I was in turmoil for the whole fight home; I sat awake and fretting on both legs, the first to Dubai, then to London over a stretched night. It felt longer than any passage I’d ever made by sea. I sat by the window, staring out at nothing in particular, replaying the night in Colombo again and again. Every time I tried to push it aside, it returned – Hyacinth’s persistence, the wine and whisky, the moment I should have stood up and walked out but didn’t.

Somewhere over the Arabian Sea, I made myself a promise: I would never let anything like that happen again. I would draw a line under it, lock it away, and step back into the life I was meant to live.

By the time we landed at Heathrow, I was mentally and physically exhausted. Julie was waiting in the arrivals hall, waving as soon as she spotted me. The sight of her – smiling, hopeful, utterly trusting – hit me hard. I hugged her tightly as she asked, “Ken, have you missed me?”

“Of course, darling." It was true, but I buried the whole truth with a soft kiss on her lips.

On the drive home, she chatted about the wedding plans, the final fittings, the guest list, and the flowers. I nodded and answered when needed, but inside I felt as if I were on thin ice, listening to the cracking underfoot.

I walked into our flat, trailing my suitcases, and stood in the hallway, only half aware of where I was. Our home, but the purchase had been completed during the voyage. I had only ever viewed it as a stranger’s home with their furniture and knickknacks. 

Julie grabbed my hand and pulled me into the bedroom. I glanced around at unfamiliar furniture and a perfectly made-up king-size bed.

She spoke nervously, “Do you like it, Ken?”

I smiled and took her other hand. “Yes, darling, it’s perfect.” I pulled her hard against me, feeling her breasts squash against my chest. “And so are you.”

Three months. Three months of letters cracking from being folded and unfolded too many times. Three months of waiting for the moment our lips crushed together, tongue tips flicking, seeking and finding.

"Oh, how I’ve missed this," I muttered against her mouth, tasting her. 

Her reply was shaky and breathless: “Me too.”

Julie’s fingers brushed my neck as my hands slid down the curve of her waist, then lifted her top over her head.

Julie pushed against me when my hand drifted over her skirt, then under it onto her stockings, hiking the garment up to find the line of her stocking top. A suspender clip pressed into my palm – a delicious pressure – and she made a sound halfway between a gasp and a sigh.

"Tell me," I breathed against her neck. "Tell me what you thought about alone in bed. Your letters weren’t enough."

Julie’s fingers twisted in my hair. "You," she breathed. "Your hands, your mouth, you inside me."

I laughed, fingers working the clasp of her bra one-handed. "More specific, Jules."

Her breath stuttered when my other hand slid up her leg, grazing the bare skin above the hem. "When you pinned me against the dresser last winter," she gasped, "and you bit my neck while you rubbed my clit."

The bra gave way. My mouth found her nipple, sucking hard enough to drag a moan from her throat. Julie’s knees buckled; I held her hip with my free hand while shoving her skirt higher with the other, searching for the soft cotton of her knickers.

“Kenny.”

Julie’s voice cracked when I bit down on her nipple, my fingers sliding inside her knickers. She was wet, her thighs trembling as I dragged my tongue over the peak I’d just bitten. Her fingers pressed painfully deep into my shoulders.

"Darling," she gasped. I didn’t let up, sucking until her breath came in ragged little bursts. My fingers dipped lower, finding her clit, circling just hard enough to make her hips jerk.

Julie’s hands gripped the sides of my head, pulling me up to her mouth. She kissed me like she was drowning, her teeth clashing against mine in her desperation for contact.

My fingers kept working her, slow then fast, circling just the way she liked, the way I remembered from before I left. Her breath hitched, her hips rolling against my hand, her skirt bunched up around her waist. Her knickers were soaked through, the fabric wet against my knuckles.

"Kenny, inside,” Julie gasped. “Now.”

I didn’t argue. Fumbling with my belt, I barely got my trousers down before she was clawing at my polo shirt, yanking it over my head. Then her hands were on me, hot and impatient. I grabbed her hips and spun her toward the bed. She stumbled backwards, knees collapsing when she stumbled against the edge of the mattress, and I followed her down, my mouth crashing into hers again.

Julie’s legs wrapped around my waist, her heels digging into the small of my back. I felt her knickers tear when I yanked them aside – then she gasped as I slid into her in one rough thrust, her gasp dissolving into a long moan.

Julie’s thighs clamped around me, her heels urging me deeper. The bedframe slammed against the wall with each thrust of my hips. She arched beneath me, her fair hair fanned out across the pillows, her skirt bunched around her waist.

“Look at me,” I panted.

Julie’s eyes flew open just as I hooked her knee over my shoulder and fucked her harder.

“Say it,” I demanded, thumb dragging over her clit.

Julie’s laugh turned into a gasp as I angled my hips deeper. “Oh, Kenny."

“Say it", I repeated, thumb circling faster now, pressing just under her clit the way she loved. Her thighs trembled, her heel slipping against my back.

Her fingers dug into my shoulders. "Darling". Her breath hitched as I thrust my hips harder and deeper. “I…”

The words tumbled out in one breath, "I love you, Ken. Love you with all my heart."

Her confession ripped through me like lightning. I didn't respond with words. Couldn't. My mouth found hers again as my thumb kept circling relentlessly against her clit, while my hips drove deeper and Julie's suspended leg trembled against my shoulder.

"Harder," she gasped. No amount of passionate letters could capture the way she whimpered when I hooked her knee higher, driving into her at an angle that made her whimper continuously.

"I'm close," she breathed. "Give me everything."

Her words were a demand, forced between clenched teeth as her hips met mine with bruising force. I felt my orgasm rising, and without any consciousness on my part, my thrusting became harsh and erratic.

Julie screamed – a raw, broken sound – and arched off the bed, her whole body seizing. Her thighs clamped around me like a vice, squeezing tight enough to hurt, her nails digging into my back as she came, her head thrashing against the pillow.

"Kenny, darling…"

Julie's voice shattered into a wordless cry; her body bowed off the bed beneath me. The sounds of her climax sent me over the edge. My hips stuttered against hers, my vision whiting out as I spilt into her with a rasping groan that tore from my throat.

For a heartbeat, we stayed like that with her suspended leg trembling against my shoulder as her hands grasped my head, pulling me down into a deep kiss. In those few minutes, I forgot Hyacinth, forgot the mental anguish of my flight home. Love had conquered everything.

._.

That night, we made passionate love again, but during the act, I fantasised about Hyacinth, the odours of her body, the words she had said to me, and the things she had done to me. 

Later, lying beside her, the unfamiliar silence left my mind free to wander. I wanted the sound of a ship’s engines and a gentle ocean roll to lull me to sleep, but all I had was Julie’s soft snuffling. I knew I loved her, and love, if it was to mean anything at all, meant I had to be faithful. But even when we were joined physically, I felt it was beyond me.

The days that followed assumed a rhythm. On the surface everything was normal, but beneath it all ran a thin, persistent current of unease.

Julie noticed something, of course. She asked if I was tired, if the voyage had been rough, and if the flight had been awful. I answered each question with half-truths, the kind that sound convincing because the speaker wants them to be. She accepted them without suspicion, and that only made the guilt sit heavier.

._.

I had been home a week, lounging around most days while Julie was at work, when, mid-morning, I answered the phone. I recognised Sita’s voice instantly.

“Ken. We need to meet.” It wasn’t a request.

“I’m getting married in ten days,” I said.

“I know,” Sita replied. “That’s why we need to meet.”

There was a pause – long enough for me to hear the faint background noise of her parents’ shop: the doorbell dinging, the rustle of newspapers, someone asking for something.

She had embraced life here with an enthusiasm that bordered on recklessness; her parents, by contrast, were deeply conservative. They’d arrived from Uganda two years earlier with nothing but a few suitcases and a bellyful of fear. They watched her like hawks, terrified she’d slip into the freedoms England offered too easily. But Sita had slipped away from their grasp anyway – into parties, men’s arms, and the thrill of being wanted.

“I don’t think a meeting is a good idea,” I said.

“Well, I do,” she replied. “Come to my parents’ house at twelve thirty."

“Sita, please…”

“No. You owe me this.”

._.

I drove the familiar route to her home, butterflies fluttering in my stomach, her words hammering in my head.

I tapped the doorknocker, and she answered almost immediately. It was as if she had been standing there, one hand on the knob, waiting for me. 

She’d always been pretty, but in a way that was soft, round, and warm. I hadn’t seen her for two years, but in that time Sita had matured physically, lost her puppy fat, gained poise, and no longer looked quite so sweet and innocent.

Sita always wore slacks paired with long-sleeved blouses, her one concession to her parents’ wish to dress modestly. This time, she was wearing a deep magenta sari, with bare dark brown arms below the areas covered by the bodice, and her long, jet-black hair was curled into a knot. She was poised, elegant and intimidating.

My nerves surfaced, jangling my fluttering stomach, and then she beckoned me in and closed the door firmly behind us. There was a long silence. I could hear her breathing, steady but tense.

“You kissed me, you screwed me,” she said at last. “You made me think there was something there. Then you dropped me like rubbish. And Julie never knew.”

I closed my eyes. The hall around me blurred into a haze.

“Sita, it was a mistake. I was stupid. I was drunk. I shouldn’t have…”

“You shouldn’t have,” she cut in. “But you did.”

Another silence. Then, softer, “I want you to fuck me again. The deal is one-time. If you do, Julie will never know. If you don’t, I will tell her everything and embellish it.”

I was trapped; she knew it, and my voice betrayed it as I replied, “Okay, Sita, it’s a deal.”

At that moment, I had never felt so unaroused, but the smile that my agreement had created was followed by Sita pivoting and pressing herself against me. I stared down into the black pools of her eyes and felt desire coursing through my loins.

“Kiss me, Ken," she demanded. Our lips met, and my first tentative pressure was met with Sita’s desperate surge of hunger, deepening our connection while her hands pressed against my crown, pulling me into the void where she was waiting.

She broke the kiss, panting in short bursts, her words spilling out breathlessly. “Come upstairs, Ken; come to my bed.

I followed meekly, my gaze fixed on her swaying hips ahead of me. I entered her room, and then she demanded, “Close the door and sit on the bed.”

I lowered myself onto the soft bedding and watched her bustling around, finding a record and placing it on her player. The music started – it was not her favourite rock group nor her favourite balladeer. The unfamiliar sound of a sitar, slow and measured, was joined by a vocalist. I had listened to Asian music in ports around the subcontinent, usually strident and attention-grabbing. This was very different and melodious to my Western ear.

Sita stood by the bed’s foot and gently swayed her hips in time with the melody as she spoke.

“Ken, do you know what the colour means?”

I shook my head. “No, I don't, but it is beautiful on you.”

Her smile broadened. “Pinks are the colour of femininity and romance. I think it’s appropriate for today. Don’t you?”

Her words hit me like a sledgehammer, driving home the nails of my infidelity. I held my tongue and watched as she lifted the stole from her neck and let the loose end drift to the floor, exposing her flat, brown belly and the little button at its centre.

Exploring fingers settled on her waist, and then she tugged the tucked cloth, and the remainder of her sari dropped to lie around her feet. Dressed in the matching magenta bodice and a pure white petticoat, she looked utterly desirable, and the sight of her hard nipples pressed against the bodice pulled my mind away from her words.

The music clicked onto a different track with a similar cadence while Sita’s hips swayed relentlessly. She reached behind her back to release the bodice, then stood, humming quietly, her arms folded across her chest. The garment slipped down, then dropped away as she slowly shuffled towards me, her body shifting sinuously until she stood between my knees and the door.

She leaned towards me, opening her arms to let her boobs fall free, swaying in sync with the rest of her body. My vision was filled with them, and I reached up to cup one in each hand, softly massaging the erect nipples.

“Suck them, Ken. Suck me; do what you’ve always wanted.”

I lifted one to my lips, savouring her odour and rolling the hardness between my lips. Sita whimpered, pressing herself into me as more of her flesh entered my mouth. I sucked for England, my earlier trepidation forgotten.

Then it was the turn of the other side, my lips buried in her softness, my tongue slipping around the hard bud of her nipple.

"I hate you," Sita whispered, arching her back as my tongue traced circles around her nipple. Her fingers tangled in my hair while the sitar music swelled, its drone mixed with the wet sounds of my mouth on her skin.

I laughed into her breast. "No, you don’t."

My teeth grazed her, and she gasped, her legs clamping around my thighs. I slipped my hand under the slip, up her naked thigh, fingertips playing in her bush. She shuddered but didn't stop me when my thumb found the damp heat between her legs. "Hate this?" I murmured.

"Shut up," she breathed, and her hips rolled against my hand, betraying her need.

I grasped the slip hem and dragged it down over her hips until it fell to the floor. She laid her hands on my shoulders and shoved me back forcefully, and as I dropped onto the bed, she climbed on me, shuffling along my body. When her knees were pushed into the top of my arms, she turned around, then sat on my head, pinning me to the bed.

Her thighs were pressed tight against my face, her scent and heat overwhelming my senses. I groaned, trying to lift my head, but she leaned forward, hands planted on the bed, her breasts brushing my stomach.

"Stay," she commanded, breathless. "You don’t get to move until I say."

I groaned again, but she pressed down harder, the weight of her thighs against my cheekbones making it impossible to turn my head. Her fingers dug into the mattress on either side of my ribs, and I could feel her tremble slightly, like she was holding back.

Then she shifted, enough for her folds to brush my lips. A low, involuntary sound escaped me.

"Say it," she demanded.

My lips parted against her slick warmth. "I…"

"Say it properly."

"I’m sorry," I gasped, lips slick with her. "I shouldn’t have led you on."

Her thighs tightened around my skull. "Again, louder." The command was sharp, but her voice shook.

I exhaled against her damp skin, the words coming out ragged. "And I shouldn’t have dumped you afterwards."

Her thighs squeezed tighter, cutting me off. "You knew," she hissed, "didn't you?"

I strained to speak against her weight. "I knew," I admitted, voice muffled. The taste of her filled my mouth. "I knew you were falling for me. I let you."

Her thighs twitched against my ears. "You bastard."

I licked upwards, slow and deliberate, wanting to enjoy feeling her shudder. She smelt of sandalwood and cinnamon.

"You don’t sound sorry," Sita muttered, but her hips rocked forward, grinding herself against my mouth. I tried to answer, but suffocated within her folds; my voice went nowhere.

Then she lifted herself enough for me to gasp some air.

"Again," she demanded. "Properly this time."

I cracked. "Bollocks, Sita, I've told you I'm sorry. Let me satisfy you."

She stilled, her thighs pressing into my face, her scent enveloping me like a mist. I licked inside her folds again, long and deep, all the way to her bud.

"Say it like you mean it," she hissed, grinding down harder.

I ignored her command and flicked my tongue over her clit again, feeling her body shudder around me.

"Ken," she gasped, her thighs trembling against my temples. "I said…"

My tongue flicked again and again; every touch made her whimper, and her thighs ground down harder, my nose and mouth buried deep in her sex.

I felt the weight of her body settle along my trunk and her hand grasping my hard shaft. The feel of her lips sliding over my glans sent shudders through my body, and I lifted my hands to grasp her buttocks, holding her pressed against my face.

Sita’s voice was ragged as she gasped, “You’re… you’re still a bastard.”

I grinned against her, my tongue working faster now, tracing tight circles around her clit until her thighs trembled.

"Still hate me?" I murmured against her slick skin.

Her thighs quivered around my head. "Yes," she gasped, her breath soft against the flesh of my cock.

I groaned into her wet heat, fingers digging into the soft swell of her bum. The scent of her filled my nostrils, drowning out everything else.

""Ken,"she murmured, her voice quivering, "I'm near; keep going, please, make me come."

My tongue flicked faster, tasting the musk of her need. Her thighs tightened around my head, her breath coming in ragged gasps.

"Fuck, fuck." Her fingers squeezed my shaft hard and painfully.

I didn’t stop. Couldn’t. Not when her hips were jerking against my mouth, not when her voice cracked and dissolved into whimpers. I slowed my stimulation on her clit, enjoying the little jerks that came with her aftershocks.

"Oh, you bastard," she breathed, "that was good."

My response was to resume my fast and furious tonguing of her clit. Hers was to start working my cock, her hand sliding up and down as her tongue played around the back of the head, sending waves of pleasure through me. She was good at sucking; this certainly wasn't her first time.

Her lips wrapped around my cock, sealing tight, and I groaned against her slick folds as she hollowed her cheeks. The suction was exquisitely painful. Her tongue flicked under the ridge in short, sharp strokes, syncing with the rhythm of my tongue inside her.

Then she stopped. Pulled back. The sudden absence of warmth made me twitch.

Sita’s thighs slid away from my face, her wetness slick on my lips. She hovered over me. "Oh, look at him," she muttered, staring down at my cock, slick with her spit. "Hard and all mine."

Before I could answer, she turned and straddled me fully, knees digging into my ribs, then sank in one swift motion. The groan that tore out of me was half-pain, half-relief. She was in charge, taking, not giving.

"Christ…" I choked out, fingers scrabbling at her thighs.

She rolled her hips, slow and deliberate, her inner muscles clenching around me.

I gritted my teeth, fingers digging into her thighs. "Fucking hell, Sita."

Sita rolled her hips again, harder this time, her breath catching as she adjusted. I wasn't small, and she hadn't given herself time to ease into it. But she didn't stop. Just clenched me tighter, her muscles pulsing in a slow, deliberate rhythm.

"You like this?" she murmured, her voice low and rough. "Taking what I want?"

My fingers dug into her hips as she rocked forward, laughing. "Think you have any control? "You’re just a toy, Ken. My toy."

She lifted herself almost entirely off me, then slammed back down. My hips jerked upward involuntarily, but she pinned my wrists to the bed with a grip that left no room for argument. Her thighs flexed, and she rode me in a way that made my vision blur.

"Look at me," she demanded.

I forced my eyes open. Sita loomed over me, her dark hair stuck to her temples and lips parted around panted breaths.

"Say it," she demanded, her voice fraying at the edges.

I stuttered, hardly able to voice the words, "Sorry, Sita, sorry."

She smiled, then her hips accelerated her thrusts. "It's time for your reward, Ken. Enjoy."

Above me, her lips pursed in concentration as her movements changed, and her breaths became ragged with effort. Her fingers stayed locked around my wrists, but the pain was subsumed in my head by the intense pleasure from her movement against my shaft.

Sita’s thighs clamped around my hips as she rode me in earnest now, her breath coming in sharp little gasps. Her hands had abandoned my wrists, one gripping the headboard, the other pressing hard against my chest.

"Who’s in control?" she panted, rolling her hips in tight, vicious circles that made my toes curl.

I gasped, "You are. I'm just your toy."

Her laugh was sharp and breathless. Her hips shifted again, slow and deliberate, her walls squeezing me in a way that sent me over the top.

"Oh, God, Sita, I'm coming."

Her hips slammed down hard as she hissed, "No, you're not."

Deep inside, I felt my orgasm rising. "I can't stop it; too late."

Sita leaned down, her lips brushing my ear. "Then scream my name, Ken." Her breath was hot and her voice ragged, but she was still in control.

Panting, I screamed, "Sita, Sita, Sita", as my seed coursed up and spilt inside her.

She didn’t stop. Just rode me through it. The bedframe groaned under us as my body jerked and rolled beneath her, my vision whited out, my whole life a series of spasms of sheer pleasure wracking my body.

When I could breathe again, Sita was still moving, slower now, grinding her hips in lazy circles, her thighs trembling against my hips.

Sita laughed, "It's my turn now; my pleasure before your cock becomes a useless soft toy.

The sitar record had long since ended, leaving only the sound of our breathing and the occasional creak of the bed as she shifted. She leaned back, one hand braced on my thigh, the other tracing lazy circles over her own stomach. Watching me watch her.

Then she sat upright and pushed a hand through her thick thatch. I felt the hardness of her knuckles dig into the soft rolls of flesh above the root of my cock as she masturbated herself.

Her thighs quivered with the effort, her breath coming in short, sharp gasps. I couldn’t move, only watching as she worked herself toward another climax, her fingers moving faster, her hips grinding down against me. Her breath hitched, and she bit her lip, her dark eyes locked onto mine. "Watch me," she demanded.

I did. I watched her thighs tremble, watched her fingers move in quick circles, watched her back arch as she came hard, her inner muscles clamping down around me in rhythmic pulses that made me groan. She shuddered, her breath escaping in a long sigh, her body going slack.

For a long moment, neither of us moved. Then she lifted herself off, collapsing beside me on the bed. Her dark hair stuck to her forehead, her chest rising and falling rapidly. She turned her head to look at me, her expression unreadable.

"Well?" she finally said, her voice rough.

I turned my head to meet her gaze. "Well, what?"

“Well, our unfinished business has been completed.”

I lifted my arms and invited her in, and then she snuggled against me, an arm thrown across my chest, my chin resting against her scalp. And lying there, I wondered just how close I had come those two years ago to having Sita as my bride instead of Julie.

._.

I enjoyed it; she was an enthusiastic and expert lover, no longer the inexperienced girl I had kissed two years before. Initially, I felt less guilt about Sita than I had done about Hyacinth, and for some inexplicable reason, I trusted her.

But then, reality dawned. I had failed the promise I made to myself on the flight home, and I really had no idea how I was going to stop myself from being unfaithful again and again.

Salvation came unexpectedly, a few days later. A letter from the company offered me a promotion if I were prepared to cut short my leave. When Julie came home from work, I told her the news. Her face fell, and tears rolled down her cheeks as she stammered, “B… but, Ken, we won’t have any time together, and you’ll be away for another four months.”

“My love, that’s not all. I’ll be a senior officer, and one of the perks is for my wife to be with me on board. We’ll fly to Montreal together a fortnight after the wedding, and you will see the world with me.”

Julie threw her arms around my shoulders, and we danced around the room in a close hug. Her tears became tears of joy, and I knew I had found the time to learn the art of faithfulness.