Fiction

Searching Sunny Leone

By: Prashil Kumar

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When I turned nineteen, grandfather took me to a neighbouring village. There, he introduced me to a random family and informed they were going to be my inlaws soon.
I had no option but to obey. “Yes, Grandfather.”

Then, he pointed to a girl seated amid four others. “Hari, she is your wife to be.”

Grandfather was the eldest in our household followed by my parents and my elder brother. The elderly fix marriages and I suppose Grandfather was just fulfilling his duty. I am the youngest in the house hence I played by everyone’s expectations too. I consented to my marriage which was to take place in a month’s time since I first saw Karenjit, my future wife.

There was not much point in refraining. I, and everyone else knew that I had aged and ought to settle down. That was the norm I had to blindly abide by. No exceptions allowed. The only person I confided in was my elder brother.

So, I shared my feelings for Sunny Leone with him, “I want to make her your sister-in-law.” And just for her, I planned to travel some two hundred miles to another city from home.

I was sixteen when I first saw Sunny Leone. Those days, tonnes of manganese were discovered in my hometown. Soon after its discovery, a mining company began operating, hiring labourers left, right and centre. My town became a hotspot for employment with immigrants flocking in from all over the country. I also seized this opportunity, dropped out of school and started my career working in the mine. Because of state elections round the corner, the reigning party in its last bid to win peoples’ hearts in our district, installed internet cables and cell phone towers in every nook and corner, enabling free access to the web. Once more, I promptly seized that opportunity too. With my six months saving, I treated myself to a laptop which I kept in my bedroom, tucked underneath my pillow.

It rested during the day and came alive at night. Since I had craze for Bollywood, I would initially explore about its superstars and the daily gossips and scandals which surrounded them. One rainy night, I came across a newbie in the industry who was an overseas import. All the way from the USA, she was nothing like typical blonde American tourists we occasionally saw on our streets. I found that intriguing. And then I learnt that she was actually of Punjabi descend. And yet nothing like the desi women, who commuted to work or attended to household chores, each morning. I found that fascinating.

It did not take long for my fascinations to turn into occasional arousals. Given her ‘adult’ clips floating the internet, Sunny Leone defined the rest of my teenage years. I loved her “come, fuck me,” gesture, the most. She raised her index finger all the way into my face, beckoning me into the screen while peering straight into my eyes. This often had me make a mess of my bedsheets. Within weeks, I learnt that semen could travel all the way to the ceiling before falling back like bird droppings on my sheets. Perhaps, that was her magic on my erections.

On the other hand, I also quivered thinking about my performance on my wedding night, if I tied the knot with a local. It seemed pretty hard, getting hard with Karenjit. Let alone, “Come, fuck me,” she never even looked into my eyes for a split second when I visited her place, with my grandfather. All the while, I saw her eyes on the ground. I reasoned that she chose not to stare at my – basically, a stranger’s face because she was shy of my grandfather, her family and relatives present around her.

Sunny Leone was never coy. Never. Even when millions of eyes, including mine watched her fiddle with herself below. Without flinch or fear, Sunny had her chest out, butt out, and not a single piece of cloth on.
Whether it was her confidence or attitude, it was something definitely unimaginable of any woman I had come across in life. I could only imagine Karenjit’s plight undressing in front of me.

Dressed from head to toe in a salwar suit, Karenjit startled when I cleared my thorat to speak.

“What are your hobbies, then,” I asked to start a conversation.
Karenjit’s parents and my grandfather had agreed to, “let the children mingle together, get to know each other for a bit.”
Therefore, Karenjit and I headed to the balcony for some quiet time away from everyone. Karenjit took her time replying, listing them one after the other, frequently running her tongue on her lips to moisten it, presumerably because anxiety kept drying them out. Even when she was all decked up, standing beside me, her lips never gave that radiance like Sunny Leone’s did from behind the screen. I am not certain if glossy lipsticks do those tricks, but when the lights went off in my room, Sunny Leone’s lips glowed like firefly.

Smooch was the first thing which came to mind as I admired those lips. And not just the lips but every inch of her body. Wearing different lingeries, sometimes on a sofa or the outdoors or the floor, she brought a newness each time I saw her. Far from any repetition, there was just no chance of boredom. However, I was aware the same would not be possible after marriage. I understood Karenjit would not have dozens of exotic underwear to excite me. In addition, our first night would be on my bed. The intimacy between us for the rest of our lives would probably be on that same bed. It would be a matter of time before I unintentionally, grew detached from my wife.

My anxiety increased with such thoughts. I stifled and my mind raced to find solutions to avoid marrying Karenjit and somehow remain the free lad which I was. I associated my freedom with Sunny Leone, something which I doubted any other woman could offer. And the most apparent manifestation of freedom came with Sunny’s flying fringes. They usually blew away in all directions in a rather perfect manner where not a single strand of hair crossed her facial expressions. With her hair in motion, she appeared to be on a rollercoaster ride where thrill was bound to be unlimited. I had experienced similar excitement when I boarded a Ferris Wheel at a carnival in my village. When the ride reached its peak, about to descend, that moment was unforgetable. I felt the air brush against my hair, my entire body felt ticklish and the view of the treetops, was utterly breathtaking. Indeed, I wanted to feel all of it again with Sunny Leone by my side. Because then, everlasting adventure would be accompanied with oomph, lots of it.

Frankly speaking, I found Sunny Leone irreplacable. I fled the day after my marriage was finalised. The day I reached my destination, I learnt that Sunny would be inaugurating a mall the very next day. The time for the ceremony was eleven in the morning but I reached the premise at seven to reserve the best spot for myself – right by the stage. My hands held tight onto the clothed platform to ensure that accumulating masses do not push me away. Lost in her memories, I never realised when four hours slipped by. Thundering applause roared from all the four corners of the mall as Sunny Leone stepped on stage, joining a dozen other VIPs’ and officials.

Of course, I never anticipated her to enter nude or even in laced lingerie. However, that plain white salwar suit flattened out every single curve on her body, draping her bust and backside alike. She also had a dupatta sitting on her chest which to my dismay, absolutely hid her cleavage. When she leaned foward to shake hands with a VIP, that dupatta slipped an inch but she promptly adjusted it back into place. I wondered how she had opened her legs for me and other strangers around the world. Doubts birthed in my mind at that very moment, “Is she Sunny Leone?”
Shortly, the guy with the mic began chattering to her. I guess it was something to do with the mall brand. I really did not give a damn about it. Nonetheless, my heart skipped a beat when she fumbled her first few words, therefore in order to correct herself, repeated the entire sentence again. While doing so, she took the initiative to moisten her lips and to avoid further mistakes, deliberately spoke slowly, word after word. If anything, Sunny Leone resembled Karenjit, trying to reply me back when I had posed random questions.

Moreover, when that guy with the mic praised her, Sunny Leone shied away, gazing at the floor for a moment before thanking him. The same Sunny Leone had lowered her eyes before me, gesturing toward her lower body.

“Is she the same one?” I asked myself. Because at that live public appearance, her blushing was equivalent to, “Shy as a newly wed bride,” as the ancient saying goes. I was not sure if she ever became a bride, but after fifteen minutes, she confessed that she had been in a romantic relationship with someone for several years and was happily settled with him. After that, she mentioned that they raise their children together.

That was it for me. Since childhood, I witnessed women running after their toddlers, to change their damp nappies, to have their ‘last’ morsel which actually never is the last, to finish their glass of milk, to take their afternoon nap before they drop down exhausted. Those women who hold their childrens’ hand and drop them off to school, who button and unbotton their kids’ school uniforms each day, who wipe the little running noses with their precious saree. For some reason, after learning about Sunny Leone, I was compelled to put her into my perception of women, buried within me. Simultaneously, the image of her seductions, urging me to fuck her, were vivdly before me. The glamour of Sunny Leone had always defied the roles of ordinary womandhood for me, and I had celebrated. But at that moment, just as I could not believe any village women in Sunny Leone’s shoes, I could not believe the Sunny Leone in front of me, being who she was, in ‘Sunny Leone’ shoes too.

Then my intelligence clicked. I realised that in order to seek publicity, the mall owners had perhaps hired a look alike model and falsely declared that Sunny Leone was going to inaugurate.

Banging my hands hard onto the stage, I blurted out loud, “Where is Sunny Leone?” The guy with the mic froze.
There was pin drop for a second after which someone from behind me yelled, “Oye Hoye – Here comes a die hard fan of Sunny.”
Another voice, from the side followed, “Someone douse the fire on the lad.”
Consequently, the entire crowd roared with laughter followed by whistles and comments from here and there, “Someone stop him, or he may pounce on her.”
I continued with my protest, “You guys promised Sunny Leone here, I want to see the genuine Sunny Leone.”

Out of nowhere, two muscular men grabbed by arms, one from each side, and dragged me away. I was dragged all the way through the car park, past the footpath, across the road and eventually tossed on the opposite street. I would have fought them but as they turned I read, ‘security’ printed on their tees. Realising they may be trained to defend, I let the moment pass.

As I stood back up, an elderly man in khakee crept closer. He asked me if I was new in the city.

“Is there a hoarding on my forehead which says I am?” I barked. I was not in my greatest mood since the day had turned upside down.
With a soothing voice, he said, “I have a rickshaw. Should I drop you somewhere?”
I had been through enough and returning home did not seem a bad idea. But not before I affirmed my conclusions.
“Has Sunny Leone come in to inaugurate that mall?”
“Yes.”

“That same Sunny Leone who makes those blue movies?” I pressed on.
It seemed the man then lost his professionalism. Perhaps, he was a fan and presuming I was one too, treated me like a buddy.
Poking into my tummy, he smiled, “You are an intelligent boy. You know all about her.” “Can you drop me to the railway station, please?”

Back at home, my father lunged at me. Fortunately, my brother got in his way while my mother begged him to forgive me for running away. Otherwise, I would have received the thrashing of my life. Grandfather only mumbled, “the generation of today…” upon seeing me and walked away. I don’t know if he was pleased because I had shown courage and dared to flee, or annoyed because he found my actions stupid.

When no one was about, brother asked, “Found her?” I thought for a moment, “No.”
“Then why did you come back?”
“She was not there.”
“I thought you said you would find her. Where is she then?” “Online.”

Brother went clueless. Seeing brother’s puzzled face, I managed a chuckle. I very well knew where my

Sunny Leone was. I only had to open my laptop and she would be there. The way she had always been.
Perfect, sexy and willing as always, “Come, fuck me.”

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Categories: Fiction

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