I'm Vihaan, 21 years old, living in a leafy suburban pocket of Mumbai, where the chaos of the city doesn't reach. My dad is a wealthy businessman with ventures in different Asian countries, and is rarely home. My parents divorced when I was 10, leaving behind a fractured family and a never-ending line of stepmothers.

Now, at 55, my dad's chasing love again, recently marrying Mallika, a 36-year-old divorcee with an engaging presence. I expected a typical Punjabi woman, but Mallika surprised me, being half Russian and half Indian, with a curvaceous, chubby figure reminiscent of Huma Qureshi or Sonakshi Sinha in their fuller days. At 5'8", she stands nearly eye-to-eye with my father's 5'10" height. Her face is sharp, quite chubby, but she has blue eyes, and don't get me started on her figure. Her BMI is almost touching the obese category, and she's 80kg or something. However, despite these weird differences, their middle-aged charm is quite adorable.

I met Mallika at their wedding a year ago. Now, at 21, I've traded my mother's modest flat in Pune for my father's Mumbai mansion, where I've lived with him and Mallika for two months while pursuing my studies. We don't talk much, except for the occasional 'Hi' and 'Hello'. I keep to myself, either holed up in my room or escaping with friends. But today is a different day; it changed everything, the day I caught my stepmother, Mallika, masturbating.

I was going to college in my car, then it started raining. I checked on Google Maps, and there was heavy traffic ahead. I knew that if I moved even an inch now, I would be stuck in traffic forever, so I decided to head back home and ditch the class. The main door was locked, so I opened it with a spare key and quietly entered the house. I went to the kitchen to get some water, and then I heard something.

"Ah." A voice came from upstairs. Mallika was supposed to be out. Was it an intruder? I set the glass down, my footsteps slow and deliberate as I climbed the staircase, drawn to the sound. Then I heard another sound, a low, throaty moan, raw and unguarded, which sent shivers down my spine. My hand hovered over the doorknob, but I didn't turn it. I couldn't. Not yet.

I heard a faint buzzing through the door; it was mixed with her moans, each one deeper, more desperate than the last. My heart pounded in my chest as I realised that my stepmom, Mallika, was masturbating. Oh FUCK! I know, I should've left, turned back, but I froze in silence. Her moans grew louder, and each one painted a vivid image in my mind: her voluptuous body arched on the bed, trembling, those blue eyes half in ecstasy. At first, I was disgusted by the thought of imagining her like that, but her moans kept increasing, and with that, my cock stiffened in my jeans.

I leaned closer to the door. I don't know when my hand instinctively touched the bulge in my jeans. I could hear her sexy moans. I unzipped slowly, quietly, my fingers wrapping around my throbbing cock. I started stroking it softly. I kept hearing her voice going into a higher pitch, and I even listened to her bed creak as she shifted. My strokes quickened, my breath soft, and I was stuck.

Her moans were not at the close; it was a half-scream, half-sigh. It pushed me over the edge. I was about to ejaculate at the door, my cock pulsed in my hand, as I panted softly, and somehow I got to my senses. I was quiet, my body stiff against the doorframe. Her sounds faded. I slowly zipped up; my legs were trembling. I slowly came down and sank onto the sofa in the living room, my heart still racing from what I was doing. And so I waited.

She came down after 5 minutes, fixing her hair into a bun. She saw me sitting on the sofa and froze for an instant.

"I thought you had college," she said.

"I had, but...uh... it started raining, so I came back."

"When?" she asked while filling her glass with water.

"20 minutes ago," I said. The silence in the living room was exceptionally quiet. Nobody said anything. I wanted to confront her, I felt like she was cheating my dad, but was she? My dad is mostly not around for days, and even if he is, he is an old horse. She was not having sex with someone; she was just using a toy for her pleasure. Was it ok? I kept fighting inside my mind. I decided to let this go; I shouldn't meddle in someone's married life.

Weeks passed, and I literally forgot about that incident with my step-mother. One day, I was throwing out the trash, and I saw a used packet of Viagra, and I chuckled. I wasn't shocked to see this. My Dad is 55, and my stepmom is young, so it did make sense.

But the next week, I saw another packet, this one empty, all ten tablets gone. Ten? my mind questioned. How much sex were they having? When? And why Viagra every single time? I was now a little worried.

One night, as I passed the living room, I heard a soft sobbing. It was Mallika, curled on the couch, watching Netflix. I forced a smile. "Hi, you okay? Movie that bad?"

She hit pause, turning her face away to hide the tears. "Yeah, okay," she mumbled, her voice unconvincing.

Being a gentleman, I grabbed a glass of water from the kitchen and handed it to her, settling on the opposite couch. "You sure?"

"I'm fine!" she insisted, but a tear rolled down her cheek.

"Sure," I said gently, watching another tear fall. "You're not fine."

She broke down and covered her face with her hands. I hesitated, then crossed the room to sit beside her. She grabbed my arm firmly and rested her head on my shoulder. I patted her back lightly, giving her some comfort.

"I know you know," she whispered, her voice fragile.

"Um..." I froze, unsure.

"I've seen you look at those tablets," she said.

"Oh..." My stomach twisted. This was not a conversation I was ready for, but I stuck to it as she was sobbing. "I'm sure things are gonna be fine."

"No, they won't," she said. I felt sad for her.

"We're trying for a baby, but nothing's happening." She lifted her head, her eyes searching mine. "Your dad... he's sick, Vihaan. He won't even admit it."

My heart sank. Sick? This was heavier than I'd expected. I wasn't actually qualified for this kind of conversation, forget offering comfort to my stepmom about my dad's sexual health. I didn't know what to do. My face was very close to hers, and I could feel her breath, so I gently wiped her tears with my hand.

"It's gonna be okay, um... give him some time."

"I am trying, but it is not working," she said calmly, sitting straight.

"Uh... Can we please talk about something else? I am not really the right person to advise on married life to my stepmom." I said. "I am sorry."

Something triggered in her, and she immediately remembered that I was her stepson. "No... I am sorry. I shouldn't have talked about this at all. What is wrong with me?" she said.

"That's okay," I said.

"I need some wine, do you want some wine?" she asked immediately.

"Uh...ok." I couldn't say no to her; I didn't want her to drink alone in solitude. So, I turned the TV to a different show, "Shameless US". It's a dysfunctional family comedy show that is absolutely hilarious.

"Is it a good show?" She joined me with two wine glasses.

"Yeah!"

We were one bottle down, and the show was funny, so we were having our full laugh, and I was feeling dizzy. I could see that she was high as well, and was swinging on the couch and fell onto me. We laughed. We looked at each other intensely and kept laughing, and slowly our laughter slowed down, but we kept looking. The air between us thickened, I was charged with something unspoken, and everything around us was now dark. I could only see her face now, and it was very close to mine. I could see her blue eyes, I could see her pink lips, soft and trembling, they were inches from mine.

I don't know what came over me, maybe the weight of her confession, maybe the lingering memory of her moans that night, but I leaned in, my lips brushing hers, and I kissed her. For a split second, I could swear that she kissed back, and our lips moved together, but in another second she froze, her breath catching.

Then reality crashed in. "Oh God." I pulled back. What had I done? She was my stepmom. My dad's wife. Heart pounding, I stumbled to my feet, "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Without looking back, I rushed upstairs to my room and slammed the door. My chest kept pounding; it was heaving as I leaned against the wall, the taste of her lips still lingering on mine, and I sucked my lips back.

To be continued...