The crowd around her that night was more than other nights. Must be the peak season with more Westerners riding the Maharajah express. Most came in groups of three four, chaperoned by a mama, must be their handler. The groups chatted, teased each other and laughed. A few like Malini were by themselves, they all chose to keep it to themselves. All in all about thirty men, women, both and neither waited to deliver their wares, themselves. Malini saw a few of the regulars, no words were exchanged just an acknowledgement signaled through their eyes without moving facial muscles. Delivering the highest level of pleasure or pain required more than just prepping your body, her mind needed to focus, talking depleted mental energy.
She was one of the few who spoke impeccable English and some French. This moved her up in preference tiers. But she was also a mix of genders, a hijra in the vernacular of the local folks, with supple and thin feminine body, ass, titties and a working penis. That reduced her appeal to select few. The boys were the most demanded, both the bottoms and tops. Perhaps the western palette liked the spicy penis and sugary brown ass of those men. Then came the girls in the next tier, straight up all natural girls to eat a tired old white man’s penis. She and her class was at the last rung, a few tourists who wanted some of this and some of that. The Golidlocks choice for men, so far it had only been men for Malini.
Prepping the body was no easy task either. The women and women like her needed most time and effort. A cottage industry of a cluster of parlors popped up in the town they lived to meet just this need. Top down trickle down economics did work. An economic boom in the Western countries made people flush with cash to travel east to India to blow their money on luxurious tourist train and on some flesh. Those who got a share of the dollars and euros were more than happy to spend some of it to support their business, consider it cost of goods sold. The town people with skills could still make a honest living by running beauty parlor for these sex workers who rode the night train.
There was an unspoken rule of segregation among beauty parlors. There were two serving cis women and one serving hijras. Her usual parlor didi (sister) knew her well and her routine for these evenings. Malini never learned her name despite sitting in her chair several times a week, she was just didi even though the two looked the same age. Didi knew what to do and do quickly, getting her favorite client ready for their train ride. Wash her natural long thick hair in the sink, conditioner with jasmine scent and blown dry. Parlor didi chose the style for the evening and Malini let her for she was thankful someone else made these small decisions for her. That evening did had done her hair in a top bun, hair pulled up and rolled into massive bun that sat just offset from top of her head. This exposed Malini’s long brown neck which did cleaned up with tweezers to make it smooth as granite. All this and makeup took a good part of the hour. By the time Malini changed to pink tissue sari with burnt orange blouse and matching petticoat the bus pulled up to take all those beautiful flesh to the flesh market.
Until that night.
Phones started buzzing in random sequence among the waiting crowd. Their work orders started coming in from the valets in the approach Maharajah Express, valets who had vetted the customer, found their likes, proposed an offering and made a match. First came the message on train car with cabin number and what is expected. Then the payment confirmation. They all would board the train when it made its first unannounced stop and get down at the second where the same bus that dropped them would be waiting to drive back to town. She had her client and was ready to board the train as it came to a stop in silence.
There were two many first times waiting for Malini that night. First time with another brown person and not a westerner. First time with a woman, cis or trans. First time she would feel this was not just a job. First time she would orgasm in a way she had never done before.
She checked the cabin number again before pushing it open, it was left unlatched as the valets had instructed. It was a spacious deluxe one for a single person. The same arrangement as so many she had been in except more spacious. Sitting near the window, with head leaned against the glass was a gorgeous caramel goddess. She had no makeup, just a clean washed face. Big glasses perched on her nose, her hair un-brushed or messy from day of traveling hung loose and fell just below her shoulders and stopped short of touching her breasts. She was in a clean cotton shirt, two top buttons undone showing her black bra supporting her enormous bosom. Her colorful skirt, she must have bought it when the train stopped at Jaipur, hung to her ankles that were adorned with silver ankles. Her feet was bare taking a breather from day of locked in walking shoes.
“Hello, welcome”, she called out, Her voice and English seemed accent free, her face smiled big when she spoke the words. “I am Radhika”, she pronounced it like most westerners would, “Ra-dee-Kaa” , and not its Indian pronunciation of, “Raaa-dhi-ka”.
“Come have a seat”, she pointed to the spot next to her on the recently made bed.
“What is your name hon?”, she removed her glasses and carefully stowed it in its case that read LV. Malini was no shy girl, you don’t make a living by being shy. “I am Ma-Lee-nee”, she always westernized her name instead of, “Maa-li-ni”. She sat where Radhika pointed and deposited her purse in the shelf built into the wall.
The train started moving, she could see a few people left out on the platform, the unlucky few with were unpicked. The train quickly left the station and started moving in steady speed. It was in no hurry to reach its next way point.
“Nice name Malini, I hope it is true that your penis works as promised for I need you to fuck my brains out before you drop off at the next stop”.
TO BE CONTINUED.