Claire: Ramya’s Mentoring Turns Intimate

All week, Ramya barely speaks to me. A nod in the hallway and a curt hello, like I'm just a polite stranger. Her farewell email to the entire firm hits my inbox like a door closing. I’m convinced I imagined everything between us.

I will myself to reach out. But insecurity convinces me she wouldn’t care. Then Thursday night while sitting alone with my doubts, my phone lights up.

Ramya: Drinks after the gym tomorrow?

Her timing is perfect, and my mood shifts instantly. I had a first date scheduled, my first since Mark sodomized me, but the guy is ghosting now. The disappointment would linger if Ramya hadn’t texted. Now the idea of a date feels bland.

But she doesn’t show up at the gym. I hesitate, then text:

Me: Missed you at the gym.

Ramya: Couldn’t make it. Meet at 8? We’ll grab food.

My mentor picks me up dressed like she walked out of a magazine. Her black hair is glossy and styled, red lips that are perfect with her complexion, jeans hugging her buttocks, and a top that dips just low enough to make sure men will stare. She doesn’t ask to come inside my apartment, she just waltzes right in, eyes scanning everything like she’s cataloging my life.

“Needed to see how you live,” she says with a teasing smile. “Let's go. I'll drive. You need to drink.”

I suddenly regret every clothing choice I’ve ever made. I'm childish next to her glamour. My loose top, my too-big jeans, my “I tried” straightened hair. She speaks volumes to me without saying a word. Her eyes pass over me head-to-toe, judging my bad decisions, her face flickering with amused pity.

At the bar, people notice her instantly. Men stare openly, women covertly. It's not just the clothes or her body. It's her height, her confidence, her presence. She owns the room.

I want to be just like her.

But I could disappear and not a soul would notice. Even the bartender forgets I exist. I gulp down the first drink, wait, and Ramya leans over the bar just enough to make her amazing breasts get the attention she needs to order me another.

She gives me time to open up. She fends off men that approach her. I am the center of her world tonight, and I love it.

After a few drinks, she leans in, eyes glinting with amusement. “You know,” she murmurs, “we have to fix this.”

“Fix what?” I ask, though I already know.

“You’re nervous.” she says simply. “Beautiful girl, sexy body, strong and tall, but your posture and clothes say you’re apologizing for taking up space.”

Heat floods my face. “I know.”

"You're hiding so much that is interesting," she adds, glancing down at my chest. "I'd kill to have your breasts."

I'm leaning forward so my boobs get lost in loose fabric. I straighten up and poof my chest out. "Better," she says.

"Oh my God," I laugh.

“Claire.” She puts a hand lightly on my arm. The warmth shoots through me. “You have no idea how stunning you could be or how much power you’d have if you stopped playing small.”

Ramya's top seems to loosen and slide lower as the night wears on. Her enormous natural breasts that I saw hanging in the locker room are perked up with a good bra and look perfect in the dim lights. More cleavage shows now, and her nipples harden and poke through. She smiles softly the first time she catches me looking, then pretends she doesn't notice the dozen or so additional times. More amazingly is the confidence in which she holds herself knowing the headlights are attracting tons of attention. I'd be cowered in the corner with arms folded over my nipples. Not her.

Men get bolder as the night wears on. They come to our table to try their lines, but Ramya sends them away with polite lethality. She’s not rude. She just makes it very clear she’s choosing to talk to me. It’s almost possessive. Or protective. I'm eating it up and getting a warm, tingly feeling all over.

We drift into deeper conversation about my life, my family, my work aspirations. We dance around my clumsy dating history, but my secret is safe for now. She listens like she’s reading a book she can’t put down. She asks questions that make me open up more than I should. I feel like I can trust her with anything.

After a few more drinks, she finally offers something back, to let me in a little. She slides her chair next to mine instead of across from me. Her thigh presses against mine. Her breath is hot on my face. “I’ll give you my biggest piece of advice,” she says in a low voice. "It might be too bold for you."

“Try me,” I say, emboldened by **** and her closeness.

She tilts her head, studying me, lips curving. “You're smart. You're killing it in your job now, but if you want more..."

"I do."

"You want to lead? Then you need to understand people. Especially men. You're single, right?"

"You know I am."

Her mouth is at my ear now, whispering so only I can hear in the loud bar. I smell her breath and have a huge urge to kiss her that comes out of nowhere.

“Use your sexuality. At work or in your personal life, the skills are the same. Date as many men as you can,” she says. “Experiment. Learn how they think, how they work, what intimidates them.” Her voice turns silkier. “Knowledge is power. And understanding attraction is one of the most valuable tools you can have.”

"Holy shit," I say, my face red. I don’t know what else to say, so she keeps going.

She laughs softly at my reaction “Relax,” she says, brushing a strand of hair behind my ear. “I’m not telling you to be reckless. Be discreet. Protect your reputation. There's a double standard, and us women have to accept that. Don't ever date at work. Be careful with guys you meet in church. And always, always use a condom."

I cough and almost spit up my drink at that last bit. So it's not just dating. Ramya wants me to have sex with lots of men. She laughs at my innocence. My mouth hangs open, I have no idea what to say.

Ramya leans in close again. I feel a hard nipple against my arm, and she's at my ear again. She puts a hand on my inner thigh and breaths, "You should probably start by losing your virginity."

My eyes go wide. I tremble under her powers of perception. I look in her eyes, expecting to be mocked, but I see only kindness.

As if I am not shocked enough, Ramya come in and kisses my lips! Just a peck, but it sparks a fire in my loins.

"Let's get out of here," she says. "Enough mentoring for one night."

"Yes," I whisper and stand.

The car ride back feels different. It's so quiet compared with the bar, but all my secrets have been laid bare already, and now we feel no pressure to talk. I have nothing left to hide.

I'm a little drunk for sure. I put my hand on her strong thigh without really thinking about it, and she just smiles as we ride, and I'm dying to know what she's thinking.

Because I'm thinking about the warmth of her thigh against mine, the way she looked at my chest when I straightened up, how she brushed a strand of hair behind my ear so gently. How she can see into my mind and know so much. Or the peck on my lips. What was that!?

Oh, and also the part where she told me I should get laid. That was pretty hot.

I stare at my amazing mentor, my potential new friend, my possible lover, and I feel for her. I try to turn on the same perception she used to open me, and it all suddenly makes sense. I've never heard anything at work about her having a boyfriend. I ask, "Do you follow this advice you gave me?" She hesitates. "I won't tell, Ramya."

"I know you won't," she says, placing her hand over mine for a second. "I'm Indian. My family expects an arranged marriage And that’s… fine. I’ve made peace with it. So I don’t date for commitment. I date non-Indians for experience, and for fun. And I have learned so much." I’m staring at her. I don’t even realize it until she smirks again. “What?” she asks.

“You don’t seem sad about it,” I say.

She shrugs. “Why be sad? I’ll get a good match. And in the meantime? I live. Quietly. On my terms.”

“You make it sound easy.”

“It is, once you learn to stop apologizing for wanting things.” She glances deliberately down my outfit, then meets my eyes with a heat that steals the breath from my lungs. “And once you learn to stop hiding what you have.”

I can feel the blush climbing my neck. Of course she notices. She always notices.

"Every Indian you meet must be dying to marry you. You're super successful, you're the one of the most beautiful woman I know, and you're so fun."

"Thank you, Claire. Crazy as it sounds, my career success limits my matches. And, I'm too tall. I have German blood in me according to a DNA test. No idea how far back. I'm lighter skinned, which is good in my racist-as-fuck Indian culture, but whoever my German ancestor is must have been a giant."

I scoff. "I love that about you. The thought of any guy passing you up just because you're taller than them or more successful brings out a rare feminist fury in me."

"Thanks for having my back, dear," she says. "I'm also Christian like you. The arranged marriage thing is less important for us, but it's still a thing, and the pool of matches is smaller than Hindu."

Silence is no longer awkward between us. After a few minutes, I ask “Do you always get that much attention when you go out?”

“Usually, if I dress to invite it. It gets old. Tonight was better, because I had someone interesting to talk to.”

Her hand again rests on mine that I refused to remove from her thigh. She interlocks her fingers with mine. Heat blooms across my cheeks. I look out the window for a moment. Something inside me tilts, unfamiliar and thrilling.

I gather my courage and ask. "Do you have close female friends?”

“One,” she says. “But she’s two hours away, near my parents.”

“You can’t share the things you told me tonight with coworkers,” I say quietly. “Or with your Indian community. Or the guys you date.”

Her jaw tightens, she inhales sharply, and she takes her hand away and puts it back on the wheel.

"You're already a fantastic mentor. But you can also let me in, confide in me when you need to,” I whisper. “I'll be there for you, too.”

Her thigh tenses under my touch. Her tone changes. “Claire… You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I think I’m starting to,” I whisper.

Her lips part just slightly. Finally, she exhales a shaky little laugh. “One night with me and you’re already bold.”

"Yes," I say.

“Good. I can work with bold.”