Go With the Flow

1.

You know how you just know when someone is watching you?

Shan knew.

She didn't hide it. She must have known he'd noticed. He'd look at her and she didn't look away.

It was okay, he'd decided, even if the interest wasn't there, he was going to go with the flow. After reading about it this way of living, it made sense, going with the flow. It became the maxim after the breakup up with Trinity--who most definitely didn't go with the flow.

So, sure, he may have been interested if another woman hadn't caught his eye. And wow, had she ever. She'd slipped into the class late, first day of the course. He couldn't unglue his eyes from her.

He watched the way she quietly closed the door, hurried to find a seat. Right opposite. Even when she moved fast, there was a grace to her.

The teacher ignored her at first, finished what he was saying. This class wasn't really what he'd expected and he wondered why he'd signed up for it. So far, almost forty minutes in, he hadn't felt the slightest bit stimulated or interested. Until this woman had shown up. This was why he'd signed up. To see at a woman like this. Not really, but yeah. It was a bonus.

"And you are?" The teacher asked.

"Shayla," she said. It was soft, but he heard it. The teacher, either hard of hearing or a jerk, probably the latter, pretended to cock his head like he hadn't heard. "I'm sorry?"

She repeated it.

"And where are you from? Apart from Woolworths? obviously."

"Bangladesh," she said. "And I'm sorry I'm late. The bus was delayed."

Oh dear god, her voice, that accent made his brain turn to mush. He'd always loved the Indian accent, on women anyway. Bangladeshi, too, now that he knew it had the same brain melting cadence. Maybe he liked it even more. But that just could've been because of Shayla.

Everyone milled around during the break and he looked for an in to talk to her. But she took a call. No matter, there was always looking. And being looked at.

2.

It was the second class that they spoke. Only a little bit at first.

"I'm Shayla," she said. Then, "My English isn't very good."

"Your English is fine. How long have you lived here?" Shan asked.

She said ten years but she mostly spoke Bangla at home with her husband and kids.

Husband. Of course. Of course she was married. There was no way she wouldn't be. And here he was, newly single. Well, not newly, but single all the same-- not looking for a rebound romance, but he'd take one. With her. If only she hadn't been married.

The teacher had asked the class to form groups to work on a series of questions together. Typical night school kind of stuff, nothing too demanding. Shayla had looked around the class nervously, maybe we could say, and he'd raised his hand and done a little dance with his fingers. Come over, the fingers had said. She did, joining him and the woman who kept looking at him. Antonella, an Italian woman wearing too much pink, and she'd gone from sitting opposite and looking at Shan in an obvious way, to sitting next to him and looking in an obvious way. Her interest was plain to see. Or maybe she thought the rest of the students were weirdos and he wasn't, which wasn't untrue. Either way, it was fine. The attention was not totally unwanted though he'd prefer it came from Shayla, all day every day.

They worked on the questions and when everyone was done, someone from the group had to read out their answers. Again, real night school stuff. Shan asked Shayla to do it and she refused, looked at him like he'd put her on the worst kind of spot and she wasn't having it at all. Antonella's slow reading was worse, her English was actually not as good as it ought to have been.

"Okay," he said. "Sorry. I'll read it."

He read what they'd come up with together, the thee of them, and she said he read nicely. Shan looked at her to see if it was a genuine compliment or if it was something else. If it was, how would he even know?

And all the time, he kept thinking: Damn it, you have a husband. But go with the flow--what else can you do?

3.

They sat together every class. Antonella the starer on one side, Shayla on the other and Shan, the meat in the sandwich. She was good looking, Antonella, and it wasn't obvious that she was Italian, with her blonde hair, though her heavy accent gave it away. Like I said, she wore a lot of pink, particularly up top. And she still looked at Shan only now she snuck them, but it was still obvious if that makes sense. But he only had eyes for Shayla, really. but since he was going with the flow, no matter what, it was all good.

During break, he made Shayla a cup of tea to pep her up a bit.

"I'm so tired, Shan," she said as she took the Styrofoam cup. He'd loaded it with sugar for some extra energy.

Shan said, "Well, you do a full shift at the supermarket and come here, that's pretty rough."

"It's not just that. I have to get up at five every morning. I need to make breakfast for my husband and children."

"Oh. How old are your kids?"

"One is fifteen, the other is seventeen."

(So she was older than him. A bit. He knew that anyway, this was just "proof.")

"Then they can fix their own breakfast," he said. "And so can your husband. Or, he can make yours."

Because that's what he'd do if he had the chance.

She laughed. But it was more a sigh than a laugh. "You don't understand," she said. "My husband wants a hot breakfast every morning. I have to make roti and curry. He wants fresh food. He can't accept leftovers."

She sounded resigned when she said that. Because she was.

"I see," he said, but he really see. He understood, though: understood that she was tired and miserable. But she accepted it even if he hated it. That's just how it is. You have to accept people's lives as they are even when you don't like it. But all the same, he didn't like it and wished her life was different.

4.

They started leaving class together, He'd get the train and she'd take the bus. They'd walk towards the station and part there. On the way they talked about how weird the teachers were, and the other students, talked about their lives a bit, about philosophy and religion, about going with the flow.

"I think you are very wise, Shan."

If he was, he'd have stayed away from this bewitching woman but wisdom is acquired through bitter experience.

Sometimes they'd stop at the bookstore on the way and have a little browse.

"I love books," she said. "But I don't have time to read any."

"What if I bought you one?"

"I'd try to read it. But maybe I couldn't understand it anyway."

Outside the store, she asked him how come he was single. "Because you're so nice."

He shrugged. "Just waiting for that special someone."

"I know you'll find her, Shan," Shayla said with conviction. "Allah has blessed you."

"Thanks, Allah," said Shan. "It's nice of him to be so inclusive."

He looked at her as they walked. She was so beautiful with her dark skin and almond eyes, hair around her shoulders. He felt blessed by Allah for even having seen her.

When they got the station he watched her walk across the road to the bus depot, watched the way she moved. Woolworths shirt on top, tight jeans on the bottom. No hijab. He read that Bangladeshi women only wear them if they want to. And he was happy about that, because he loved her hair, wanted to touch it, run his fingers through the dark, loose curls.

He wanted her.

So much.

But instead he went home and got off to her in his mind's eye, with the thought that she probably wouldn't mind. Maybe she'd like him to do it. He didn't know but wished she'd known what he was doing right then. He imagined that she did and that she was into it. Because she felt the same way.

And also, it felt like he'd never cum so hard in his life.

5.

"I'm so tired, Shan."

"You work too hard," he said.

"Yes. But also, I haven't eaten."

Shayla flopped down on the sofa outside the class room. There was about twenty minutes before the class started.

"I can get you something."

She shook her head. "Not yet. It's Ramadan. I can't eat yet."

Ramadan. Yeah, right. "Sorry," he said. "I guess I forgot."

Not forgot. Didn't even realise.

Shayla stretched out on the sofa and turned to her side. "That's okay. You are not Muslim. Please can you wake me up in fifteen minutes?"

She closed her eyes before he could even answer. So he sat on the floor, beside the sofa and watched the sky darken the city. There was a vending machine down the hall and he went to feed it, so he could feed her later. All that was in it was chips, really, so chips it was.

Shayla was actually asleep when he returned so he sat down in the same spot, chips in front of him. The sun was sinking behind the buildings, not too long now. A few classmates wandered past, including Antonella, who slowed and smiled. There was something in her blue eyes, something uncomfortable. But he gave her a half-wave, and nodded to the sleeping woman beside him. When he looked at his watch, fifteen minutes had passed. Shayla was breathing heavily, almost a snore.

"Hey."

She didn't stir.

Shayla's hand was stretched out from under her head and he put his hand on it. On her hand. Her eyes opened slowly. They were deep, dark pools of mystery.

He wanted to know more. Much more.

"It's time for class," he said

She didn't move her hand. He kind of had expected that she might jerk it away real quick but she let his hand linger on hers. She opened her fingers, even, and he slipped his between them. His hand was holding hers and it was warm and the moment was tender. She looked at him, sleepily. Still, she didn't try to move away. He went first, reluctantly, guiltily, even. What was he trying to do, seduce a married woman? A married muslim woman? At Ramadan? Was he going to go Hell?

Sure looked that way. Oh well. Go with the flow, man, go with the flow.

They sat in the usual spot in class, him in the middle of Antonella and Shayla. Antonella was wrapped up like a strawberry crepe. Next time, he'd wear sunglasses, send a message: Turn down the bright. Shayla could barely keep her eyes open and it didn't help that the subject was rather boring and the teacher a lunatic. She stifled a yawn, moved her head back so she was looking at the ceiling, then dropped it forward. It looked like her head was going to hit the table.

It wasn't, but he grabbed her hand and squeezed it.

She squeezed it back.

Wow.

"Break time in a minute," he said.

"Mmmm. Thank you."

"For what?"

"You're a nice man," she said and put a hand over her mouth. She'd reached that point of tiredness where it was starting to hurt.

"Is she okay?"

Antonella had been watching, looking down at his hand on Shayla's. Some of the class were, too. The problem with having desks arranged in a semi-circle. Everyone who wanted to see, could. Antonella crinkled her face and went about fixing her pink jacket with one hand, and twirled her hair with the other.

At break time, Shayla and Shan sat on the sofa and Shayla made short work of the chips.

"Still hungry?"

She nodded.

"Why don't we go get something? It's dark now. There's a KFC just a block away. Real chicken."

She looked indecisive.

"My treat," he said and stood up. "Won't take long."

Still she sat there.

"I'm not taking no for an answer."

The next class was whack anyway, and half the others were leaving anyway, including Antonella. They couldn't deal with the bat-shit crazy teacher, either.

Shayla sat there, looking up at Shan, almost too tired to move. He bent down a bit, hand out. She took it and her pulled her up towards him. She put her head on his shoulder as they waited for the elevator. That was nice.

Man, she was tired.

"Can you walk?" He asked, when they got out.

"Yes."

"Want to hold my hand?" He asked. She looked reluctant.

"It's okay," he said and meant it both ways: okay if she did and okay if she didn't. He knew she knew that.

"You're a nice man," she said again.

"I respect you," he told her and he meant that, too.

It was dark now, and a chill had roared in on the wind.

"It's freezing, Shan," she said.

"Come on, then."

He didn't take her hand, instead, he put an arm around her. She gave no resistance and it felt nice and comfortable for the both of them as he walked her.

Yes, he was totally going to hell for this.

He bought her fries and popcorn chicken.

"It's halal," he said. "They have a sign somewhere, I've seen it. Anyway there's a few other muslims in here. See?"

"Yes. I see. It's okay," she said. Then, "Thanks. I thought I was going to die. I got up half past three to cook for family so we could eat before sunrise."

"That's tough. How's the family?"

"My husband is not well," she said, real matter-of-fact. "He has high a heart problem. We've been to the hospital a number of times."

"Oh, well that's no good. Is he on a special diet? Medication?"

"He is supposed to be, but he won't follow orders. I have to cook what he likes to eat."

He asked, "What if he dies?"

She stopped mid fry. Her eyes were like caves. She wasn't just tired, she was miserable.

"He might," she said. "He's fifteen years older than me."

God damn. Her daughter was fifteen.

When she was done, they skipped class and walked to the station. He wanted to hold her hand or put his arm around her but was all to conscious now. She had a sick husband, her son wasn't passing his exams and maybe her daughter was getting interested in boys soon. So it goes. Because he really did respect her, he walked next to her, close but not intimate close, and listened as she talked. When they got to the station, they looked at each other for seemed like minutes.

"See you next week," he said. "Try and get some rest."

"Oh Shan, I can't. I have too much to do. The same thing every day. I am so tired."

"I wish I could help you."

"You already have. I will live like you and go with the flow."

He looked into her dark eyes, across her deep brown skin, down to her lips. Lips that he wanted to kiss more than anything. He'd never wanted to kiss someone so badly before. She was intoxicating. But it was never to be. He'd have to let it go. Whichever way it went, the way it flowed, he'd go with it. He had to. He'd made the commitment to do that with life. Anything less and it wasn't really living.

"You need anything, you call or message me," he said. She wouldn't.

She nodded and said goodbye and he watched her go, watched her move in that way she moved, looked at her ass, like he always did, feeling something more than just lust right then. Yes, he wanted to kiss her, run his hands all over her body, kiss her everywhere, pleasure her like he knew her husband didn't and couldn't. He could make her cum like she'd made him cum, but for real. She needed some kind of release from her tension and worry and he wanted to give her that.

But. No, he had to forget it. Let it go.

All he could do was go home and get off to her, hold her close afterwards, kiss her deeply. And, in his imagination, she was happy and relaxed in a way she'd never been before. And so was he.

6.

Ramadan came and went and he got off to her her almost every night. Especially the nights they spent together in class, the nights she was so fresh in his mind.

They always sat together, sometimes the tables had been re-arranged, two-by-two so they didn't have Antonella next to them. But the Italian's eyes were never too far away. And if they worked on a group project, she was always part of it. Shan had already decided to go with it, whatever was happening. And Antonella was nice enough, easy on the eye, apart from the pink. And, on the odd night that Shayla didn't make it to class, she was good company, too, though maybe not as interesting as Shayla. It didn't feel like he could talk to her for hours about anything.

And who could blame Shayla if she didn't come to class: she was exhausted, cooking for her family and working the supermarket checkouts. And, as if that wasn't enough, she brought him food, too. The most wonderful cooking he'd ever tasted.

"I hope you can eat spicy food."

She'd looked worried. The way to a mans's heart is through spicy biryani. He wanted to say that but he thought she knew how he felt at that time. Maybe it was her intention.

They were walking waiting for the elevator after class one night when her phone lit up.

"It's my husband."

Husband.

"Oh. Is he okay?"

"He's arrived in Hong Kong," she said, matter-of-factly.

"Why did he go there? You didn't say he was in business?"

"Holiday with his friend. They're visiting China, Indonesia, Japan, Canada and America." Her voice was flat.

"What, he just went without you?" This was something else. "For how long?" He asked.

"Eight weeks."

"Yikes, how do you feel about that? Maybe now you can have a bit of a rest."

Before she could answer, the elevator arrived. Nobody else was in it. She pressed the button, looked at him quietly. He knew she was thinking things a married muslim woman shouldn't think but obviously does. All women do.

They walked, close to each other, to the station.

"See you on Thursday," she said.

"You will. Looking forward to it."

Embarrassment crossed her face. "What?"

Shan, why did you make her feel awkward?

"Nothing. Its okay, Shan. I had better get home to my children."

They looked at each other. It was longing. Well, it was for him. She couldn't be quite so obvious but it was plain what was going on behind those beautiful eyes. It was almost too damn much. How could this woman have such a grip on him? He couldn't put her down, even though he knew he had to. He was still getting off to her every night and really wanted to tell her. How would she feel about that? Disgusted? Ashamed? Embarrassed? Horny? Did muslim women masturbate? Did this one even have time?

7.

Shayla had replied to his email about some class stuff. And, since she was using what he assumed was husband's name as part of her email address, he knew he could try and find him on Facebook.

It wasn't hard and, judging by the state of him, he wasn't hard much either. He was overweight and sour looking, with an expression as if he'd just been given a stale roti.

There were photos of them together and, even though he was standing next to this gorgeous woman, he still looked like he'd sucked on a lemon.

The more of his photos Shan looked at, the less guilty he felt. Though he still felt pangs of guilt mixed with the rest of the feelings he had for this woman.

But... what a piece of work this guy was. He'd sucked the life out of her and here he was living it up abroad.

The photo of him looking angry in front of a temple in Kyoto angered him. Some people don't know how lucky they are.

At that moment, Shan did.

He closed the laptop, went to the bed, undressed and made love to her. When he was ready to cum, he pulled out and sprayed a load all over her body, feeling guilty-not-guilty about it. What else could he do. And she looked fantastic--sexy, even-- drenched in his cum. They kissed hard and deep, and he held her close, listening to her heartbeat. He could hear it like she was really there and for a minute she really was. He wanted her to be, so much.

Damn, he cared more for his wife than her husband seemed to.

8.

That was the Tuesday night. He said he'd see her on the Thursday. But Shan didn't see Shayla on the Thursday, though.

Because, on the Wednesday, he'd come down with something. Every time he tried to get out of bed, a wave of dizziness hit him. The room was like a too-fast merry-go-round and his stomach was a roller coaster. So he skipped work and skipped class, went hungry, just lay there trying to focus on a single point, so as not to puke. First he felt hot, then cold, then nothing, then it would all hit him at once. Sick as a dog, he didn't even notice his phone going off.

When he finally looked at it, Shayla had sent five messages.

"Are you okay? Where are you?"

"Shan, please answer."

"I am worried about you."

"Please Shan."

"Are you there?"

He read between the lines. She was worried, as he would have been but, also, she also missed him.

Knowing that, he almost immediately felt better.

9.

When she called, he picked up. The worry made her voice crack but it still melted him.

He told her how he'd been.

"Not good. It's been nearly three days. I could barely get out of bed."

She asked if he'd eaten.

"Nothing?"

"Nothing," he repeated. "Got nothing in the fridge. My house is empty."

So was he. Felt that way.

"Oh, Shan, you must be very hungry."

"I thought it might be the hunger that kills me."

She didn't find that funny.

10.

Here's the thing.

Shayla did something quite unbelievable. Quite haram.

She went to his apartment. Called him to say she was standing outside. He told her the door code so she could let herself in.

When she clocked him in bed, all pale, her face dropped. She was worried, it was etched deep into her eyes.

"I'm probably okay," he said. "But I really do appreciate you coming here."

"I'm not supposed to be here, Shan," she said.

No, she could do what she liked. Go where the river takes her.

"But here you are anyway, going with the flow."

"Yes."

"You can pretend you never came here if it helps," he said.

She was standing by the bed, a plastic bag in her right hand.

"Maybe I can do that. I made you biryani."

"My favorite."

"It should help you recover. I can heat it up. Where's your kitchen?"

"You'll see it"

A bachelor pad has one room, a kitchen and bathroom. Shan moved in after breaking up with Trinity. That had been a good decision. Trinity wouldn't have made him food--no way.

He watched her heat it up on the stove. The way she moved around the kitchen, even in his state, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. Again she had the jeans on that showed off her ass just so but this time she had on a black jacket that she could have taken off but had chosen not to.

Frankly, it didn't matter what she wore; he was besotted.

She came back with the biryani, hot and steaming in a bowl.

"It's a bit spicy," she said. "I hope that's okay."

It was intense. The chilli was next level. He could usually stand the heat but this was a little too much. After about half, he put the bowl on the bedside table.

"Thanks for doing this. I really appreciate it."

"I was worried about you. I don't think you can cope on your own."

"Not really. I might die."

"That's not funny, Shan!"

He tried to look contrite after this unexpected rebuke.

"Do you have a temperature?" She asked.

At that moment he did, but it wasn't from the illness.

He shrugged lightly, "Don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, doctor, I don't."

Shayla put the back of her hand on his forehead. "My uncle and auntie are doctors, in my country."

"Did they teach you to take a temperature?"

She ignored the crack. "I think you're a bit hot," she said.

"I think you're a bit hot, yourself."

She narrowed her eyes. "I don't understand."

"It's okay. It's just a joke."

She was standing right beside him, bent over a bit, her hand pressed to his forehead. Clearly she didn't want to move it and clearly she'd come her when her husband was away, galavanting around the world on their money, without her, with a heart condition. Is it haram if your husband is in Las Vegas? Is it haram to even go to such a degenerate, infidel place?

"Shayla?"

She looked down at him, her dark eyes seemed bigger somehow.

"What is it, Shan?"

"Will you stay with me? I mean, you're here. But we can pretend you never were. So why not stay with me. I'm kind of lonely."

She took her hand from his forehead.

Ugh. He'd said the wrong thing. It was one thing for her to bring food, quite another for her to stay here. And quite another to appeal to her emotions. He was being manipulative, not going with the flow but rather, against it.

His heart began to race. Maybe it was the biryani. But he didn't want her to leave. Not now she was here.

"But it is true," he said. "I am kinda lonely here." Emotional manipulation be damned. He was damned already anyway whatever he did. Or maybe only she was. No, he couldn't live with that.

"Where are your friends or family?" Shayla asked.

"You're my friend and my family are too busy."

"I don't like that. Nobody is too busy for their family."

"That's how it is," said Shan, with a shrug. "At least you're not too busy for me."

Outside, it had started to rain. Shayla gazed at the rain on the window.

"Sounds heavy," Shan patted the" bed next to him. You really should stay a while."

She sat down.

"But don't have to do anything you're not comfortable with," he said.

At first she was close to the edge but then she inched a little closer.

"Take your shoes off, too, Shayla." He liked saying her name. "More comfortable for you."

He was surprised she hadn't left them at the door. Even he did that.

She looked at them for a few seconds, like she was considering running out the door (maybe that's why she'd left them on) and then she used one foot to pry the other one off. Soon, she had both shoes off and was just in socks. Red socks. She pulled her legs up and sat cross legged next to him. He looked at her legs, in those jeans, so close, and propped himself up on the pillow. He was stirring under the blanket, in my pyjamas. Soon, he'd be throbbing hard. He might have been unwell, but clearly whatever it was that had got him hadn't got that far. Fumbling around beside him, he picked up a book.

"Now you've got time for this," he said. "How long do we have anyway? It's just after one."

"My son will go from school to basketball practice and my daughter will go to her chess club. They won't be home until six. I made enough Biryani for them."

"And it's a class night," he said. "So we've got 'til, like, ten before you have to be home. You've got a plenty of time to relax. I think you deserve a rest. Let me read to you. I think you'll like it."

He held up the book. Double Indemnity by James M Cain. Short enough to get through in a few of hours and riveting no matter how many times you've read it.

Shayla sat, cross legged next to him, and he began to read. After about half an hour she asked if he was tired.

"No. Are you tired of sitting there like that? I have enough room beside me."

She looked concerned. Fair enough. Here she was, already haram, and listening to a story about a cheating wife plotting to kill her husband and Shan was proposing that she get into bed with him.

He was already going to Hell, how much worse could it get?

"It's okay," he said. "Let's continue."

He read on. When we got to the part where Huff is going to the railway line, Shayla suddenly uncrossed her legs, removed her jacket and climbed across him. She peeled back the duvet and inserted herself in. She fluffed up the second pillow and pushed it up against the bedhead. He moved a little closer and she didn't move away.

"It's getting exciting now," she said.

"Yeah."

It really was.

Her eyes followed the words as he read. When he got to the end of a chapter she looked at him.

"I like the way you read. You read it like a professional. You should read for a job."

"I just like reading for you."

Then, boldly, he reached under the duvet and ran a hand across hers. It her clasped on her stomach, quite near her crotch. She didn't do anything, didn't move, flinch or otherwise.

He went back to reading and again her eyes followed the words, sometimes moving to look at him as he read.

At the end, they discussed the story a bit and she said it wasn't what she expected to happen.

"I guess jumping into the ocean with sharks is not very expected. In these kind of stories nobody lives happily ever after," he said. "I look at it like karma, you know?"

"I know," she said. "I have some friends in my country who are Buddhists. I like the teachings. Sometimes they make a lot of sense to me."

"Yeah, me too."

They looked at each other. Just looked. It was like that moment where, if this had been a movie, it'd be just before they kissed.

11.

"You're a nice lady, Shayla," Shan said.

She felt his forehead again. "And you're not running a temperature now."

When she lowered her hand, he caught it and stroked her long fingers. She didn't pull away, but she sighed.

"Look, I know you shouldn't be here and we shouldn't be doing this."

She nodded. "But, maybe it's our karma. Or it's just like the book."

"Maybe," he said. He put his fingers in-between hers and stroked the insides of them. He was hard as a rock looking at her and doing this. Her black hair, silky and shining, hung down around her shoulders, curling gently.

"All I know is that I like you a lot. I know I shouldn't be saying that," he said.

She looked away briefly then straight back into my eyes. "It's okay, Shan."

"Yeah, it is okay. Go with the flow."

"Yes."

Outside there was the gentle sound of rain. It'd taken about two and half hours to read the book, maybe a bit more. He'd quite lost track of time. They'd hardly moved, the pair of them. He thought about Huff and Phyllis. Maybe they should off Shayla's old man and pass it off as a heart attack. He was due for one anyway. Maybe while he was getting blown by a hooker in Vegas. You don't go to Vegas and not get blown by a hooker. Even a so-called devout Muslim has his weaknesses. Maybe that encounter would see him off, who knew.

The rain hit hard against the window and he looked, then at Shayla. She really was so beautiful. Underneath her jacket she was wearing a long sleeve black and white striped top. He touched her arms, and the softness of the material. Again, she didn't pull away so he shuffled over a bit closer. Then he got bold, put an arm around her, wrapped her in it. She rested her head on his shoulder and he lifted the arm up and found her hair, twirled some strands in his fingers and she sighed. Her sigh hit his heart. He couldn't believe she was here with him, so close. How blessed he was, whatever happened. Going with the flow was the right thing to do.

"What time is it, Shan?"

"Twenty-five to five. We have plenty of time."

His hand left her hair and brushed her neck and she gasped. He felt her body stiffen.

"I'm sorry," he said. "We should stop."

She looked at him. They were so close he could just lean in and kiss her. She was looking like she expected that.

So he did.

And she kissed him back.

12.

And then.

They both stopped, looked at each other.

"We shouldn't," he said. "Or we're going to end up jumping in with the sharks."

"You are right, Shan."

He brushed the back of his hand on her cheek.

"But I really really do like you," he said. "No. More than that."

"Don't, Shan."

"I won't."

He wasn't about to say it. Thinking it was enough. There was no need to say what was already known.

Never is.

So they sat there, close, for ages. Long enough for his boner to deflate. They just looked at each other, listening as rain got heavier, eased off, got heavier again, like it was in rhythm with their feelings. It too, seemed confused and unable to flow.

"I need to go the bathroom," he said.

"Are you okay to get up?"

"Probably." He swung my legs out of the bed, onto the floor. Stood up. "It's okay," he said. And he walked, slowly, because it felt like he'd fall over if he didn't. He took a piss, used the wall to hold himself up. It took ages to get done.

In the room, Shayla was still in the bed. "How are you feeling? Dizzy?"

"A little. I'm getting better. Thanks to you, Doctor Shayla."

"You better come back and get some rest." She patted the bed beside her and he climbed back in. She pulled the duvet up them. "Better?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

He looked at her again. At her face, her big, wide almond eyes, her cascade of hair. He looked down at her shoulders, noticed the curl of her hair at her skin. Her skin was so brown. How had had never noticed how nice it looked?

Because he'd never seen her bare shoulders.

So he looked again. This time he brushed her hair to one side.

Her shoulders were bare. There was a hint of a smile at her face.

Looking past her, he saw it: the stripy top folded neatly next to her. The bra. The jeans. The socks.

The panties.

And his heart began to race again. Holy cow, she hadn't... she was...

He lifted the duvet away from the both of them.

"Well this was unexpected. And, I think my temperature just went up again."

"I'm going with the flow," she said with a smile. The way her accent hit those words. Wow. Her smile, double wow.

"It's quite the flow. But we don't have to do anything. I mean, if you don't want to." She was still smiling, but quiet, listening as he tried to reason with himself. "But, if you didn't want to, why would you..." He sighed heavily. "I've been trying to go with the flow. but now I'm--"

"Shan," Shayla cut in, "why is it that you can't follow your own advice? I've never told you about the dreams I've had about the two of us because a Muslim girl shouldn't have dreams like that. Not a married one, especially."

Wow.

"I've had dreams, too. In fact... Oh, you don't know the half of it."

A second or so of silence, only the rain soundtracking the deepening afternoon.

"I had dreams where you were kissing me all over," she said. The way she spoke now, the way she said those words, with her brain melting accent, it reminded him just why I wanted her so much. It wasn't only that, of course, but it did help.

She pointed down to her body. "You were kissing me here," she said. "And down there, too."

"I will kiss you there. For real. As much as you want. I'll give you real pleasure."

That sounded cheesy, boastful, even. But it was true. He would give her what her husband didn't: pleasure. He'd make her feel wanted, like a beautiful woman should.

"I want it. Please kiss me, Shan. I want you to."

He moved the duvet to one side and took her all in. It didn't seem real but he guessed it was.

She wasn't slim, but she wasn't fat either. She was average and that was okay. Her skin was darkly radiant and there appeared to be a light sheen of perspiration clinging to it. Perhaps from nerves. It was all good; he liked it. Running his eyes down her body, her tits were full and soft, on the larger side but not huge, dark nipples in the middle of them. And those nipples were hard, though not very long, and they had an allure that made him want them in his mouth immediately. His eyes explored the rest of her, stretched out in front of him like a cat. Her tummy had (faint) stretch marks across it, only adding to her desirability somehow. Her bellybutton was deep, perfect for when his tongue went there and her pussy was bare. Not because she was a sex maniac or anything, it was because her religion prescribed it. That was a part of Islam he could get behind.

"Speaking of behind," he said, "Can you turn over for me?"

Shayla looked confused, because he'd said thoughts out loud but she turned over just the same. Her ass was every bit as good as he'd imagined when he'd been secretly looking at it all those past months. Reaching out, he ran a hand over it and almost shot a load right there.

"Can I tell you something?" He asked, not waiting for an answer. "I've been looking at these buns of yours for some time now. Dreaming about it. I can't believe we're here like this. Like, is this even real?"

"It is, Shan. Would you please kiss them? Kiss me everywhere."

He didn't respond, just did--laying his mouth on her. He kissed her ass cheeks all over and she giggled. He'd made her giggle. He hadn't done that before and he loved the sound of her happiness.

Moving down her ass, to the back of her legs, he kissed them, too. Starting on the left one, he got down to her feet, kissed those all over, even took the big toe in his mouth. She sighed deeply with surprise and pleasure. Her husband had never done this before. All he'd ever done was shove his stubby cock in her and thrust away until he blasted joylessly inside her. She didn't know what pleasure was, what it could be. Presumptuous, yes, but possibly true.

He wanted to show her. Moving over to her other foot, he did the same, licking and kissing his way up her ankle, up her leg, back to her ass. He kept going, his mouth on her back, planting a million kisses on it. His cock was rock hard by now and, reaching down, he touched it. It felt like it could go off any second. No longer feeling dizzy, he stopped and removed his shirt. Shayla turned over, looked down at his pants. Raised her eyebrows.

"If I did then you must, too."

"Yes, Doctor," he said. "Or will you?"

She hesitated.

"Go on. I can't do it by myself, Doctor Shayla."

He fell backwards, between her legs. She leaned forwards and pulled at his pyjama bottoms and he helped from the top. They slid down and his hard cock popped out. Her eyes got bigger. They were naked together. He'd jerked off with this image in mind so many times since they'd met--almost every night, in fact and it wasn't easy to believe this wasn't just another jerk-off fantasy. He sat up and they were opposite each other. He reached out and put a hand on her cheek, ran it down to her lips, across her lips. She opened them slightly and flicked out her tongue. That was unexpected--her tongue on his finger. He continued, kissing her neck, behind her ear. She liked it when he kissed her there, he knew.

Taking a nipple between two fingers, he rolled until it was as hard as it could get. Then he put his mouth on it. She gasped, deep and hard. He pushed at her gently, and she tipped back down on the bed, where he wanted her. He went to work on her nipples, first the left one, then the right. They were shiny now with in his saliva, dark, hard and exquisite. He kissed her tits all over, making sure he hadn't missed a even a millimetre, and moved south. He went across and down, covering all of her--how could he not? He wanted to make love to this woman with his mouth. Even if they didn't fuck, it didn't matter, he'd still make love to her. His tongue and mouth was on her tummy, kissing it, kissing the stretch marks, loving it, loving her, then it was in her bellybutton and, when he put it in, she nearly jumped off the bed, like a dolphin leaping out of the sea.

He stopped for a second and asked, "Sensitive?" but she didn't answer. She breathed heavily for minute and then said, "Keep going, Shan, don't stop."

He wasn't about to. His tongue played in her bellybutton a little more, in and out like he was fucking it, and then continued its journey. Destination: her pussy. Her bare mound was quite smooth; she'd shaved only recently.

His mouth covered all of her pubis area and my hands were on her tits, playing with her nipples. Her arms were spread out on the bed.

So, when he parted her legs she was a starfish.

"Ready? I'm going to make you cum."

"Please!"

She didn't know what that meant, he was sure. His tongue flicked at her clit and it was like an electric shock to her. It was too much, so he kept going, down her wet slit, tasting her, her juices, his tongue moving inside her. She was groaning as he did and he moved his hands towards her legs and lifted them, up and out, so he could eat her out the way a woman should be eaten out. Then, pulling her towards the end of the bed, he got off it, kneeled in front of her open legs and continued eating her, making love to her pussy with his mouth like that.

She moaned and panted, breathed his name under her breath, said something in Bangla. God, she was so incredible and the whole thing was as if from a dream. His tongue moved back up her pussy, to her clit, and she was ready, he was ready. To make her cum. Pressing his tongue onto her clit, he made circles on it.

"Oh!" Something else in Bangla.

He was feeling dizzy now, but no matter, maybe he was dizzy with lust for Shayla. He'd keep going, make her cum, hard. Her body started to shake and, reaching down, he grabbed his cock, pulled at it gently a few times. She made sounds that said she was close and her shaking body was all he needed to know about, to know that she was on the brink of her first orgasm.

Keeping his mouth on her clit, his tongue on it, he licked and sucked it. She tightened and breathed out heavily, then her whole body shook and rocked. She bucked as waves of orgasmic bliss went through her.

He moved off the floor, on to the bed. He was over her now, cock feeling like it was going to explode. She was not just coated in a sheen of perspiration, she was glistening with sweat, and he ran his hands across her body, down her tits and tummy, to her bare sex, and it was still pulsing from the orgasm.

"More?" He asked.

She panted heavily. "More."

He slipped a finger in her pussy, feeling its warmth, getting that finger all wet with her juices. He moved it up to her clit again and rubbed. She muttered, garbled words, he didn't know what they were, she barely did either. All he knew was that he just wanted to make her cum again and again. Cum forever, if he could. She deserved it, this wonderful woman.

Then, lying down between her legs, facing up, he grabbed her ass and positioned her over his face, so she was lying back. Her pussy was right over him and he lapped at her sweet wetness while his fingers went to work rubbing her clit. His face was, by this point, covered in her juices. Yet he wanted even more. He felt so greedy for this forbidden woman that he'd suddenly gotten, like an unexpected gift.

He licked and his thumb and forefinger went to work on her. Her left hand was on his cock. In his mind he imagined that she was playing with her nipples with the other, but she probably wasn't. All the same, it was the hottest thing in the world, and the most romantic.

And then she came.

She came hard, her juices flowing out of her, over his face, so much that he he could've drowned and wouldn't have even minded.

13.

He pulled himself out from under her, though he could have stayed there all afternoon, all night. He knew, they knew, they didn't have all night. And he wanted to make her cum again before she had to leave. But she needed a rest.

"I want to kiss you," he said. He didn't know why he decided to give her a chance to say no. Maybe she'd be turned off by kissing him after he'd swallowed half of her pussy juice, and it being all over his face. He was dripping with her.

"Yes, kiss me," she said and their lips locked. They found each other's tongues. He was on all fours over her, her hand on his cock, pulling on it as they kissed. He reached down between her legs and found her clit again, began rubbing. He wasn't about to stop making her cum. He'd make her cum ten times in a row if he could. He was addicted to her, or so it seemed. Addicted to making her cum, at any rate. No, more than that, he was actually addicted to her. In love with her.

That's what it was.

Her hand increased in speed as she tugged at his rock hard cock, and they pushed their tongues hard in each other's mouths. Her hand felt so good on his cock and she could keep it there always if she wanted. He wanted. She didn't even have to do anything but just hold it. All the time. But somehow she knew how to give a handjob. Or to give one to him, at least. She really did. The sensation as she jerked him off was so intense he could barely contain himself. But he didn't quite want to cum yet and certainly not before her but if he did then he did.

He continued rubbing her clit, trying to match the speed and intensity of her hand on him. She was twitching, close to cumming again. Her kissing was ferocious then, like she was trying to eat him from the inside out, suck him right inside her. Even in his wildest wank fantasies--and they did get pretty wild--he hadn't pictured her like this, kissing with such urgency.

Now, she was close to cumming again; her body was stiffening and she was actually moaning in his mouth as they kissed. She bucked and her free hand clamped down over his, to stop him from rubbing. And that was it. He erupted a great load--it felt like he hadn't cum in weeks, though it had been probably six days or so.

He came harder than he'd ever cum before. Breaking the kiss, they inspected the damage. Shayla's brown, sweaty body was splattered with jizz. He'd blasted over her tummy, filled her bellybutton but, because his cock had been pointed towards her tits, blobs of cum had landed on them and sat there like white pools, starting to drip down. He looked down at the bed, between her legs. It was soaked.

"I made a mess." She looked embarrassed.

"So did I. But we had a great time," he said. "It's all good. We went with the flow, as it were."

She smiled then. She still looked embarrassed but she was smiling all the same.

"I did have a good time. Go with the flow is good, Shan."

He was so happy to hear this.

14.

They went to the bathroom hand in hand, his cum dripping down her body, and hers still glistening on him. They walked slowly because he was a bit dizzy and felt that way too, from the three crushing orgasms she'd experienced. In the shower, he soaped her up and cleaned her off, all the sweat and cum, and she held his cock again as they kissed under the running water. He rubbed her again, couldn't get enough of that. Sinking to his knees, steam swirling around him, he opened her legs slightly and she leaned back. He licked her as the water hit them and she shook as she came for the fourth time. It was intense and heavenly. For both of them.

15.

They dressed, reluctantly, and finished the biryani. Didn't say much. What was there to say? They were overwhelmed and exhausted, in that order. Both of them had big feelings that they couldn't express then and there. They had sinned; she'd done haram stuff. Even if they hadn't actually fucked, and that thought just occurred to him, it was still pretty bad. But it was done. There was no going back. When you go with the flow you can only move forwards.

16.

It was past eight when Shayla left. Shan took off his pants and sat on the bed, in the wet patch where she'd squirted. It was still damp against his skin. Her juices were on him again, that was something. He wanted to be covered in her juices all day, every day; bathe in them if he could.

The dizziness was returning, so he closed his eyes and lay down. Instantly she was there again and he replayed the entire afternoon.

"Jeez, I love you, Shayla," he said as he slipped into a deep sleep that carried him well into the next morning.

17.

The dizziness and the temperature lifted and he went to class the next week. But Shayla didn't. Nor did she come the week after that.

Shan went with the flow for a while before sending her a message.

"I know things are different now. You're always in my thoughts no matter what. I miss you and as for the rest of it well i know you know it. Shan."

No response.

Soon two or even three months drifted by.

He didn't send an email in case her husband happened to read it.

He tried to not think about what had happened between them, or about her. The silence was natural, he supposed; the consequence of what they had done, like Huff and Phylis jumping into the dark ocean. This ending was to be expected.

Still, he couldn't stop with the thoughts. He replayed that afternoon over and over, for months until he couldn't any longer. It had become an addiction. An addiction is a compulsion, an action that is driven by craving and has stopped being satisfying and that's what this was. But he couldn't deal with or manage the emotions any other way. He going with the flow, yes, but out of his depth. Because, sometimes, the flow of the current takes you right into the rapids. He knew that now.

The teachers asked what had happened to Shayla. They didn't know either. She'd just vanished. Didn't answer any emails, didn't return calls, didn't withdraw from the course. She'd ghosted everyone and it hurt. So fucking bad.

18.

Antonella asked Shan to have coffee with her after class. Even though it was nine o'clock at night. He put it down to her being Italian and agreed, because else what else was he going to do? Go home to the memory of that magical afternoon with Shayla? He was over that. It wasn't the same anymore--the further he drifted from that day, the more difficult it was to return to it. Soon it would be impossible.

Antonella put a pair of cappuccinos in front of them.

"You're not wearing pink today," he said. "Black is better anyway."

"Yes. You like? It's a new jacket."

"Sure. I like black." Because he felt black inside? Not really. Because it looked like Shayla's jacket? Very likely. He hadn't noticed all evening, but it seemed obvious now.

She looked at him like she wanted to say something but couldn't. So she hid behind the cappuccino foam. When she put the cup down she said in her heavy Italian accent, "I guess you must really miss Shayla."

"A bit," he said--no lied. He more than missed her. There was a hole. That afternoon, it was more than about just going with the flow. It was about a union with the love of his life. That was how he'd started to see it. But that was just a thought. He had to drop that, too. Shayla had gone with her flow, he had to do the same. He'd told her he respected her, so he had to respect even the things he couldn't comprehend.

She nodded. "I understand."

No she didn't.

"Did you know I'm fifty tomorrow?" She announced.

Shan did a double take. "No way! How would I? You don't look it. I thought you were, like, thirty-six, maybe. Happy birthday for tomorrow. I hope you have a lovely day."

She looked amazing for a day before fifty. He wasn't just saying it--she did look thirty-six.

"This is... how you say...." Antonella paused, took a notebook from her bag, a pen. She wrote something carefully on a page in the middle, tore it out and pushed it towards him, slowly.

Verresti a letto con me stanotte?

He looked at the note. Her handwriting was neat, very European. It looked nice. He looked at her, up and down in the obvious way that had she'd been doing for months. She looked back at him, expectantly, nervously. He liked what he saw, suddenly. Perhaps it was the age revelation that piqued his interest, made him forget Shayla for a moment. Yes, he liked women older than him. Even by twenty odd years. Shayla had had ten on him.

Reading the note again, he sipped the cooling cappuccino, then taking out his phone, he copied the words into Google Translate.

Verresti a letto con me stanotte.

Then noise of the cafe and the street outside dropped away, his voice was like an echoing bullet in the silence.

"Um.... Tonight?"

She nodded. "I want it to be my birthday present."

Bloody hell, she was serious.

He could, if he wanted to. Did he want to? Because that was all it was, just a matter of if he wanted to.

She was single. She'd already revealed that there'd been an Italian guy a while back but she hadn't much liked him.

Shan looked at the note, looked at the translation on the screen. He shook his head in that way you do when you can't quite believe something. The nerve of this woman. There was no way she could compete with Shayla but here she was-- trying--moving into that space.

The words on the note piled up in front of him. In the time he'd taken to re-read the note, and grasp its meaning, she'd taken her jacket off. She was wearing a black and white long sleeved striped top. The nerve. The utter hide of her. But the more he looked at her the easier the decision became. In the end there was no choice to make.

Shan finished the coffee. The cafe rose in volume again. Looking at Antonella, dressed like Shayla, he began to feel it was all going to be okay. Even the bits he didn't understand.

"So, tell me, what you think?" She asked, expectation, a hint of nerves, in her voice. "Will I get my birthday present?"

He put the note in his jacket pocket. "What's the Italian for 'Go with the flow?'"

____________________________________________________________

Author's note :

Writing about something, indeed anything, does not necessarily mean condoning the actions that take place. This is a story, it's fiction. It's simply an observation of two people's lives. That's it.

Why did I choose these characters? I didn't. They chose me. In this way, they are real in a way that they can't actually be. They turned up one day and asked me to write their story. Although it's written from Shan's side I couldn't have written it without Shayla's input. At the time, I didn't know who they were, although I do now. Quite well. I also know that both of them are fine, so don't worry. Things neither worked out nor didn't work out in the end.

That's life.

This story itself is theirs as told to me--an exploration of their feelings and the consequences of their actions and I feel it would work just as well without the sex but, in the end, I decided to take a leaf out of Shan's book and go with the flow. So I put it in, exactly as it happened. Because that's life also and I don't think they'll mind.