Commonwealth roots. We’re Indian, Marcia and her husband have Caribbean heritage, and Grace is from Zambia. So I thought we could all wear our national dress, put gazebos up in our front gardens and serve free street food from the countries with which we have links. After all, the King isn’t just the King of England; he’s the Head of the Commonwealth too.”

“That’s a brilliant idea,” Jhansi replied. “And we could have a treasure hunt and games for the kids. I remember having a street party for the late Queen’s Golden Jubilee on the street where I grew up, and that’s what we did.”

“And even those couples with UK roots, like Megan and Sally, can produce a regional dish,” Kajal explained, buoyed by Jhansi’s positive response. “Sally is from Cornwall, and Megan is Welsh, so I’m sure between them, they could rustle up some leek pasties, or something.”

Jhansi laughed. “It will be great fun, but don’t you need approval from the Council or something? We had better make sure it’s done properly, and that we have the proper permissions and licences.”

“Oh, fuck the Council.” Kajal was now in full flow. “It’s not like we’ll need to close the road, and we’re not using public space or selling things. It’s none of their business. We’ll just be neighbours being neighbours. And it will be an excellent opportunity to meet people further down the street we haven’t met yet.”

“Then I suppose we’ll need an organising committee,” Jhansi said pragmatically. “And it will need to be open for everyone to get involved. That way, we will get buy-in from the whole street.”

“Well, I’m happy to help organise it since I’m currently a lady of leisure. My family history project is going nowhere, so I could do with something other than decorating to fill my time,” Kajal replied. “I’ll put some leaflets through all the doors and start a Facebook group to see what response we get. Then, we can form a committee if enough people want to do it.”

“Just one thing, though,” Jhansi said, looking apologetic. “I don’t think I can commit to meetings or to doing very much on the day. Aakash is a handful, and by the time the Coronation comes around, I will be the size of a cow. My due date is only two weeks afterwards. But why don’t we do an Indian street food stall together? I can help prepare food, even if I can’t be on my feet long to help serve it.”

“You’re on!” Kajal said excitedly.

**********

Kajal was delighted with the neighbours’ response. Within a week, most of the street had joined the Facebook group, and at least ten families had committed to providing street food. The women seemed keenest to do the cooking. They were looking forward to competing for the ‘Best Street Food Award’, which Kajal had suggested to add a competitive edge to the day and drive the quality and presentation of the food upwards.

With arrangements for the food in hand, the women of the cul-de-sac put their husbands and partners on entertainment detail, whether they liked it or not. Amongst them were two teachers, one sports coach, a police officer, and a musician. Kajal figured that with that impressive skill set, the guys should be able to keep twenty-or-so children safe and entertained for a few hours.

The cooks didn’t feel they needed to hold endless meetings, so they coordinated their plans via WhatsApp and Facebook. But Kajal decided the Entertainment Committee would need weekly face-to-face meetings to ensure the event ran smoothly. And so, one Thursday evening, Kajal found herself with eight reluctant guys in her lounge for their inaugural meeting.

Knowing they were largely unwilling participants, she combined the first meeting with a social event to help break the ice and make future meetings seem more appealing. She suspected that few of the guys knew each other well, and Kajal only had a nodding acquaintance with most of them, so she decided to put on beer and chicken wings to give the evening the feel of a lads’ night out.

And she was glad she did. The excuse to have a mid-week drink went down exceptionally well, and soon the guys were chatting like old friends. It wasn’t until most were on their third drink that Kajal called the meeting to order, asking them to introduce themselves individually, offer suggestions for the street party, and explain how their particular skills might contribute to the event.

Testosterone flowed as one guy after another embellished his CV, each trying to outdo the last with impressive tales of camping weekends, music workshops, and assault courses they had organised for young people. Finally, when Will, the police officer, proposed setting up an air rifle range in his garden on the day, Kajal decided to bring the one-upmanship to an end.

“Okay, guys. Loads of great ideas there, and you all have lots to offer, but let’s get the basics out of the way first. Most kids are under ten, so can anyone find us a bouncy castle?”

Immediately, almost all the guys remembered friends, brothers, or cousins who could get hold of a bouncy castle for the afternoon, no problem. And ideas for age-appropriate games began to flow freely.

It was then that Kajal realised that the guys weren’t just trying to score points off one another; they were trying to impress her. It hadn’t occurred to her that her presence would distract them so much, even as an attractive, single woman. After all, most of the guys were married or in relationships. But the competition to win her approval had generated considerable enthusiasm for the event, which Kajal hadn’t expected. In the circumstances, it seemed counter-productive to do anything other than encourage it. Harnessing their new-found positivity would ensure a successful street party, and she might even have some flirtatious fun along the way.

The evening was a complete success, and when each guy put in ten pounds for a beer fund, Kajal knew they would be back the following week. So, having delegated individual planning tasks to each committee member, Kajal drew the meeting to a close, telling them she needed to get to bed.

As the last guest left and Kajal switched off the lights, she wondered how many of the guys would have willingly followed her upstairs, given half a chance.

**********

On Monday of the following week, Kajal had retired to bed when she received an email saying her DNA test results were online. Perhaps now, the secrets of her family history would finally begin to unfold.

Apprehensively, she logged on and navigated her way around the various maps, charts, and lists revealing her family’s genetic heritage. But, as she had feared, the results shed little new light on her search. It seemed her ancestors originated exclusively from central India. Except for six per cent Maharashtrian heritage, her DNA strongly suggested her ancestors were all from Chhattisgarh, her parents’ home state.

Unperturbed, Kajal clicked on the ‘DNA Matches’ link, hoping it would reveal close family living in India, who were also on the database. But regrettably, almost all her matches were categorised as ‘Distant Relatives’, most of whom lived in Canada or the US, with the closest match being a fourth cousin, also living in London.

Kajal looked up what a fourth cousin was. It seemed she shared two of her thirty-two great, great, great grandparents with this woman, whoever she was. The numbers convinced her that the connection was sufficiently tenuous to render it meaningless.

The DNA results were unsurprising but a disappointment nonetheless. Still, Kajal reasoned that more and more people would join the DNA database in the future. So, resigning herself to a decades-long search for clues about her family, Kajal put down her iPad and tried to sleep.

But before long, she heard the sound of Jhansi and Sahil fucking on the other side of the wall. It was little wonder Aakash couldn’t sleep when his parents’ bedsprings were so creaky, Kajal thought. And since she could hear almost every word they were saying, it didn’t seem that the pair were trying particularly hard to keep their voices down either.

“Yes, Sahil. Take me from behind. Let me feel your big hard dick inside me.”

Kajal imagined Jhansi on her knees, her nightdress bunched around her waist and her head on a pillow as Sahil mounted her. She tried to picture Jhansi’s large, full breasts swinging back and forth inside her nightgown and Sahil spanking her round, naked bottom as he slowly fucked her.

She found her hand slipping under the waistband of her pyjamas. It wasn’t the first time Kajal had masturbated while listening to Jhansi and Sahil having sex. For some reason, it turned her on much more than porn or erotica. Of course, Kajal knew it was voyeuristic and that Jhansi would be horrified if she knew Kajal could hear them fucking. And she would be even more appalled to learn that Kajal masturbated while listening to them, but that just made it seem even more taboo and exciting. Kajal knew she would feel guilty afterwards, anxious that she had invaded her friend’s privacy. However, whenever the sounds began next door, Kajal couldn’t help but imagine the fucking Jhansi was receiving. And it was even more fun to simulate it using one of her many dildos.

Quickly, Kajal removed her pyjama bottoms. It seemed that Jhansi wanted Sahil to take his time and be gentle. The creaking of the bed springs was slow and metronomic, and as Kajal put one finger between her labia, she could feel how turned on she already was.

For now, she just wanted to feel the cold, sensual touch of her fingertips as she ran them gently over her pussy lips. Then, drawing up her knees, she pushed her hand as far between her thighs as she could, tracing the cleft of her bottom with one long fingernail, enjoying the sensation as it stimulated her anus.

The bed springs next door were still slowly creaking, and Kajal knew she didn’t have to rush. Even when going at it hammer and tongs, Sahil was a stayer, and it would be a few more minutes before things finally went quiet next door.

Parting her lips, Kajal ran two fingers over her hot sex, spreading her wetness over her swollen clitoris and labia. Then, reaching into the drawer of her bedside cabinet, she pulled out the velvet bag containing her eight-inch vibrating dildo. Kajal removed it from the bag, licked the tip and inserted it slowly. Her pussy welcomed the toy, its familiarity comforting as the shaft slipped effortlessly inside. Gently at first, Kajal began to slowly fuck herself in time with Sahil’s thrusts.

It was the bulbous tip that gave Kajal the most pleasure. Gripping the solid base and suction cup, she gently fucked herself with only the glans, resisting the temptation to push the dildo deeper inside. The sensations of the toy, coupled with her fingers rubbing around and over her clitoris in small circles, were electric, and she varied the depth and angle of its entry until she felt the tip press against her sweet spot. Then, she turned the vibrations onto their most intense setting.

Kajal imagined Jhansi reaching back between her legs, rubbing her clitoris as her husband continued thrusting into her from behind. But she knew that as Jhansi began to feel the need to cum, she would assume more direct control over her pleasure.

“Let me go on top now, Sahil. Let me ride you.”

There it was. As predictable as night follows day, Jhansi was taking the lead in pursuing her orgasm, as she always did. The bed springs went crazy as the couple changed position before settling into a steady rhythm again, this time slightly faster than before.

Quickly, Kajal withdrew the dildo, snatched up two pillows and jumped out of bed. Then, licking the suction cup, she fixed the dildo to the laminate floor. Throwing down the cushions on either side, she knelt astride the pulsing phallus. Finally, taking a deep breath, Kajal gripped the base and lowered herself onto the shaft, her weight enough to drive every inch of the toy deep inside her. Kajal gasped as the tip pulsed on her bladder, and she wished she had taken the time to pee before beginning to masturbate.

Like Jhansi, Kajal loved being on top. Controlling the depth, pace, and angle of each downward thrust ensured she could quickly make herself cum, even with the most inept of lovers. But unlike a real cock, her dildo had the bonus of a thick, hard scrotum, which, if she took the dildo’s entire length, she could use to stimulate her clitoris in a slow, grinding motion each time the toy filled her up.

“Oh, God, Sahil! That feels so good.” Jhansi was evidently enjoying riding her husband’s cock as much as Kajal was the dildo.

Ordinarily, Kajal would have increased her cadence as her climax neared, but she retained her discipline and stuck as closely as she could to Jhansi’s more leisurely rhythm. Temporarily denying herself meant her orgasm would be all the more mind-blowing when it finally overwhelmed her, and for that incredible feeling, she was prepared to wait. Besides, she knew that Jhansi would soon reach the point of no return, so she decided to hold on, timing her release to coincide with her friend’s.

The creak of the bed springs quickened next door. Kajal pictured Jhansi skillfully bucking her hips back and forwards as she felt her orgasm build. Maybe she was resting her hands against Sahil’s chest as her baby bump pressed on his belly. Or, perhaps her back was ramrod straight as her fingers flicked urgently over and around her clitoris.

Kajal reached onto the bed for a cushion and pushed it up her pyjama top to replicate Jhansi’s bump, trying to imagine how it must feel to fuck a guy with such a considerable bulge to contend with. She hoped to find out for real soon enough, but a cushion would do for now. Jhansi cradled her ‘bump’ with one hand as the fingers of the other massaged her aching clitoris.

Jhansi’s gentle gasps and moans were becoming more pronounced, and Kajal knew she must be about to cum. The bed was now creaking loudly and at an ever-increasing tempo, and Kajal suspected Jhansi couldn’t keep up the effort for much longer.

“Squeeze my breasts, Sahil. Pinch my nipples, then suck them as I cum.”

Immediately, both Kajal’s hands shot inside her pyjama top, clamping both nipples between fingers and thumbs. She leaned forward, imagining a lover lifting her pyjama top to take her breasts in his mouth. Then, moving her hands to the floor, she felt the dildo slide out until only the tip remained inside her. The pressure on her bladder eased as Kajal began to rock backwards and forwards in time with Jhansi’s movements, carefully ensuring the considerable bend in the dildo didn’t cause it to accidentally spring out of her or become detached from the floor. Soon, Kajal wasn’t sure how much longer she could hold out, and the deep groans from next door indicated that both Jhansi and Sahil were almost ready to finish too.

“Deeper, Sahil! Fuck me deep in my pussy!”

As Kajal knelt upright and drove the dildo deep inside her pussy, she heard Jhansi’s orgasm begin. The sound of her friend’s moment of release pushed Kajal over the edge, and she gave in to the blissful abandon of a protracted orgasm. For a moment, it seemed that a thousand butterflies trapped in her belly were escaping at once as waves of searing pleasure engulfed her body. Grinding her clitoris on the silicone scrotum extended her moment of ecstasy until her bead became too sensitive, and Kajal became still, savouring the comforting, post-orgasmic feeling of serene well-being.

“Oh, fuck!” Sahil’s cry announced he, too, was about to cum, and Kajal raised her hips until only the tip of the dildo remained inside her. Then, listening carefully, she awaited Sahil’s climax.

“Ugh! Ugh! Ugh!” The aggressive grunts were unmistakable.

With each of Sahil’s deep, upward, finishing thrusts into his wife, Kajal drove herself down onto the toy, taking the entire length each time and triggering another intense climax as she imagined her cervix being seeded by a virile, rapacious lover.

As the bed springs quietened next door, Kajal was horrified to realise she had left it too late to get to the toilet.

“Oh, my God, Sahil! It’s dripping down my leg! Get some tissue, quick!” Jhansi often leaked copiously afterwards. Sahil must be a very heavy cummer.

Grabbing her dressing gown from the end of the bed, Kajal wrapped it around the base of the dildo. Then, as she raised her hips and eased herself off the dildo, she couldn’t help herself, and a warm trickle began to flow down the inside of her leg.

**********

Checking her emails in bed the following morning, Kajal was astonished to see an alert from the family history website informing her that she had a message. After an initial burst of excitement, she reined herself in; the chances were it was just a routine message from the administrators, but she clicked on the link anyway.

The message wasn’t from the administrators but from her new-found fourth cousin, and it was as brief as it was exciting.

“Hi, Kajal. I see you’re not having much luck with your family tree. I think I can help. Let’s have lunch. Your distant cousin, Meenakshi. X”

Kajal didn’t think. She immediately clicked on the ‘reply’ button.

“Hi, Cousin Meenakshi. How lovely to hear from you! You’re right - my research is going nowhere. I can’t wait to hear how you can help. I’m available anytime, and I’ll pay for lunch. Let me know when you’re free. Kajal. X”

‘How unlikely is that?’ Kajal thought as she clicked ‘send’. ‘My results have been live for less than twenty-four hours, and already there’s a breakthrough!’

She tried to keep her excitement in check. After all, how much information could Meenakshi possibly have about her family? By Kajal’s estimates, the great, great, great grandparents they shared must have lived sometime in the nineteenth century. Still, any information would be valuable and might generate further information from other site members when added to her family tree.

Almost immediately, Kajal saw a small number one appear next to the ‘messages’ link.

“I know it’s short notice, but are you free today? I don’t work Tuesdays. Message me. 09657892500. X”

Kajal became suspicious. Going from brick wall to brick wall, only to suddenly have a lunch date with an actual family member, was too good to be true. Could this woman be a crank? Kajal was on high alert, but she couldn’t allow the opportunity to discover more to go by without good reason.

After a series of brief texts, they arranged to meet at a pub in the West End. Although Meenakshi lived on the opposite side of town, they shared a tube line, and Meenakshi suggested meeting near Tottenham Court Road station, which was halfway.

**********

Kajal arrived at the pub on time, ordered a drink and found a table. Meenakshi had suggested meeting on the balcony because few people made the effort to climb the stairs to sit there, so it would be relatively quiet. Kajal pulled out her iPad, connected to Wifi, and opened the family history app, hoping that by the time her lunch with Meenakshi was over, she would have added much more information to her sparse family tree.

Her iPad pinged, and Kajal looked at the message.

“Running late - sorry! Be there in ten. Get the Prosecco on ice. Mini. X”

Fortunately, Kajal noticed she could order drinks on an app and ordered a bottle of Prosecco and two glasses. By requesting a whole bottle, it was clear Meenakshi wasn’t in any rush, and Kajal was pleased. Apart from gleaning valuable information about her family, she hoped she and Meenakshi would become friends. After all, she was the only family Kajal had.

Eventually, Kajal spotted a tall, slim, attractive Indian woman of around forty climbing the stairs. Her face shape, skin tone and long, straight hair indicated North Indian heritage, and Kajal initially dismissed the possibility that this was Meenakshi. But as the woman smiled and approached the table, it was evident that this was indeed her distant cousin.

Kajal rose as Meenakshi approached, and the two hugged enthusiastically.

“Oh, my God!” Meenakshi said excitedly. “I can’t believe you’re here! I was beginning to think I would never meet anyone from that side of the family.”

Her tone was incriminatory, but Kajal immediately liked Meenakshi nonetheless. As they sat down and began to chat, Meenakshi’s unguarded manner and fruity language were as disarming as they were endearing. Kajal had thought she was the most unreserved and unconventional Indian woman in town, but now it seemed she had a rival.

After discovering a bit about one another’s family circumstances, lifestyles and interests, the conversation inevitably turned to family history. Meenakshi was surprised to learn how little Kajal knew, even about more recent generations of her family tree.

“And the search facility isn’t giving you any information either?” she asked.

Kajal shook her head.

“That’s not unusual in the Indian context, though. Record keeping, particularly in the villages, has always been poor. It’s not like the UK, with its extensive parish records. And what information there is probably hasn’t been digitised yet.”

Sensing Kajal’s disappointment, Meenakshi changed tack.

“Tell me this, Kajal; do you ever feel different from most Indian women? Unusual, even?”

Kajal didn’t know where to start.

“Well, I’m not very conservative, if that’s what you mean,” Kajal began, not wishing to share her most intimate secrets with a virtual stranger. “I drink, I eat meat, I don’t speak Chhattisgarhi or much Hindi, and my outlook on many things is much more Western than Eastern, if I’m honest.”

“And you like to fuck lots of guys, right?”

Kajal was utterly taken aback. Apart from Meenakshi’s typically forthright questioning, how on Earth could she possibly know about that side of her character? Was this what the meeting was about? Did Meenakshi have some personal information she would use to blackmail her?

Seeing Kajal fidget awkwardly, Meenakshi tried to put her at ease.

“Don’t worry - if you knew what I get up to, it would make your hair stand on end. Only a few months ago, I was sitting opposite a friend in this very seat as we planned to use one another’s husband for a night of anal sex. Does that make you feel better?”

Kajal’s jaw almost hit the floor. She had never met anyone so brazen! But she found Meenakshi’s openness refreshing and sincere, and besides, Meenakshi’s adventurous sex life cast Kajal’s many sexual misdeeds in a much more favourable light. Kajal didn’t knowingly fuck other women’s husbands, with or without their wife’s consent. Or at least, she hadn’t yet.

Gathering her thoughts, Kajal decided to open up to Meenakshi. Given her cousin’s intimate revelation, it was the least she could do.

“Yes, I do. I want to get married eventually, but the idea of being faithful to one guy for the rest of my life is anathema to me. So I plan to get pregnant soon, with or without a steady guy. I lost my virginity at sixteen and have been with many guys since. I couldn’t tell you the exact number. My father disapproved strongly - he was very strict - but I love having sex and don’t understand why it’s such a big deal for some people. It’s just a fun thing to do.”

Meenakshi sat back in her seat and slapped the table with her hand.

“I knew it!” She said triumphantly. “And how would you feel if I told you you got that trait from your DNA?”

Meenakshi began rummaging in her bag as Kajal digested this extraordinary idea. What could her sex life possibly have to do with her DNA? As Meenakshi drew out a thin folder and put on her glasses, Kajal sensed her question was about to be answered.

“Okay, here’s what little I have on our shared ancestors,” Meenakshi began. “You can take this file away with you, but you’ll find all this information on the app if you look at my family tree. I’ll add you as a friend.”

She opened the folder.

“So, to give you a brief overview, our three-times great-grandparents were members of the Murias tribe. Do you know anything about them?”

Kajal shook her head.

“Neither did I, but they’re an indigenous group with some pretty unconventional ideas about sex. So basically, when the kids in the tribe come of age, there is a ritual whereby they all go into a small commune or dormitory called a Ghotul for a week. The idea is that they explore their sexuality along with other young members of the tribe. They are encouraged to fuck as many people as they like. If, during the seven days, they find a husband or wife, great! They come out and get married. If not, they stay in the Ghotul until they do. Some stay in there for the whole week of the ritual! Imagine that - a whole week of nothing but fucking!” Meenakshi said, suddenly going misty-eyed.

Kajal couldn’t believe her ears. “And what? That still goes on now?”

“Oh, yes,” Meenakshi continued, “Although the modern world is beginning to encroach on the tribe’s traditional way of life. I don’t know, but I suspect from what you’ve told me that your parents left the tribe, or maybe one of them was a member who married an outsider. That would explain why you don’t have a wider family; leaving the tribe is a big no-no. Maybe they were ostracised by their families and decided to come to the UK.”

“But surely, young women must get pregnant all the time. It doesn’t matter as much if they find a husband in the Ghotul, although I suppose it could be a different guy than the one who fathered her child. But what if they have no husband at the end of the ritual but have fallen pregnant?”

“It takes a village to raise a child,” Meenakshi said sagely. “But I think they generally do find a husband. That’s the point. Though, I hadn’t considered that the husbands must often raise another guy’s kid. If the woman fucked loads of guys, the child could belong to any one of them.”

Kajal tried to put the possibility that her father might be one of the cuckolds out of her mind.

“And what of your family?” Kajal asked. “How did they get out?”

“Oh, mine got out much earlier,” Meenakshi replied. “Of course, the British were in charge when our shared ancestors were around. Frankly, they had more to worry about than Indians with bizarre sex lives, so they largely left the tribe alone. But they did appear on the radar of some missionary groups, who tried to convert them to Christianity. When that failed, the missionaries facilitated their leaving the tribe through education. My two-time great-grandfather found a place in the East India Company Army and, later, the British Army. That’s how I know about him. His military records are the only records I have, but they give his name and the names of his parents, our great, great, great grandparents. Eventually, he settled in Punjab, which is why I’m ethnically Punjabi for the most part, although I still have a lot of Chhattisgarhi DNA, of course; otherwise, we wouldn’t have met. But my ancestor must have had siblings, one of whom must be your two-times great-grandparent. Your family must have stayed in the tribe for a few more generations, but I’m afraid I have no more information about them.”

Meenakshi pushed the folder across the table to Kajal.

“So there you have it. We come from a family of sluts, and that’s why we’re sluts ourselves,” Meenakshi said by way of a conclusion. “Now, let’s order lunch and another bottle of fizz.”

Kajal decided not to look at the folder’s contents but to peruse them later when she returned home. She knew getting her head around this intriguing news would take a while. Even though there was scant new information about specific ancestors, the context in which her family had lived would be fascinating to research.

Lunch with Meenakshi was enormous fun, and Kajal thoroughly enjoyed her company. By the time they parted ways, Meenakshi had invited Kajal to lunch to meet her friends, and as she returned home, Kajal felt her search for a meaningful family connection was finally over.

*********

Kajal had much to think about as she lay in bed that night. The effects of the Prosecco had long since worn off, and she had read and digested the contents of the folder Meenakshi had given her, adding the relevant details to her online tree. She had also briefly Googled the Murias tribe, and everything Meenakshi had told her checked out.

Was Meenakshi right? Was Kajal’s liberal attitude to sex the result of generations of tribe-sanctioned promiscuity? It seemed unlikely, she figured. She had always believed such traits resulted from social conditioning rather than being hard-wired into a person’s DNA. Still, whatever the cause, knowing that she was just the latest of many generations of her family to enjoy multiple partners before marriage was validating. Any subconscious guilt about her licentious lifestyle disappeared as Kajal embraced her heritage wholeheartedly and resolved to redouble her efforts to find an unsuspecting baby father.

**********