Mrs. Rashid

He stared at her breasts intently, while handing her the change. For the first time in her life, Mrs. Rashid was secretly pleased by the results of her Miracle Bra. Ten years ago, she would have slapped the guy. But today, she welcomed the looks. She took her time fishing through her purse for her car keys while the clerk at the 7-11 counter had an imaginary conversation with her chest.

Sanjay was deep in thought, gazing at the gold pendant lying on the old broad’s chest. “She must be loaded,” he thought. It was his first day working at his uncle’s 7-11. He wondered how much it would cost to buy a necklace like that and send it to his poor mother in India. But it was too early to start dreaming. He focused his attention on the slow lady again.

Mrs. Rashid found her keys at last and headed out, making sure she swayed her hips a bit more than usual. She had been feeling quite lousy for the past couple of months. From the day she caught Mr. Rashid and his secretary Suzie doing the ‘subhanallah’ on his office desk, she had been feeling sexually inferior and discarded. Her children had started their own lives in college, and now her husband had ditched her for his blonde secretary. She was at an all time low in her middle age life.

He watched as she went outside and drove away in a shiny black Benz. Sanjay was awestruck by this display of wealth. He thought about the lady all day. But he didn’t need to think about her too much. She started coming every day to get a cup of coffee and the New York Times. They exchanged smiles and little bits of conversation about politics and the weather. To Sanjay, Mrs. Rashid was a rich middle age Pakistani lady, an Aunty you could say. But to Mrs. Rashid, Sanjay was a delightful piece of dark chocolate just out of her reach.

Mrs. Rashid’s desperation soon got the better of her when she spotted Sanjay having a cigarette outside the store. In her sweetest honey mustard voice, she talked to him about his life, his studies, and what he liked to do. Sanjay was flattered and surprised at the attention he was getting by this rich broad. But he had heard his friends talk about older women and how they were hot for young creatures like him. He couldn’t help getting excited over the prospect of Mrs. Rashid actually wanting him.

Minutes turned into hours, and meetings outside the store turned into clandestine outings every other weekend. Mrs. Rashid made sure Sanjay ducked down in the passenger seat, lest someone spot her with him. She once even went so far as to have him wear a hijab, in which he looked like a very ugly girl sitting next to her.

They were together when the car crashed into a tree and both of them died, still virgins to each other. That’s when the gossip began. “She seemed like such a nice wife and mother, can you believe she was having an affair, and that with a younger man, tobah! That too with an Indian! Astaghfarillah… It is the curse of Amreeka I tell you,” said one Pakistani lady, former friend of Mrs. Rashid. “She was a bad woman, unfaithful woman,” the men at the mosque consoled Mr. Rashid. “She deserved to die the awful death.” Mr. Rashid felt better. He continued fucking his secretary.