Ramya: Claire's first meetup

Claire doesn’t hear from me all week, and I let her stew in it and miss me.

I see her in the office and give a quick hello and professional smile, but I keep my distance.

My last day is Wednesday. I send the farewell email to the team, pack my desk, and walk out without looking back. I have a week and a half off before starting the new job. I haven't had this many days off in a row since college Christmas breaks.

I want to text Claire so bad. I'm curious, and now I have tons of free time. But I resist the urge. Ego plays into that. I'm her superior at work, and she proposed sort a mentoring relationship. She has more to gain from this than me. Truth is, I’m testing her. Will the shy girl chase? Was her desire real?

I accept a second date Thursday night with a guy about thirty minutes away. The details aren't important, but in typical Ramya fashion, his cock is in my mouth when Claire's text comes in proposing drinks tomorrow. I swallow his load, compliment his virility and taste, then smile at my phone. Her wording is vague and timid, but she's trying.

Good girl.

I need her a little drunk and uninhibited, so I insist on driving. I invite myself into her apartment the second she unlocks the door. It’s clean and small with second-hand furniture, and I think I will die of boredom until I notice the small stuff. Pictures of family, small details reflecting her personality, signs of our shared religion. She's not boring, she's frugal. She comes from a good family that raised her right. Just like me.

She has zero fashion sense now just like at work. The jeans don't fit well, the top is tighter but still downplays the good stuff. Her eyes are beautiful, but she's not done much else with styling her hair or makeup. But I supposed skipping that is better than trying and screwing it up. This girl needs me.

I'm dressed to kill. My Indian glossy black hair is loose, red lipstick, jeans that hug every curve I earned in the gym, top low enough to show the hint of cleavage my good bra delivers. No sag on display tonight; everything high and controlled.

"Hmm, okay, let's go then," I say as I look at the diamond in the rough I have to work with. She takes the opportunity to stare at my chest and butt.

We hit a bar downtown that's loud and full of men who notice me immediately. Claire fades into the background in her loose clothes, but I see what she’s hiding: the weight she’s lost, the heavy breasts, the ass that could stop traffic if she let it.

The men take interest. I fend them off with smiles and watch Claire shrink. My top migrates lower after two drinks, showing more cleavage and inviting more company. It's getting harder to talk to Claire, and she's not getting any action.

“You know we have to work on your look,” I finally say, leaning close so she can hear me over the music. My nipples are hard now, part cold, part the way her eyes keep dropping to my chest.

She nods, cheeks pink. "I know. Ramya, it's okay. I want to work on it."

“You have a great figure,” I tell her, voice low. “It's criminal how you're hiding that amazing rack.”

She straightens instinctively, pushing her chest out. She giggles. I've just ordered her fourth drink, and they are working.

“Better,” I murmur, and watch her blush deepen.

Conversation turns personal on her end. She spills everything: small-town Baptist upbringing, perpetual single status, the insecurities she still carries even after the weight loss.

I listen, give advice, let her feel safe.

She tries to turn it back on me a few times; I deflect with smiles and another round.

A few drinks in, I decide she’s earned a nugget.

“I’ll give you the biggest tip of all,” I say, sliding into the booth beside her so our thighs touch. “Not sure you have what it takes, but…”

She leans in, eyes wide.

“You’re single, right?”

“You know I am.”

“Then date. Date as many men as you can. Fuck them. Learn them.”

Her face flames. “Oh my God.”

“It’ll make you lethal at work,” I continue, voice low. “You’ll understand how they think, how to lead them, how to deal with sexual harassment and not fold. Just don’t sleep with anyone at work. Or at church, unless he might be the one. Be discreet. Double standard exists; deal with it. And always use a condom. Seriously, no exceptions. The men won't want to use them."

She stares, processing.

Time to address the pink elephant in the room.

"You're still a virgin, aren't you?"

She squirms in her seat, probably wishing she could crawl under it.

“No one's claimed that sweet little pussy yet, right?” I murmur, letting my hand rest on her thigh. “I can tell.”

“Ramya, please,” she says, voice small. “Yes… I am.”

“It's okay,” I say softly. “It's cute. Kind of sexy, honestly. But Claire, it has to come off. You won't truly understand men until you start having sex with them.”

“That’s what you do?” she whispers.

I hesitate, just long enough.

“Pretty much. I’m recreational-use-only until I find a husband. I'm an unusual situation. My parents are from India, and they are shopping around for an arranged marriage soon. I don’t date Indians since I have to protect my reputation from nosy in-laws. I date other races. I have fun and stay unattached while I wait."

“You don’t seem upset about it.”

I shrug. “It works more than people think. And with my career and my parents’ status, I’ll get a good match. They’ve even said I can choose love if I want, but it might hurt my father's feelings if he’s not Indian. I’m Christian like you, so the arranged thing isn’t ironclad.”

She softens, reaches out, hand on my thigh. “Every Indian guy must be dying to marry you. You’re successful, beautiful, fun.”

I smile, hide the flicker of doubt. “Crazy as it sounds, the success might limit options. And I’m too tall.”

“I love that about you,” she says, fierce.

We laugh, bond over the loneliness of ambition, the fear no one will want us as we are.

Men get bolder as the night wears on; one even tries Claire.

I shut it down, pay the tab, and steer her out.

In the car she’s braver, tentatively putting hand on my thigh, even her head my shoulder briefly.

“Do you have close female friends?” She asks, steady voice now.

“One, but far away, near where my parents live.”

“The stuff you told me tonight... you can’t say it at work. You can’t talk about it in Indian circles. You can’t get close to the men you date while waiting for an arranged marriage.”

I wonder where this is heading.

Her hand squeezes. "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.”

I glance at her, feel the warmth of her palm, the quiet offer underneath.

"We'll see. I'll open up to you slower, Claire. That's just how it's going to have to be. But thank for saying that anyway."

Her head is back on my shoulder. It's half affection, half she's had too many drinks.

I chuckle and rub her thigh back. "Wow, one night with me and your powers of perception have already doubled."

She laughs and says, "I'm just getting started."