The Beach Bitch

My given name is Deepti, my family name doesn’t matter as I have no family after they cast me out and disowned me. If you know Bollywood then many would say I look like Deepti Bhatnagar in the height of her fame, if you don’t know Bollywood then shall we just say I am of pure Indian blood. My name means the “the last ray of hope when all hope is lost,” and in telling you my story you are my last ray of hope and this is how it came to be.

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It began over 20 years ago when I was 18 and got married to a much older man in a marriage arranged by my parents, as is the way in India. We settled near to Kokilaben Dhirubhai Ambani Hospital in Mumbai, where my husband Vivaan worked as doctor and I stayed at home hoping that one day we might be blessed with children. Sadly that was not to be as my husband worked long hours and was often tired when he returned home and showed little interest in sex. Sure he made token attempts and I tried my best as a dutiful wife to become pregnant saying devotions to Kama Deva for sex and procreation, I even laid my head on the genitals of Unmatta Bhairava, but nothing worked. Eventually we stopped trying and 10 years ago sex stopped altogether as my husband would work long hours leaving me alone in our comfortable house.

I sought solace online by learning to use the internet and getting my husband to buy the latest computer so that when he was working I could scour the web for sex. As time went on my searches became more debauched and I moved from just plain male / female web sites to more & more extreme sites. I had no access to sex toys but had a variety of thums up soda bottles that partially satisfied my needs, ranging from the small through to the large family bottles when my urges became too much.

I would often wander the house naked parading myself in front of the mirror, examining my body critically from every angle, wondering if it would please an unknown lover. Sometimes cursing as I wondered why my husband could not get an erection and satisfy my needs, was I that ugly? I could not divorce him as the shame and stigma would have been too much for both myself and my family and taking a lover was fraught with the dangers of discovery, I was well and truly trapped.

At my pleading my husband, against his better judgement, had bought me a scooter which allowed me to nip through the crowded streets of Mumbai, often with reckless abandonment to at least feel the rush of air on my face giving a flash of freedom. I would of course be properly dressed in my sari ensuring that the hem was correctly pulled over my head and face as a married woman.