In the months following his death, Kajal had considered moving into her father’s empty townhouse in Hampstead. It was more spacious than her cramped two-bedroom flat and in a much better location, situated on the edge of the Heath and only a five-minute walk from the tube station. However, after much soul-searching, she decided against it and put the old place up for sale, settling instead on a newly built house on the edge of town. Besides, the equity from her two properties and the fortune she made selling a majority stake in her father’s successful wholesale business had left Kajal a woman of considerable independent means. So she decided to take a few months to settle into her new home, then start making her dream of motherhood a reality.
Kajal had long been planning to get pregnant, but until then, it had never seemed the right time. Now, having reached her mid-thirties and with her biological clock ticking, she had reluctantly decided that finding Mister Right would have to wait. Having children couldn’t, or at least not for much longer. But now, with a spacious home, enough money to live comfortably, and the time to give a child her undivided attention, all the pieces were finally falling into place. All that was missing was a guy of a sufficiently high calibre to father her child.
She knew precisely the kind of guy she was looking for. Good looks were essential, as was intelligence; Kajal wanted to give her child the best chance of inheriting these advantageous traits. In addition, he needed to be polite, sensitive, and capable of sustaining a conversation; dull, boorish guys were such a turn-off. A professional, university-educated guy would be ideal, particularly if he had a talent for sports or the arts.
Unfortunately, finding such a guy was proving difficult, despite Kajal’s attractive appearance, vibrant personality, and willingness to quickly move beyond first base. It wasn’t that her expectations were unrealistically high; plenty of handsome, intelligent guys flirted with her at parties or in bars, but they were usually the husbands or partners of friends, and she didn’t want to shit on her own doorstep.
Ideally, she needed a relative stranger to enter into a temporary, no-strings fuck buddy arrangement with or, at a stretch, an extra-marital affair. A high-end online dating app had introduced her to some appropriate guys, but they were usually looking for a long-term commitment, and that was something Kajal wasn’t yet ready to consider. Besides, she wasn’t sure a monogamous lifestyle was something she ever wanted or could commit to.
So, until the right guy came along, Kajal decided to come off birth control and simply use a condom when opportunities for recreational, no-strings fucks presented themselves. Casual dating apps provided her with plenty of those, but Kajal knew she needed to broaden her search to find a guy suitable to father her child. So, until he came along, she concentrated on making her house ready to become a family home and diverted herself with mini-projects and hobbies.
Kajal’s latest project was researching her family history. Her parents had always been cagey about their past, and Kajal had thought it highly unusual that she had no relatives in India. Growing up, her Indian friends spent summers there visiting grandparents, aunts and cousins, but to Kajal’s knowledge, she had no such connections. Her father’s death had left her without any living family, and she was determined to find out if she had any remaining blood relatives in India or elsewhere.
Unfortunately, her search was proving fruitless. Between sketchy Indian records and considerable confusion with family surnames and spellings, even the most widely used databases produced no new information. So every day, she would log in, hoping to see a ‘hint’ next to one of the few names in her tree or - even better - a message from a distant relative, but she always ended up disappointed. Perhaps when her DNA results came back, there would be a breakthrough, she thought, desperate to hold onto some hope.
Checking the family history app one Saturday morning, Kajal once more drew a blank. Putting down her iPad, she decided to go next door to see if Jhansi was up for a cup of tea and a chat.
Jhansi had moved into the adjoining semi-detached house on the day Kajal moved in. With no forethought, the construction company had released all five homes at the end of the cul-de-sac on the same day, rendering the street impassable as five removal trucks disgorged their contents simultaneously. But the excitement of moving into Noble Avenue on the same day had forged close friendships between Kajal and her immediate neighbours, and she and Jhansi had become particularly close.
Slightly older and married with one baby and another on the way, Jhansi was like the big sister Kajal never had. Somehow she always managed to be upbeat, even if her drains had backed up or her boiler had broken down again. And she would patiently listen as Kajal recounted tales of her disastrous dates and avoid judgement when told of those which had gone somewhat too well to chime with Jhansi’s more conservative values.
Jhansi answered the door in leggings and a short smock. Kajal couldn’t remember seeing her in anything other than this frumpy, practical maternity clothing; however, the family photos around her home showed that she had previously taken much more care of her appearance. But even with no make-up and her lengthy, wavy black hair scraped back in a ponytail, Jhansi’s wide white smile revealed her natural beauty despite her dowdy clothing.
“Come in, Darling,” she said, drawing back to allow Kajal inside, although her growing baby bump made it a squeeze. “I’m so glad you’re here. Aakash barely slept again last night, and I’m exhausted. He’s just nodded off now, so I was about to put the kettle on. It’ll be nice to have some company for a while.”
“You sit down, Didi. I’ll make the tea. Put your feet up for ten minutes. You must be shattered!” Kajal was insistent.
She could tell how tired Jhansi was by the way she didn’t put up a fight. Instead, she meekly waddled to the lounge and flopped onto the sofa. Although unhappy to see her friend looking so drained, Kajal was pleased that their friendship had reached the point that Jhansi no longer felt she had to entertain her as a guest when she called.
“I won’t stay long,” Kajal said, trying not to raise her voice enough to wake Aakash, who was asleep in the next room. “But I had an idea I thought might interest you. Although, on reflection, now might not be the best time to suggest it.”
As Kajal brought the tea into the lounge, Jhansi cleared a space on the coffee table and removed some junk from the sofa. Kajal sat down next to her friend.
“Sorry about the mess,” Jhansi said apologetically. “I don’t have the energy for housework at the moment. And, of course, Sahil doesn’t think it’s his responsibility because he is working long hours. I really thought Aakash would be sleeping through by now. But, if he doesn’t start soon, I don’t know how I’ll cope when the next one comes along. It will be like having twins!”
But Kajal knew a restless baby wasn’t the only reason Jhansi felt tired. With the layout of their adjoining homes a mirror image of one other, Kajal and Jhansi’s beds were separated by only a few feet of brick, insulation and plasterboard. Not surprisingly, this wasn’t sufficient to mask the sound of Jhansi and Sahil having sex, which happened much more frequently than Kajal would have expected, especially given Jhansi was seven months gone.
Still, who could blame her husband? Kajal had long considered women to be at their sexiest when pregnant; their allure most apparent as their bellies and breasts swelled, and their hormones bestowed a healthy, radiant glow on their skin. And besides, she knew it wasn’t only Sahil who had a high sex drive. Fragmented conversations Kajal had overheard through the wall revealed that Jhansi needed sex just as frequently as her husband and often more than once a night.
“Anyway, enough of my problems,” Jhansi continued. “What’s the idea you want to run by me? Not a double date with your latest young man, I hope.”
Kajal laughed. “What young man? It’s been two weeks since I had a date, which was a disaster.”
That was a lie.
“No, I was thinking about Coronation Day,” Kajal continued. It’s on the sixth of May, only a few weeks away. I know Aakash is probably still too young to enjoy a street party, but I thought we might suggest it to the other parents on the street. What do you think?”
“I think it’s a great idea,” Jhansi replied enthusiastically. “You know, I was thinking about it myself when I saw a feature on breakfast TV yesterday. People are organising them all over the country. So what do you have in mind?”
“I’ve not given it that much thought,” Kajal replied, feeling slightly foolish at going off half-cocked. “But I figured many of us on the street have Commonwealth roots. We’re Indian, Marcia and her husband have Caribbean heritage, and Grace is from Zambia. So I thought we could all wear our national dress, put gazebos up in our front gardens and serve free street food from the countries with which we have links. After all, the King isn’t just the King of England; he’s the Head of the Commonwealth too.”
“That’s a brilliant idea,” Jhansi replied. “And we could have a treasure hunt and games for the kids. I remember having a street party for the late Queen’s Golden Jubilee on the street where I grew up, and that’s what we did.”
“And even those couples with UK roots, like Megan and Sally, can produce a regional dish,” Kajal explained, buoyed by Jhansi’s positive response. “Sally is from Cornwall, and Megan is Welsh, so I’m sure between them, they could rustle up some leek pasties, or something.”
Jhansi laughed. “It will be great fun, but don’t you need approval from the Council or something? We had better make sure it’s done properly, and that we have the proper permissions and licences.”
“Oh, fuck the Council.” Kajal was now in full flow. “It’s not like we’ll need to close the road, and we’re not using public space or selling things. It’s none of their business. We’ll just be neighbours being neighbours. And it will be an excellent opportunity to meet people further down the street we haven’t met yet.”
“Then I suppose we’ll need an organising committee,” Jhansi said pragmatically. “And it will need to be open for everyone to get involved. That way, we will get buy-in from the whole street.”
“Well, I’m happy to help organise it since I’m currently a lady of leisure. My family history project is going nowhere, so I could do with something other than decorating to fill my time,” Kajal replied. “I’ll put some leaflets through all the doors and start a Facebook group to see what response we get. Then, we can form a committee if enough people want to do it.”
“Just one thing, though,” Jhansi said, looking apologetic. “I don’t think I can commit to meetings or to doing very much on the day. Aakash is a handful, and by the time the Coronation comes around, I will be the size of a cow. My due date is only two weeks afterwards. But why don’t we do an Indian street food stall together? I can help prepare food, even if I can’t be on my feet long to help serve it.”
“You’re on!” Kajal said excitedly.
**********
Kajal was delighted with the neighbours’ response. Within a week, most of the street had joined the Facebook group, and at least ten families had committed to providing street food. The women seemed keenest to do the cooking. They were looking forward to competing for the ‘Best Street Food Award’, which Kajal had suggested to add a competitive edge to the day and drive the quality and presentation of the food upwards.
With arrangements for the food in hand, the women of the cul-de-sac put their husbands and partners on entertainment detail, whether they liked it or not. Amongst them were two teachers, one sports coach, a police officer, and a musician. Kajal figured that with that impressive skill set, the guys should be able to keep twenty-or-so children safe and entertained for a few hours.
The cooks didn’t feel they needed to hold endless meetings, so they coordinated their plans via WhatsApp and Facebook. But Kajal decided the Entertainment Committee would need weekly face-to-face meetings to ensure the event ran smoothly. And so, one Thursday evening, Kajal found herself with eight reluctant guys in her lounge for their inaugural meeting.
Knowing they were largely unwilling participants, she combined the first meeting with a social event to help break the ice and make future meetings seem more appealing. She suspected that few of the guys knew each other well, and Kajal only had a nodding acquaintance with most of them, so she decided to put on beer and chicken wings to give the evening the feel of a lads’ night out.
And she was glad she did. The excuse to have a mid-week drink went down exceptionally well, and soon the guys were chatting like old friends. It wasn’t until most were on their third drink that Kajal called the meeting to order, asking them to introduce themselves individually, offer suggestions for the street party, and explain how their particular skills might contribute to the event.
Testosterone flowed as one guy after another embellished his CV, each trying to outdo the last with impressive tales of camping weekends, music workshops, and assault courses they had organised for young people. Finally, when Will, the police officer, proposed setting up an air rifle range in his garden on the day, Kajal decided to bring the one-upmanship to an end.
“Okay, guys. Loads of great ideas there, and you all have lots to offer, but let’s get the basics out of the way first. Most kids are under ten, so can anyone find us a bouncy castle?”
Immediately, almost all the guys remembered friends, brothers, or cousins who could get hold of a bouncy castle for the afternoon, no problem. And ideas for age-appropriate games began to flow freely.
It was then that Kajal realised that the guys weren’t just trying to score points off one another; they were trying to impress her. It hadn’t occurred to her that her presence would distract them so much, even as an attractive, single woman. After all, most of the guys were married or in relationships. But the competition to win her approval had generated considerable enthusiasm for the event, which Kajal hadn’t expected. In the circumstances, it seemed counter-productive to do anything other than encourage it. Harnessing their new-found positivity would ensure a successful street party, and she might even have some flirtatious fun along the way.
The evening was a complete success, and when each guy put in ten pounds for a beer fund, Kajal knew they would be back the following week. So, having delegated individual planning tasks to each committee member, Kajal drew the meeting to a close, telling them she needed to get to bed.
As the last guest left and Kajal switched off the lights, she wondered how many of the guys would have willingly followed her upstairs, given half a chance.
**********
On Monday of the following week, Kajal had retired to bed when she received an email saying her DNA test results were online. Perhaps now, the secrets of her family history would finally begin to unfold.
Apprehensively, she logged on and navigated her way around the various maps, charts, and lists revealing her family’s genetic heritage. But, as she had feared, the results shed little new light on her search. It seemed her ancestors originated exclusively from central India. Except for six per cent Maharashtrian heritage, her DNA strongly suggested her ancestors were all from Chhattisgarh, her parents’ home state.
Unperturbed, Kajal clicked on the ‘DNA Matches’ link, hoping it would reveal close family living in India, who were also on the database. But regrettably, almost all her matches were categorised as ‘Distant Relatives’, most of whom lived in Canada or the US, with the closest match being a fourth cousin, also living in London.
Kajal looked up what a fourth cousin was. It seemed she shared two of her thirty-two great, great, great grandparents with this woman, whoever she was. The numbers convinced her that the connection was sufficiently tenuous to render it meaningless.
The DNA results were unsurprising but a disappointment nonetheless. Still, Kajal reasoned that more and more people would join the DNA database in the future. So, resigning herself to a decades-long search for clues about her family, Kajal put down her iPad and tried to sleep.
But before long, she heard the sound of Jhansi and Sahil fucking on the other side of the wall. It was little wonder Aakash couldn’t sleep when his parents’ bedsprings were so creaky, Kajal thought. And since she could hear almost every word they were saying, it didn’t seem that the pair were trying particularly hard to keep their voices down either.
“Yes, Sahil. Take me from behind. Let me feel your big hard dick inside me.”
Kajal imagined Jhansi on her knees, her nightdress bunched around her waist and her head on a pillow as Sahil mounted her. She tried to picture Jhansi’s large, full breasts swinging back and forth inside her nightgown and Sahil spanking her round, naked bottom as he slowly fucked her.
She found her hand slipping under the waistband of her pyjamas. It wasn’t the first time Kajal had masturbated while listening to Jhansi and Sahil having sex. For some reason, it turned her on much more than porn or erotica. Of course, Kajal knew it was voyeuristic and that Jhansi would be horrified if she knew Kajal could hear them fucking. And she would be even more appalled to learn that Kajal masturbated while listening to them, but that just made it seem even more taboo and exciting. Kajal knew she would feel guilty afterwards, anxious that she had invaded her friend’s privacy. However, whenever the sounds began next door, Kajal couldn’t help but imagine the fucking Jhansi was receiving. And it was even more fun to simulate it using one of her many dildos.
Quickly, Kajal removed her pyjama bottoms. It seemed that Jhansi wanted Sahil to take his time and be gentle. The creaking of the bed springs was slow and metronomic, and as Kajal put one finger between her labia, she could feel how turned on she already was.
For now, she just wanted to feel the cold, sensual touch of her fingertips as she ran them gently over her pussy lips. Then, drawing up her knees, she pushed her hand as far between her thighs as she could, tracing the cleft of her bottom with one long fingernail, enjoying the sensation as it stimulated her anus.
The bed springs next door were still slowly creaking, and Kajal knew she didn’t have to rush. Even when going at it hammer and tongs, Sahil was a stayer, and it would be a few more minutes before things finally went quiet next door.
Parting her lips, Kajal ran two fingers over her hot sex, spreading her wetness over her swollen clitoris and labia. Then, reaching into the drawer of her bedside cabinet, she pulled out the velvet bag containing her eight-inch vibrating dildo. Kajal removed it from the bag, licked the tip and inserted it slowly. Her pussy welcomed the toy, its familiarity comforting as the shaft slipped effortlessly inside. Gently at first, Kajal began to slowly fuck herself in time with Sahil’s thrusts.