Silk curtains of royal purple and sparkling gold dance and tangle in the sultry Indian Ocean breeze that floats through the windowsill. Lush white linens drape with sophisticated laziness over the four poster canopy bed. The walls are accented with dark, polished woodwork that was created artfully by master craftsmen. My first favorite part of our private bungalow on the pristine shores of the Indian Ocean is that the three adjoining sections are raised up on stilts over the bluest, clearest water I’ve ever seen—you can see the fish as they meander by. It’s an incredible place to make love. My second favorite part is the vibrant celebration of love and sex.
Within the rooms, beaches and gardens that surround us are opulent stone sculptures—replicas of the erotic statues of Khajurao—with subjects portrayed in various positions of lovemaking; flowers that line the paths pay tribute to the male and female genitalia, and of course, what self-respecting, sensual high-end Indian hotel would be complete without a pictorial guidebook—about one thousand pages long—on the positions of Kama Sutra? Josh is already making arrangements to extend our stay until we have tried—and mastered—each one.
A sensual-spiritual honeymoon in India was Josh’s idea. I have a very smart husband.
But the Light Heavyweight champion of the world isn’t the only one with winning moves—like calling the resort ahead of time and having them install a platform with a stripper pole—it’s amazing what you can do with money. I had them disguise it as a curtained-off closet that I told Josh we really didn’t need to use, so he never bothered pulling back the curtain.
A little after lunch, I drag him into that room.
“Ready for some playtime?” I say as seductively as Mistress Kim.
He wears a cocky grin. “Hell yeah.”
“Good. First we’re going to get rid of … this.” I get nice and close to him so my breasts are touching his muscular chest and pull up and off his loose t-shirt.
He reaches down to unbutton his jeans.
“No, no … not yet,” I play-scold.
His eyebrows lift in surprise. “What do you have in mind?”
“It’s so hot to watch your dick get hard for me while it’s trapped underneath the denim of your jeans. Now sit.” I push him into a straight-backed chair.
His mouth pulls into a willing smile. “It smells very nice in here.”
“Jasmine.”
I let the robe I’m wearing fall down around my shoulders to give him a little peek while I turn to the bar and pour him a whiskey.
“Did you know that French kissing didn’t really originate in France?” I ask absentmindedly as I ready myself for his surprise.
“Serious?”
“Yep, ancient literature—namely the Kama Sutra—suggests it started right here in India.”
“I believe that,” Josh says.
I come back and place the cold drink in his hands. “You’re going to need this.”
I dip my finger in the glass, stir it around, and then paint his lips with the liquor. “My challenge is—how long can you take the heat?”
At that, I lick the wetness from his lips with my tongue. His mouth falls open slightly and I let my tongue slide inside, but just for a second. “That’s your first taste. Drink.”
Stepping back I let him have a deep pull from the glass.
“I hope that alcohol goes straight to your cock,” I tease and step backward, drinking his eyes with mine.
“Sophie,” he says questioningly.
“I have to make things fair, you know.”
“Yeah, fair.” He nods his head, not taking his eyes off me. “Nothing you’re doing right now is fair.”
“Oh, it’s so much more.”
I step behind the lavish fabric of the curtain. India’s sexual energy, as explained in the Kama Sutra, is all about igniting all of the senses—all of the sights, sounds, touches, tastes and scents are employed together to create a mind-blowing experience.
“What are you doing behind that curtain?”
“Don’t get impatient,” I say. “Now, I know what you missed at your bachelor party, and I have to make it up to you.”
“Make it up to me …” he says with expectation with a hint of question.
“The most difficult decision was deciding exactly how to do it.”
“I really want the ‘do it’ part.”
“In time.”
I ready myself another moment then say, “Okay, champion—you’re going down.”
“Oh Christ, I hope so.”
I pull the curtain, and in one swoop it becomes my backdrop.
Josh’s mouth drops to the floor and he leans forward on his seat. “Holy hot fuck!”
“Are you ready for the show, fighter?”