She was my friend's mother

But that didn't deter me

From lusting for her

She exemplified sensuality

Even if she was a village woman

Growing up in a city

I never knew the true essence of village life

That's where I saw her for the first time

When I accompanied my friend to his village

Draped in a loin's cloth

She was without blouse and petticoat

I was astounded to see her in such revealing attire

Later I saw other women in the village were also draped in such fashion

Except for the upper caste Brahmins

Who were allowed to wear blouses

With her see through swinging breasts

And curvy waist

Her dusky beauty was captivating

I had a tough time controlling my emotions

With her maternal love and care

She ensured my stay was comforting

But my mind was raging

Nights were tortuous not because of the feasting mosquitoes

Nor the humidity that hung in the air

But with her thoughts so engulfing

I merely looked at her

While she chatted

Imprinting each of her moves

Whether it was the glimpse of her breasts from side

When she tied her lustrous tresses

Or the the image of her butt

When she cooked by the chula

I tried to register each of her

In my being

On the day of departure

I avoided looking at her

I would have given away my feelings

But when she hugged me bidding goodbye

I felt a gnawing ache seizing me

I decided then I won't see her again

Was it my guilty conscience?

©LR