Posts Tagged ‘Wife’

Good News, everyone,  I found the perfect Bhabhi!

Before I unveil who she is, let me take a moment, on this auspicious Mahashivratri day, to explain in a few inadequate words, the concept of Bhabhi.

Who is a Bhabhi? 

A Bhabhi (always with a capital ‘B’) is a near-mythical creature existing in the minds of several Indian men of a certain age group, almost always associated with a curious mix of respectfulness and seductiveness. 

The concept of Bhabhi springs from the eternal human longing for incest, a longing certainly undiminished by the peculiar Indian cultural response towards anything sexual.

Who are the women closest to a typical horny young male? Mother, sisters, assorted cousins, and bhabhis. Now, every guy has his Bhabhi, from this group of bhabhis. The first three related by blood, but the Bhabhi? Someone from the outside, related only by marriage. Not very much older to you, but still not nearly as young as you. A Bhabhi is ‘safe’.

A Bhabhi is real, someone you can touch. Someone, whom you know has experience touching another man in his special place, in special ways. Someone who has been touched too, and not gently, you presume. You even hear them, sometimes.

However,  The Bhabhi, in this scenario, is unsatisfied, or not satisfied enough with her sex life. While everything on the surface might be going swimmingly well, whether she’s married to the most average guy in the city or the richest/handsomest dude in town, there are deep cravings within her that need to be satisfied. And fortunately for everyone, you have been given this special insight into this burden she bears, and you alone can bear it in the most manly way possible. (Sidebar: This was also why the Savita Bhabhi comics worked so brilliantly. They captured the essence of the Bhabhi in the body of a supermodel.)

Even more importantly – The Bhabhi, on her part, understands what your needs are, and considers it a part of her duties to relieve you. No matter if she feels guilty about it, no matter if that’s not what she knows is the right thing to do. If she’s going to be a part of this family, then goddammit, everyone’s going to be happy, if she can help it. And help it she can.

This works brilliantly both ways. Both of you, then, can fuck each other’s brains out, out of nothing more than this impersonal, heroic sense of duty.

The Bhabhi, has to be beautiful, but in a cute kind of way, rather than a hot kind of way. Approaching cute women is of course easier for you than approaching hot women. She had slimmed down for her marriage, but the weight’s coming back, and she knows it. Her husband must be a trier. He tries, and tries so hard, but he knows it, and she knows it, that he just doesn’t do it for her. This helps too. Its not really cheating, if the husband doesn’t even belong in the game, is it?

So who is this Bhabhi, who has made me stop looking, because dammit they broke the mould after she climbed out of it?


This lady, from the assorted Crompton Greaves ads.

Now, this is a slightly misleading pic. And this isn’t the ad where I sat, slightly agog, through 20 seconds of stunning  Perfect Bhabhi-ness. For real, I didn’t realize myself what the hell just happened. Only after I settled down for a bit did I realize that I had seen the Perfect-est Bhabhi ever.

That was this ad:

Just look at it! It encapsulates everything perfectly!

When we first see her, she’s thinking “Why’s he buying stuff for the house? He doesn’t know jack about what goes in this house. Has to be related to money, or maybe that nice Sindian guy told him about it. I like that guy, he always treats Mrs. ST so well. And she always looks so goddamned happy in the mornings… I wonder what they get up to?”

Anyways, moving on, she asks him, Have prices fallen so much that YOU have condescended to buy stuff for the house?


This moment – captured above – was when I realized I was onto something very special. You know how? There’s this favorite ratio of mine – Boob Size-to-Stomach Rolls – which is a trademarked ratio, of course, and as soon as I saw this, it just clicked. This is THE ideal BSSR ratio for the Perfect Bhabhi.

And just like that, I was hooked.

Next, in a typical husbandly manoeuvre, he asks her to guess. And she does this:



No one. Also, close-up BSSR.

She blurts out a number. It doesn’t matter what it is. From the time it takes her to give that look, to the time of her first guess, she realizes – at least he’s done this. At least he’s gotten some thing for this house, this room, which we share. Something where I did not need to nag him for days.

Against all her best instincts, her hopes begin to rise.

She’s almost… happy?


Before the inevitable, crushing realization. He’s just got one – for himself, for his side of the bed.

She pretends to laugh, and bends forward, so he cannot see her eyes.


And her clueless husband smiles, maybe even congratulating himself.


But you know… And I know. The truth cannot hide.

Come Bhabhi, come. Let us perform our respective duties, and let us not dither.



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So I have this problem. I am extremely uncomfortable around the wife of a good friend. And yes, its that thing you’re thinking of. I know her for a couple of years now, him for more and what I thought would go away in time hasn’t. Instead it’s grown, like an insidious snake feasting on my weakness, it’s grown.

I can’t stand to be in the same  room with her and guess how I spent Holi? Fucking locked in a farmhouse with him, her and 10 others. Painting colors on each other and spending hours in a pool ‘playing’.

None of that was meant in a sexual way. Except that I have the hots for her of course. But I wanted to put this out there for my better understanding. I tried to avoid her as inconspicuously as I could. I only put some color on her when she came up to me. I avoided staring as much as I could but I wasn’t brusque; I just avoided making jokes or fooling around when she was around so as to not get into extended conversations. I doubt she noticed much. Her husband and me are great pals, but her and me have never really hung out, ever.

Don’t go fucking blaming me. Its the butt. Always lands me in trouble. I’m not even sure if I’m completely in lust with her. Its her butt. The firmest butt I’ve seen in my life. I’m telling you, you think the ones you’ve seen are firm, but they’re nothing compared to the one on her. Had to be on her, didn’t it? She looks like she could walk the ramp first thing in the morning, but I’ve never given that a second thought. Its her butt, and when you cover that with a thin layer of cloth (also called as pajamas; as in ” I’ll be wearing these pajamas to sleep when we’re all having a sleepover in a deserted farmhouse miles from civilization with my husband’s horny friend sneaking looks at my ass whenever I’m around.”)  the situation just becomes fucking perfect don’t it?

Yes I do. At least one specific part of you.

Let’s get this straight. I don’t want to ‘do’ anything. I love the guy as much as one straight guy can love another and the last thing I’d do is make a pass at his wife. But as much as I try, I have to steal a glance at her butt when I get the chance. Could I control it? Sure, I could. Would that lessen the lust in my mind? I’m pretty sure it’d not. What then would be the purpose of avoiding it?

Ladies, the 3 of you that do visit here, do women know when men like me are around? I’m *trying* to do the right thing here. This incident paints me in a very poor light I suppose, but I assure you it wasn’t intentional in any way. It was a classic case of the thunderbolt that happened the first time I happened to see her butt. And if you’ve read my earlier posts you know I’m a Class-A Ass Purveyor.

I give up. I was trying to inject some sense into this whole thing, but there’s too much confusion. And I’ve never been one for high thinking. The baser pleasures, that’s where I reside. Maybe if I avoid them for some time, she’ll get pregnant and I can safely put this behind me.


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