I have the full permission of the author to post this free erotic extract.
I didn’t have time to react. All the stars followed Panya, and I answered questions, directed people to the bathrooms and to the bar. I don’t know how I managed to speak. It must have only been my years of experience that gave the correct directions to those who asked for them because I don’t think I was capable of actual thought.
You fantasise about kissing the stars of your fervent desires and you imagine the fireworks, the passion and the lust, but you know it’s all simply a fantasy. I had just experienced something better than my dream kiss, and it had really happened. I didn’t just imagine it. His lips touched mine, and magic happened.
I showed people back to their seats with a stunned smile slapped across my face.
The director commented to the man seated beside him, “They must pay their employees well, here. That woman hasn’t stopped smiling since we arrived, and it’s a real smile, too. When you’ve directed as many films as I have, you get to recognise a fake smile at forty paces.”
He was wrong. Cinematic did not pay me well, but he was right about the smile. I felt so much joy inside I couldn’t keep it in.
I took my position outside the doors happily, and the stunned smile still played across my lips.
“And what was that?” I asked Rahul as he stood by the bar.
He looked at me. “I thought you were back in your kettle,” he snapped.
“I fancied a trip to see the bright lights of London Town, so I hopped into the amulet. You didn’t think when you ran away you could get away from me, too?”
“No, I didn’t think that, but I’ve told you not to ride in my pendant, Johnny. It makes me feel weird.”
“There’s no part of my flesh touching your flesh, pal. And anyway, I was the one asking the questions. What were you doing with the Brit girl?”
“I believe it’s called kissing, Johnny. I know you’ve been single for a millennium or more, but surely you still recognise the act of lip to lip embracing,” he mocked sarcastically.
“Oh, stop trying to be clever, Rahul, it doesn’t suit you. You’re engaged to be married, you know.” I reminded him of the facts.
“No, I am not. Some doting, dead, old idiot promised me in payment years ago. That’s not the same thing.”
“However, you’re still meant to be marrying Malati next month.”
“It isn’t going to happen,” Rahul snapped and slammed his pint glass down onto the bar with some force.
“Look, when you go back to India, your uncles and Malati’s father and her uncles are all going to be out to get you to that wedding. How are you going to resist so many men? You are one dude, and a skinny one, at that. You’ve got no chance of escape.”
“I’m staying here.”
“Well, I think even as a rather well-known Bollywood actor you’re going to get chucked out of this bar eventually.”
“Sometimes, Johnny,” Rahul said through gritted teeth, “I can’t work out if you’re just trying to be funny or if you’re really stupid.”
I shrugged my shoulders and repelled a young lady who wanted to stand by the bar just where Rahul was. To her, there was just an empty space. Often when I chatted with Rahul, I’d wrap us around with a soundproof cloak of invisibility. It just makes things easier.
People would think Rahul was a complete nutcase if they could hear what we were saying. I can make myself invisible whenever I want, of course. And I usually do, as I prefer not to be stared at by humans.
“I’m staying here in the UK. First for a few weeks’ holiday, then I’m working on Ranjeesh Setna’s newest project. He’s doing a proper Bollywood romance set here in London. I’m perfect for his hero and being out of the country is perfect for me.”
“Oh, great, so we’re leaving the heat, the glamour and the beauty of Mumbai for smog, rain and bowler hats?”
“Yes, Johnny, though I think the last one is just a stereotype.”
“So you’re running away from your responsibilities?”
“Yes, Johnny, I am.”
Like father, like son, I thought. “Fair enough.”
“So I can snog as many Brit girls as I like.”
“Hmm, really? I thought you were fucking Panya.”
“I was,” he said, “but the film is over, and I’m sick of her brand of crazy. We’re splitting up.”
“And she knows this?”
“No, but she will do later.”
“God, Rahul, you’re a right piece of work.”
“You treat women like crap. I think Malati should be thanking the gods that you’ve run away from her.”
“Just leave me alone, Johnny. I’m not going to take romance advice from a lonely old Djinn, all right?” He shook his head in disgust.
I left him alone and returned to my amulet. The rules say I only have to grant his wishes, I don’t have to put up with his insults. I am not old, and he should have taken my advice. I knew the Brit girl would be trouble.
I mean, she just wasn’t like Rahul. She might have had some knowledge of Bollywood and a tolerance for people in general, but she wouldn’t last five minutes in India itself. She was far too pasty, pale and English. She was also poor. I mean, I didn’t look up her financials, but it doesn’t take a genius to work out a woman working at a cinema isn’t exactly rolling in dosh.
Well, to be blunt, she was white, poor and smitten, and they were all good reasons for Rahul to avoid her like the plague. She was a fan girl, and trying to have any form of relationship with a fan is not clever. Not that I thought Rahul was contemplating a relationship. He wanted to shag her and that was all. Rahul had always been the curious one.
Though I had seen something funny flickering through his eyes as he’d stared at her—I’d had a brilliant view from beneath their faces in my amulet—and I didn’t know what, exactly, the emotion was as I’d not seen it in his eyes before. It was clear she fancied him. I mean, I knew that the minute we walked into the cinema. It wouldn’t have been any clearer if doves had flown around her head scattering rose petals and singing a love song.
It was very clear to me I had some hard work ahead of me. I couldn’t let Rahul and that girl kiss any more.