Silver Screen Dream (8 page)

I rocked backwards and forwards then lifted and dropped my hips and gauged his reactions. I found that both movements elicited the most arousing noises from his lips, so I would swap and change between the two. I’d rock slowly them pump at a quicker pace, and he cursed and moaned and cried out for more.

I had never seen a Bollywood sex scene. They didn’t stretch to those, but, as you know, I had dreamt up a fair few in my time and this was pretty spot on. There was opulence and luxury, a hot young man and lots of passion and hip thrusting. I felt as if I were acting out my part of the script pretty adequately.

“What are you thinking?” he gasped.

When I opened my clenched eyes, I saw the quizzical look he was giving me.

“Oh, it’s silly.” I blushed and tried to distract him by grinding down on his cock.

“Oh, go on, tell me, please?” he begged with pouted lips.

“I was imagining I was the female lead in a Bollywood film, imagining this was a scene, a very X-rated scene, from a Mumbai blockbuster.”

“Oh,” he said, “why?”

“Because this has to be fantasy,” I replied, my hips stilled. “It can’t possibly be real.”

“I don’t understand.” He wrinkled his brow and stroked his fingers down my back.

“Rahul, you are a massive film star, I serve popcorn in a cinema. This is all so unreal.”

“Oh.” Understanding finally flickered through his eyes. “But this is very real,” he said. “Feel my hands on your back, my cock in your cunt, our bodies pressed so close together.”

“I feel it,” I gasped, “and I think it’s a dream come true.”

 “Don’t pretend you’re anything other than what you are, I adore what you are. Keep your eyes open, look at me, and let’s stay rooted in this moment. It’s not a fantasy, it is real and I want you to feel it all, really feel it.”

“Yes,” I gasped and gradually regained my hip swinging momentum.

“That’s it,” he moaned.

I could see he was straining to keep his eyes open, to keep looking at me through the pleasure. My arousal grew as I saw the strain written in his neck muscles and the desire painted as dark as the sky before a thunderstorm in his eyes.

“Oh, Rahul.” His name rasped between my dry lips. “Fuck, Rahul.” I couldn’t find the words or place them in the right order to express how perfect the moment was, to tell him how lucky I felt, how turned on I was. I just couldn’t articulate the need that bubbled up inside me. I needed him to fill me, I wanted to feel his final thrust, hear his expression of ecstasy. I wanted to know that my body had brought him to the ultimate expression of passion.

Maybe he glimpsed some of that in my eyes, because after just a few more thrusts he roared loudly like a proud Bengal tiger and held himself deep within me. His eyes slammed shut, but I understood why and enjoyed watching the bliss pass over his face. It darkened, tightened then relaxed. His mouth slowly closed, but his lips lolled slightly apart as he panted.

“Wow,” he gasped and looked up at me. “Wow, Laura, just wow.”

“Thank you,” I smiled, “but just wait and see what I do for an encore.” I gave a bawdy wink, and he chuckled loudly.

“You’ll have to give me five minutes to recover first.” He squeezed his arms around my waist. “Then we can go for take two if you like.”

“That seems fair.” I nodded, then as he loosened his grip I rolled to the bed beside him. “I can be a patient woman.”

He pulled me close to him, and I laid my head in the crook of his shoulder and chest and wrapped my arm across his flat and oh so wonderfully rippled lower torso.

My eyelids fluttered closed. I wasn’t so much tired as content, but the melodic thump of his heart lulled me to that warm, cuddly stage just before sleep.

“Laura, tell me something about you,” Rahul said, rousing me from my stupor.

“Okay, let’s see. You know I work at the cinema, but I’m working to make money to go back to college and finish getting my language degree. I’m learning Hindi and Urdu, and one day I want to be a translator.”

“So if I slip into my native tongue you’ll understand?”

“Well, quite a bit, I suppose, yes.” I’d learned an amazing amount of Hindi already from my
Nani
and her family and from watching so many Bollywood movies.

“I’d better be careful then.” He stroked my hair lazily. “If I blurt something out during my moment of ecstasy, you’ll know just what I’m saying.”

“Yep, so you better watch it, pal.” I laughed and he kissed my forehead.

“Tell me more, I want to know you.”

“Damn, what to tell you? Jeez, well, you know I love Bollywood and that my
Nani
introduced me to it. She was my babysitter. She died last year, she was eighty. I felt closer to her than any other person in the world. We used to watch Bollywood movies all the time together. Even when I was grown up, I’d go to
Nani
’s once a week, pop a video in her ancient machine and munch on popcorn I would take her from work.”

“You must have loved her very much.” Rahul squeezed my shoulder.

“Yeah, I did. She was like a grandmother and my best friend.”

We lay quietly for a while.

“I wish I’d had a
Nani
in my life,” he said. “My
maa
died when I was small, before I really knew her. I have not got grandparents, and my
pita
died when I was eighteen. He was a good enough man but not a very warm father. I could never imagine watching a film with him. He wouldn’t have liked that.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “It must have been pretty tough on, you losing both parents so early on in life. I always had my mum, though, bless her, she worked every hour God sent to keep us. I still have her, though we don’t see much of each other anymore.”

“Why?” Rahul asked, gently swirling patterns on my shoulder with his fingers.

“She emigrated to Australia last year. Met a guy through work, she’s an air hostess, and moved over there to be with him.”

“Did she not want to take you with her?”

“She asked, but no. I wanted to stay here. I had established my life here, I had my little home and my work and plans to study and
Nani
was still alive. I wanted to stay here with her.”

“Do you think you’d ever move over there to be with your mum?”

“I don’t know, who can tell? Maybe something will happen that changes my mind. She tells me in every phone call and with every letter and visit that I’m welcome to go live with her and Frank over there. I could go eventually, I suppose.”

“Do you miss her?” Rahul twirled his fingers down to my waist.

“This might sound a bit harsh, but not really, no. She wasn’t in my life much as I grew up, and she still isn’t. I mean, she’s a good mum, she did it all to keep us fed and dressed and a roof over our heads, but you know, it’s not like we’ve ever been really close.”

“I understand,” Rahul replied. “My relationship with my
pita
was very similar. He only ever told me he loved me once, on his deathbed, but at least he said it. I mourned his passing, I miss him still from time to time, but mostly my life feels very similar to how it always was.”

“So who looked after you when you were growing up?”

“Oh, a family friend.”

“Are you not close to her?”

“Him, actually,” he corrected, “and no, not really. He did what he had to do and he still cares for me in his own way, but no, I wouldn’t say we have a very pally relationship. He’s mostly a pain in the arse.”

“Oh, well, at least you had someone there for you.” I stroked his chest, enjoying the tickle of his soft hair under my fingertips.

“That’s true. There are many not that lucky in my country, many orphans and many homeless. If I didn’t have Johnny, I might well be amongst the poor and destitute myself. “

“It’s always good to count your blessings.” I snuggled closer against him. “
Nani
always told me that.”

“A wise lady, your
Nani
.”

We lapsed into silence for a while. I think I nodded off for a bit as I came around to a gentle stroking of my cheek.

“Mm?” I did not have the energy to form a sentence.

“Let’s get under the covers, it’s getting cold.”

“M’kay,” I responded sleepily. The soft sheets covered me and Rahul’s hard body pressed into my back. He kissed my shoulder blade, and I don’t remember much more until the sun streamed in through the uncovered window and woke me in the morning.

Chapter Seven

Johnny

It rankled with me, but I liked Laura. I don’t like humans as a rule. They are selfish, big-headed and often just down right evil, but Laura was different. She was a giver. Even as they fucked, I could see that. She wanted to please him and she did not hold back anything at all. I’ve seen Rahul fuck many women. I can’t say I’ve always enjoyed the experience, but as Djinns do not sleep and we have to keep an eye on our Masters at all times, it had been an evil necessity.

Occasionally, it might manage to entertain me, sometimes for all the wrong reasons. It’s very satisfying, sniggering at other people’s bad sex moments. Like the time the young, sweet creature turned into a raving dominatrix in the bedroom. I had to rescue Rahul from that one. It was something I brought up in arguments quite often. “Remember Suri?”

It would usually shut him up. This time, though, I was glued to the action, not because it was so terribly funny or because Rahul was getting his bum slapped from here to eternity, but because I wanted to work out Laura’s level.

Every woman has a level, it has to do with sincerity, integrity and how much they’re just after fame, fortune and a leg-up into the Bollywood business. Sometimes it became apparent from the word go. Their eyes would go blank and their movements would be jerky and robotic as if they wanted it all over as quickly as possible. They were high level Bollyshitters. Sometimes it wouldn’t be quite so apparent. Maybe the sex would even be pretty genuine. They’d make all the noises and all the right moves, but afterwards the subject would soon turn to talk of movies and directors and her aspirations as an actress. They were low level Bollyshitters.

Laura didn’t have a level, not that I could see. She didn’t want an in. She didn’t want a part of Rahul’s fortune or his help with contacting a director or gaining a specific role. I could not detect even a hint of a lie in her words. She spoke with gentle authority. She meant every word to her very core. She was not pretending. I always saw through their acts, but Laura was peculiar and rare. She was genuine.

I’m a Djinn and I don’t really do guilt, but I did feel a little sorry for her. She had clearly fallen in love with Rahul, and Rahul was an engaged man, as much as he wished he weren’t. As far as he tried to run away from it, the bald and stark truth was there. He was going to marry Malati whether he wanted to or not.

Rahul and Laura slept in each other’s arms. I was a little jealous of that. Jealous that they slept—a Djinn in the human world can never do that—and my heart ached for the times when I’d had someone to cuddle up to. I have a special someone but I have not seen her in, well, I don’t know just the precise number of years, but it isn’t relevant to you. It’s been a damn long time.

I miss her. I miss her all the time. I hope she still misses me. She is in Jennistan with males all around her, and she really is the most beautiful Djinn you ever laid eyes on. I mean, that bird from
I Dream of Jeannie
has nothing on her. She will have had suitors. I don’t know if she would be able or willing to fight them off.

After all, we did not leave on the best terms. I went on a quest that she specifically told me not to go on and I ended up in this stupid, fucking tea kettle tied down to a family of idiots, none of whom would take the time out to use just one deathbed wish to free me. Bastards.

Anyway, that is all irrelevant. Laura just reminds me of my lady love and so I get all sappy and reminiscent and shit when I look at her. It is annoying. What was I saying? Yes, I felt sorry for her. She was truly in love and at any moment that love was going to be snatched from her hands. And I would break her heart, albeit indirectly.

But then I had to follow my orders, and as much as she loved Rahul I was not convinced of his love for her. Yes, he was clearly besotted. He often fell in
uns
with women.
Uns
is the word for infatuation in Hindi. He can paint love across his face like a prostitute paints lust on her cheeks with rouge, but really it is only desire to have something that is forbidden or somewhat out of his reach.

And I had to follow my existing orders. I had to. Okay, there are a few caveats to that—it seems to be common knowledge these days, in fact. I can’t bring folks back from the dead. It gets sticky and stinky and generally disgusting very quickly, especially in the oppressive heat of Mumbai. I can’t make folks fall in love. I can invoke lust, I’m very good at a lust invocation, but love takes magic that I do not possess. And lastly, I can break a wish, an order or a command if it is opposed by real, true, deep down in the heart love.

Forever love. I’m talking soul mates bound eternally together. I’m talking big time destined for each other and fated to be lovers. If I hit that brick wall I cannot go through it, no matter what. Movie makers and authors really haven’t made that one up. Love is stronger than magic. It’s true.

But true love has two sides, and although I could see affection and desire and a very strong like from Rahul for Laura, I did not see soul to soul love. So therefore, as much as I liked the girl, I was going to have to break her heart.

It sucked, but then my life generally sucked, so I just took a deep breath and got on with it.

I suppose, by human standards, it was pretty poetic the way they woke up that morning. They moved together, bathed in bright, September sunlight. They kissed and caressed, whispered and sighed. They rubbed and touched and exclaimed. It was pretty, soft and gentle.

Definitely not the way a Djinn would do it, but then I had learnt over the centuries that humans were a queer bunch and that showed especially when they made love. Anyway, by human standards it was pretty damn near perfect. They fucked to satisfaction then ordered in food.