How does the modern woman negotiate physical intimacy and emotional sustenance, while being true to her human needs? On her own damn terms, thank you very much...
Pic/Ashish Raje
It was the best one hour of sex I’ve ever had. We took a break but he still stayed hard. Maybe he had taken something, and that was professional of him because I had told him what I wanted. He kept saying, ‘You are so good, I won’t even charge you’ and ‘You are so good, I can climax any time with you’. Of course I Gpaid him at the end of it, because these are just things to say, but they made me feel wanted. He ensured I finished first, asked if he could take a shower and left. Afterwards, he just sent one message: ‘When is the next time?’ No, ‘Hi, How are you’. [He knows] we are not friends. He made me, my needs and my experience a priority. That’s professional. It was Rs 10,000 well spent and I am going to call him whenever I want.”
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It was the first time she was buying sex, this 33-year-old sales professional who lives in one of the metropolis’ satellite cities. She’s got the kind of face that’s beautiful in any culture—almond shaped that ends in a dainty, pointed chin. Her eyes are cognac, almost khaki, and also almond shaped, turning upwards at the outer corners. Smooth, fair skinned and straight, black hair. She hugs deeply and for longer than you expect.
The paid sex took her back to her first relationship, which lasted three years. She was in her early 20s, and they had sex, all the time, everywhere, in public places and in all positions. “And then he married his girlfriend of seven years. I couldn’t stop crying. For days and days. I couldn’t function at work, which was critical—I had a mother and schizophrenic brother to support. I found a psychiatrist who explained that I was finally processing the stress and trauma of the past 10 years; the betrayal was just the tipping point.”
AT 14, her eldest of three brothers decided that she was too dumb to finish school and should stay at home and do housework. That’s when she got her first job—as feeding numbers in the income and expenditure columns for a decorator—to make Rs 1,500 that would pay her fees. When her brother told her to contribute to the house budget, now that she was earning, she began subsisting on vada pav and vegetable sandwich as she walked from work (9 am to 1 pm) to coaching classes (1.30 to 6 pm), back to work (6.30 pm to 9 pm). She had dropped out of school then to earn full-time and was finishing Class X privately. Exhausted and malnourished, she moved out to a ladies hostel when her brother started interrupting her sleep by switching off the fan saying, “Electricity ka bill kya tera baap bharega.”
Sixteen, unprotected and attractive—she was routinely singled out as prey. There had already been molestation at home at the hands of family members. Some favours had been exchanged to secure the amount she needed to enroll in coaching classes that would help her clear the boards. Then came a kindly Punjabi lady who arranged a match with her 17-year-old son.
“She took me home and it was a large, kind family with a father and sisters. I saw the father I always wanted; the family that would protect and shelter me. In our Sindhi community, daughters are cherished. Textile and garment traders always set aside the best pieces for their daughters. I told them to take the proposal to my family, who were only too willing to get rid of me. By the sangeet, I noticed my prospective father-in-law was hugging me too closely when I went to touch his feet. Within the first few weeks of marriage, I was doing all the household chores and cooking five kilos of gajar halwa. More than once, when I was asleep, my father-in-law molested me. I also found out that the breadwinner of the large family was the daughter who worked as a bar dancer. I had the sense that they were grooming me to take her place. We lived in Mira Road and I had no contact with my family.
“Finally, I called my mom and cried to her to take me home. At first she thought I was having problems adjusting like any newlywed; I couldn’t tell her everything. She came home to take me but my family wouldn’t let me go. She cleverly invited us all over for lunch for the pag-phera ceremony where the bride goes home for the first time after the wedding. Once there, she made some excuses for me to stay a few days with her and sent the rest of the family back. First, I removed my mangalsutra, wiped my sindoor, took off the salwar kameez that had become my uniform, and slipped into jeans and a tee. ‘Let’s go for a walk, mom,’ I said. We lived in a small home and there was no privacy. I told her everything that had happened and we decided to take the help of the local corporator to call my in-laws and annul the marriage. It wasn’t legalised anyway—we were only teenagers.”
Being in charge of her finances was the only way to stay safe and have a shelter. So even when she finally nurtured a stable, healthy relationship with her current partner, she was reluctant to follow him to Singapore when he moved there two years ago. Years of therapy had helped her recognise her needs—a daily routine, working out, pets to nurture, her triggers: that she felt unsafe if she was woken up while sleeping. And the need to be treated like a princess. To be someone’s priority.
“I was learning to be true to myself. We first thought he would take the Singapore role, and I would wrap up my business and follow him. But then we realised I would have to marry him to get a dependent visa, which would not allow me to work there. We have been long-distance for two to three years. I’ve tried to find work there, even considered being a cab driver. But therapy taught me to put my needs first. I don’t like getting out of the house; I would be miserable as a cabbie. I spoke to other spouses, who are whiling away their time shopping and getting their nails done. Plus, the thought of being married makes me feel caged. We explored doing it only as a formality, but I couldn’t go ahead. I have been trying to get a job in Singapore, but till that happens, we travel to see each other.
“I tried to break up with him, but he took it badly. My therapist and I spoke about an open relationship. I recognised I could not expect one person to fulfill all my needs. I need lots of physical affection—if he crossed a room I was sitting in, I would wonder why he had not hugged me. He also needs sex many times a week, while I need quality sex that goes on for a while, but less frequently. Then, we didn’t know about love languages and all that.
“But he is open. He is willing to learn. To do what it takes to nurture a relationship. That’s why this is the right relationship for me. We were in couples therapy by then. I told him I could not take the pressure of providing sex to him; sex for me is a small thing. When I was having sex against my will, I thought ‘these men don’t even know what is going on in my mind and my heart. I suggested an open relationship and he agreed. Later, my therapist told me she had to counsel him for a year to wrap his head around it; it was not easy for him. Now, we are two independent individuals who share a relationship. The other parts of our life are private.”
First, I went up to this young man I knew and met him for coffee. ‘I like you and have a fantasy about kissing you,’ I said. He was wowed. ‘Who wouldn’t want to kiss you,’ he said and did it. It was amazing to be seen like that. By then, I had gone from weighing 51 kilos to somewhere near 80. He lost his virginity to me. Imagine that! I am a part of his life forever. But since I was his first, he wasn’t good at sex and so I broke it off after sometime. I went on dating apps, but there were many misfires. Eight out of 10 men I met couldn’t perform when they saw my home—an independent woman living alone in a posh place with pets might have been too much for them. One guy was amazing, but he wanted weekends in Lonavala and holidays together. I wanted only intercourse.”
Slowly, she uncovered what she liked: Tall, fair, clean-shaved men who worked out. She also chiselled down the small talk: Hook-ups only. For 45 minutes to one hour. Be ready to start when you arrive. No foreplay; only intercourse. No staying the night. Start gentle, then go rough. First missionary, then doggie-style. I climax first. No oral until she feels comfortable; she wasn’t expecting it either. She also devised how to draw out the information she needed: How long did your last session last? What are your position preferences? Do you get an erection quickly? Which part of the country are you from?
“My standard was the sex I had in my first relationship. But only one out of 10 men I met on apps were able to bring me to an orgasm. And most men needed oral to get hard. Plus, I liked them clean-shaven and everyone on apps has a beard. Yaar, Virat Kohli ne bhi utaar di. Tum kya ugaa ke ghoom rahe ho! By then, I knew my boyfriend was buying sex and I went online too. But most websites were recruiting male sex workers, not providing a service. Once I found a man near my residence for Rs 3,000 and we set a date after chatting. He was a young chap who played football, so I assumed he had good stamina. But when he couldn’t put on the condom, I asked him, ‘Have you done this before?’ and he confessed he hadn’t. I sent him packing. I wasn’t going to pay someone I had to coach.
“I mentioned my troubles to a friend who spoke of a ‘massage wala’ her aunt in South Mumbai used. She was so cautious that she dictated the URL to me on a call instead of texting it to me. It had only textual messages and then the conversation would go offline. They’d send photos with a timer so that I can’t screenshot it and give fake names. Their rates were R15,000 to R30,000 thousand a night, going three to five rounds. I need them to go only once and negotiate an hourly rate. I have to give my John a two-hour notice because he travels from the western suburbs, and that works for me.
“I am secure in my relationship with my partner. Love takes time and investment; we will leave each other if either of us falls short in that regard. I am a good partner. I provide value no one else can beat.”
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