Dear Readers, I am an unremarkable young male who could be sitting next to you and you wouldn’t notice. But that is only until I smile. And I believe that, with all my heart. I really do. You know why? Because my bhabhi told me. And that was all the proof I need.
I am that man who can warm a woman’s heart. I am the friend a woman can confide in. That’s a skill that only a chosen few possess, she says. And that’s what made me my bhabhi’s soulmate, but in a man’s body.
I have always been one of those with weird tastes, as society would have me believe. Simultaneously, I am compassionate, caring, and trusting. The world is cruel to such people. It scares the world shitless that there are people not like “them.” It tries to bully you into submission. For ages, I felt left out, different. But I finally had someone who understood me so wholly. My savior. My white knight. My friend. My only friend for life. My bhabhi.
In the little world in my brain, my paradise comprises fetish and alternative sexual preferences on a big list of things – shaving, armpits, cross-dressing, panties, watersports, scat, exhibitionism, incest, slave, and maybe more. How my bhabhi and others helped me get comfortable acting out my world will form this story and hopefully more, if I get positive feedback on this one.
I am originally from Maharashtra, and I have an elder brother for a sibling. We are close enough to be siblings but not the deepest of friends. He is a plain, boring chap but a good man, a good worker, a good son, and hopefully, a great husband. After his marriage recently, my brother was married for three years and lived in Chennai with his wife and my bhabhi, Netra. I am a student and study in Bhopal. So, meeting the family often was not an option. In fact, I met both of them only once during a vacation after their marriage two years ago.
Anyway, fate had other plans. I finished my studies and had to prepare for higher studies at home. So, my parents asked me to stay and study at my brother’s place, which was a city with all facilities and not in our random small village.
So, in late 2019, I set foot in my brother’s house. To be honest, I was not thrilled about losing my freedom from college days, but I realized it was for my best. I am a decent looker, a little under 6 feet, thin build, clean-shaven face, but hairy everywhere else, wheatish complexion, and have a good dressing sense. I was welcomed at the door by my bhabhi.
Netra is 5 feet 2 inches, fairer than an average Indian, always puts bindi, nose studs, sindoor, and works at home in sarees. She is a homemaker and yet to be a mother. In time, I got to see her in those figure-hugging salwar kameez and anarkali-palazzo dresses. She is a rare combination of elegance and sensuality. I am sure wars would have been fought over her in another era.
Coming to the present, when she welcomed me at the door, I realized her beauty instantly, and it made me uncomfortable and aware of social boundaries. I had one glance at her and looked down, avoiding eye contact instantly. Guess I won her trust there itself. She realized my hesitation and mentality and gave me my space. She even asked what she should call me – dewar ji, by my name, or as Bunnu, my pet name. I smiled shyly and said, “Whatever you prefer, or you could give me your own name too.” I noticed she was a bit startled by my answer, but the expression changed to a relieved smile instantly. I guess she was relieved that her dewar can speak, that he has emotions!
A week or so passed, and I was still being my socially awkward self, but my chemistry with Netra was improving, for certain. She asked me about college, my friends, my family members, my life goals, my childhood, and I did the same to her. We talked a lot, but the hierarchy was still there. She was my Bhabhi, though I am elder to her by two years.
One fine day, she came and asked me, “Bunnu, I would prefer you to give me your clothes for washing instead of wasting precious time washing them by hand.” I said, “Okay, I will.” Just that I didn’t want to burden her. She started laughing, ruffled my hair, calling me “buddhhu” or duffer. That was the first time someone other than my mother had done such a thing to me. I was excited. And what she said next made me speechless.
She said, “By the way, Bunnu, I love your choice and variety of underwear.”
I abruptly looked at her, stunned, struggling to find words, instead of looking away. My throat was dry, and my dick was rustling. She broke the silence.
“Come on, Bunnu. Everyone wears it. Me too. It’s just a piece of cloth. But I love your selection. I have seen your chaddis drying in the balcony. And I love the fact that you wear briefs of good companies, good fit, different colors, and designs. Not those boring boxers or black/brown/blue trunks with faded color, loose elastic, and holes. I mean, why is it so hard for men to appreciate that something as basic as underwear has to be given a thought while purchasing. You are the first man I see with a good sense of it. I mean, you have printed briefs and those too with narrow waistbands, you have trunks, I also saw you have a red string bikini. Uffff, that needs confidence. You are such a sexually aware man. Your girlfriend must be feeling so lost without you.”
“My devrani will be one lucky girl,” she said, as she put her palm on my thigh, pretty close to my crotch. I said, “Sorry to disappoint you, Bhabhi, but I don’t have or never had a girlfriend.” She let out a long “nooooo way” and leaned back onto her sofa. “I don’t believe you,” she said. I replied, “No, seriously.” I am too shy to approach anyone and maintain a conversation for long. I keep to my studies and don’t have time to deal with the drill of maintaining a girlfriend.
“Hmm, I get it, Bunnu,” she agreed. “At your age, it’s great to be focusing on studies, but what do you do with hormones? When I was your age, I was a shameless horny tramp drooling at every half-decent guy I saw. I had a series of boyfriends who kept my hormonal brain occupied, so I could focus on studies and family. You need to let out that energy, dewar ji.”
Now, how do I say, I jerk off almost daily to porn and stories. And that my interest in underwear is possibly a subconscious attempt to keep my “hormonal” brain happy. But my sense is she already guessed it. Women are great snitches. Anyway, I snapped out of my dreams and said, “I do, Bhabhi, I do. I have my ways.” I smiled, and she smiled approvingly. Then she got up and sat next to me on my sofa. “That’s more like it. I am happy for you, and if you are so shy around girls, you need a superwoman’s help. And, that my dearie, will be me. Only if you have no objections, of course. I promise to be your most trusted, non-judgmental friend with whom you share anything, and I mean anything. And in return, I want the same from you. Do you accept?”
I was moved to near tears. Not having a sister growing up, I had grown to be inept and weird around girls. It was about to change. I managed to utter, “Yes, sure,” and she, in turn, turned to give me a tight, longish hug. My first hug with a woman my age, in a long, long time. She smelled so good, though she was sweating. Those soft, supple, hairless skin and long, narrow fingers and that petite, frail body I so wanted to crush and internalize to mine as my own soul that very instant was enveloped in my embrace. Her breasts were medium and soft, but the texture was diluted because of her padded bra. I could feel her breath as it passed by my ears. It was magic, and my hardness was back again.
The last time I felt electrified like this before was when I caught a girl classmate of mine staring intently at me while I was having my head shaved clean from a temple barber. Her dad was getting the same tonsure two seats away from me, and she was perhaps there for company. As the barber sheared me with a sharp blade and swung my helpless head one way and another to clean up that disgusting growth called hair, I could see this girl in an orange kurti and white salwar leaning her head intently in my direction with deep admiration.
She got startled and looked away instantly, but I guess she didn’t want to miss this lifetime opportunity and almost immediately turned back to check on me and smiled boldly and naughtily. I was embarrassed enough to feel like running away for being caught in this private and vulnerable moment. Thankfully, I was fully clothed and not sitting there shirtless in a towel. I had on myself tight underwear that day. I know shaving makes me hard… very hard. Why should a stupid barber get to see the real me? Such privilege was to be for this fine woman, my classmate, Vaidehi.
In a few seconds, I could see she was consumed by this view of a young man shorn of this stupid mop of hair, unearthing the strong, no-nonsense bull, with only his scars as adornments of his struggles. I could see her breathing deep, chewing her lower lips, and twirling her hairs with a finger, and her palm started going between the kurta and salwar to her crotch. As she did so, I caught a faint outline of her red panties from the fabric of her thin, flimsy white salwar. She was perhaps about to gush right there, but the bloody barber turned my head the other side that very moment. I have never been so upset all my life. But I controlled myself quickly. What’s gone cannot be undone.
My heart was pounding, and I was so waiting to be turned back to face Vai; I forgot to take in the sensations of that blade or relish the shower of hairs. Lucky for me, when he turned my head back, she was using her dupatta to wipe her dad’s head, and before walking away, looked in my direction, pretended to look at her camera screen, tapped at her phone camera twice at the back of the phone, indicating she had my pics, and then turned away, dupatta flowing, and revealing shapely bums that don’t get revealed in the boring college uniforms. I wanted to so bite them and lick that gloryhole to make this glorious bitch mine, but I had to show patience. There is a time for everything.
In a week, my college opened, and there were only a few of us in attendance, Vaidehi included. When I entered uncapped, a few girls giggled, some nice ones looked sympathetically, as if I had cancer, and the rest had no reaction whatsoever. Whenever I looked at Vaidehi through the day, she was busy with her other friends. She sat two tables behind me to my left, and I barely listened to anything in class that day. My eyes kept roving to check from their corners if I could catch her glancing at me. But I didn’t find her doing so, at least not when she was looking.
Dejected, as I prepared to leave for the day, I did a final check for my desk space. And my prayers had been heard. I found a gift box with the name Vaidehi written on it. I stealthily put it in my bag and rushed home. Inside the box were a letter, a couple of used and soiled panties, two small plastic sealed packets with hairs in them, and a razor.
In the letter, she wrote, “Hi handsome, we are classmates but have never interacted before. Yet, I have watched you and admired you over the years. You seem like a nice and safe man, one that I can trust with my secrets. Seeing you get your head shaved excited me to limits I did not know existed. I know you enjoyed me looking at you too. So, I am taking the chance of being totally uninhibited in front of you. That day, I oozed juices in gallons and barely managed to hide it from my dad on the way back. As a thank you tribute for that experience, I present that panty to you to keep as your trophy.”
“Look at it whenever you feel defeated in life and realize your power over me. The image of you I saw in that hall that day has stuck to my mind so hard that I think of it every day, when I am alone, and I have many more sets of wet panties that I feel embarrassed to hand over for washing. I hope my mother doesn’t get suspicious. I think I have a fetish for shaves, and I thank you for helping me uncover that. You shall always be special to me, and for this reason, I also present to you remnants of my bush and armpits from my first dry razor shave, which I did the very day I saw you go bald.”
“I had a scary orgasm at home and was afraid I would pass out. Anyway, that’s what is there in those packets. Sniff them, burn them, taste them; I don’t care, but I wanted them to remind you of me, so long as you choose to. As a bonus, there is this other panty which I wore to college today and took them out fresh for you to sniff. I wish I could have you smell them toasty warm after I have peed and shat from them, but guess it will have to wait. Anyway, your homework, smart man, will be to make out which panty is from today and which hair is from which packet (wink).”
“By the way, I don’t like that shaggy, scruffy grass that’s grown back on your head. Would you indulge me with another clean head shave? This time, I want a private show to see you in a barber chair, all cooped up in a white shroud. I know a place that’s near my house, that we could try if you would like. We’ll play brother-sister for the barber, so he doesn’t get suspicious. 3 pm in a week’s time would be perfect. The shop is usually empty then.”
“What could be the excuse for you at home, I leave to you, but I promise you the reward will be great. If you agree to all this, leave a chit in your desk space sometime tomorrow before the lunch break. And one last thing, nothing should change between us in college. We are not boyfriend-girlfriend or even new friends in the eyes of collegemates. Our private desires should strictly stay private. The more people know, the more our chances of getting into trouble. Yours truly, Vai (she let me call her this henceforth).”
Of course, I wasn’t going to let go of this chance. My excuse was simple. “Mom, can I shave again a couple more times to reduce my hair fall, and you could put that oil you were mentioning?” My mum was amused at my sudden interest in headshave but consented. On the appointed Friday, I told my mum I had a bad day at college in the morning, so I made a sickness excuse and came home. She didn’t make much of a fuss of it and was okay with it. I told her I wanted to visit the city mall, so I’ll be late to get back home and may even stay the night with a friend.
Also, that I’ll reshave while I am out. I met Vai at our pre-decided place, we had fruit juice at a stall nearby to build some chemistry. She was dressed pretty carelessly, I would say it was on purpose to give the impression to the barber that we are from a home nearby. She had on a black round-neck t-shirt with cartoons on them and a below-knee wine-colored cotton skirt. We chatted mostly about college and families and interests like any new friends would, with no sexual references. Only at the end, she complimented me about my shave and said I look cuter when I am bald.
She wanted to touch my spiky head before it got cleaned again. So we took a narrow, almost deserted road, and she pretended to dust something from my head while actually getting a feel of the stubby hair. By 3 pm, we headed to her decided shop. It was a small, semi-dilapidated non-serious looking shop with an old barber in dhoti and half shirt reading something on a magazine. The two of us walked in confidently, and as we had already agreed upon, she was to do the speaking, and I needed to only nod and only open my mouth for a casual conversation, as barbers are prone to. Vai wanted to be in charge and feel like this shave was happening to her.
She said, “Thatha, anna kku thiruppi mottai podanum” (Grandpa, my brother needs a re-headshave). Simple but powerful words, to those who can understand. The old man complied and was done in like 10 minutes. At the end, he asked me if I needed help with my armpit hair. I was stumped, as I hadn’t anticipated this, but I looked towards Vai for confidence, and her face had lit up. She nodded approvingly to me.
“Nalla idea me. Pannalam thatha. Anna sattai yedanga” (Great idea grandpa, let’s do it. Brother, remove your shirt). I was going to be shirtless in front of a young woman and get some of my intimates shaved. Wow, that’s a start!! I removed my t-shirt and stood with my vest on. She held my shirt close to her nose to smell my sweat while the barber worked his magic.
When done, she again chimed in with, “Anna nenja o’ iduppu clean pannikonga. Beniyan kaltidinga” (Brother, please shave off your chest and back hair. Give me your vest). The barber was kind of surprised, and so was I, but I quickly recovered and made an excuse, not to. Shaved chest would have come to my mother’s notice. I couldn’t risk that. She paid the barber well, and while leaving, enquired if he cuts women’s hair and can shave girls. He replied in the positive, and I knew there was another chapter waiting for me.
We walked back silently for half a minute, and when she dropped a bombshell. She said she lives two streets away, and her parents aren’t home. She would really love for me to spend the afternoon with her. It was pretty much a single house, easy to get into without inviting prying neighbors. She told me to come home some 20 minutes after she enters the house, and I could leave by 6-7 pm, if I wanted to. It was winter, and it was getting dark pretty quickly in those days.
I did as directed, and surprisingly, she opened the door in the same clothes. She hadn’t changed, and I was about to find out why. As soon as she had closed the door behind me, and we reached the sofa in her living room, she pushed me down on it and jumped on me. Like a hungry cat lapping up milk, she hugged my head like a trophy and rubbed and licked and love-bit my scalp, as if that was the only organ I had. In that, she forgot she was sitting on my abdomen, and I could feel the steamy heat of her thighs and the feel of her wet panties, even though I had two layers of clothes on.
Just to take a break, she came down and kissed my lips and tongue and hungrily went back again to my freshly shorn scalp. After some 5 minutes, she raised herself and took off her sweaty t-shirt. Her shiny, floral red bra holding her medium melons jumped into view. She took my hands and put them in her armpits, made me smell them, and then raised them back to let me squeeze her jugs before taking my hands down to make me take down her skirt. Oh my God!!! My head was going to explode. My penis was rock solid. I was going to have my first sex.
She had on a beautiful lace-lined pink panty that was leaking like a tap. But before I could take it down, she made me undress hurriedly and complimented me for my black briefs. She felt my tool… made a long mmmmm sound and went on to do the most amazing thing ever. She sat on my face with her panty-clad pussy in front of my mouth, and both her thighs over my shoulders, and turned her back to again lick and rub and play with my bald skull. I could get a hint of pee in her juices, but it was more of the musky, salty liquid that was drenching it. I licked and sucked and cleaned the panty’s fabric as much as I could.
At one point in that orgasmic madness, I had enough power to rise from the sofa, even as she continued sitting over my shoulders, and then turned to drop her on the sofa with me on top of her now. I felt so engulfed and powerful; I tore her panties and started tasting her engorged pussy lined with week-old pubic hairs. She shivered and shuddered as I put my tongue in deeper and deeper. “Bastard,” she said. “You have to shave my pussy before you leave. Come and lick my sweaty armpits, you dirty son of a bitch. Why do you think I didn’t change after coming home?”
She was the mistress, and I was her slave. From then on, she ordered, and I obliged. “Lick my armpits.” Check. “Put cock in my armpits and cleavage.” Check. “Lick my asshole.” Check. “Break my hymen.” Check.
It was mad, hazy sex at its best. In an hour, I was spent. She made me shave her pussy, armpits, and her hairy butthole before leaving. She moisturized my scalp with her juices, rubbing her bald pussy on my head, and sucked me off as a parting gift before letting me go. I was not allowed to bathe lest I raise suspicion at home. Only I know how I made it home that day in a daze. Luckily, no one was home when I reached. So, I could take a bath in peace and hid my red, violated scalp and flushed face under a blanket as I turned off the lights to sleep. More on what happened next, another time.
Coming back to the present, bhabhi let go of me and came back smiling with her laptop. She unselfishly snuggled up close to me and said, “Bunnu, work your magic and help select some nice panties for me with me. You know what I wear, don’t you? You must have seen them on the balcony.” I said, “No, not until now, you were not my friend. You were my Bhabhi. So, you have to show me!!” I smiled, and so did she. “Deal,” she said!!