Saali - 4

Just to remind you :-

Mousumi 5’10” / 90 kg / 39 years
Aman 5’3” / 63 kg / 40 years


I stirred gently in Mousumi’s lap. My head was still resting on her soft warm chest, her hand rhythmically combing through my hair, as if time had paused in her embrace. The lights were dim. Mousumi with her massive 5’9 and 90 kilos solid womanly grace, sat cross-legged on the divan, her back resting against the bolsters, holding me like one would a weary child—except I wasn’t a child. I was her brother-in-law, a grown man… 40 years old, actually a year older than her… and yet, here I was—curled into her lap, eyes closed, lips parted in a calm surrender I never thought possible.

I heard the soft creak of the door opening. My wife stepped in. I almost jerked up in panic, but Mausumi’s hand pressed gently on my back—“Shhh… still,” she whispered.

But there was no anger on my wife’s face. No shock. No awkwardness.
Just… a knowing, tired little smile.

She walked in quietly and sat on the armchair beside the divan, watching the two of us. Her eyes weren’t hurt—they were thoughtful. As if she’d already seen this in her heart long ago.

I closed my eyes again, still in Mausumi’s lap. Time blurred. I drifted in and out of a half-sleep.

Later that evening, I noticed something strange. My wife called Mousumi into our bedroom. They shut the door softly. But I had a feeling it wasn’t just a casual chat.

Quietly, I crept out of the sofa and tiptoed toward the door. It was slightly ajar. I leaned in close, not daring to breathe.

My wife’s voice, soft but steady.
“Didi… please don’t be angry. I… I need to speak openly. I know about my husband’s fantasy.”

There was silence. Then a small chuckle from my wife, nervous. “You see Mousumi didi, I know my husband has a fantasy about tall women and dreams about getting lifted and carried by them. He hadn't told me openly, but during our honeymoon he wanted me to cradle him in the hotel room. I did carry him. But I'm not tall and not heavy. I'm even shorter than him by 1 inch. He wanted me to wear 3 inch heels, so that I look taller than him. 

But I personally do not like all this. I think tall and strong women are …how can I put it …masculine. I'm not talking about you. You are my sister. But generally speaking…
So I could not bring myself to entertain his fantasy. 

So from then on, I find him somewhat cold to me…cold meaning…cold in bed—he’s distant, it's like…I feel that he cannot excite himself lying beside me. I don’t find that sensual urge inside him.

But otherwise he is a very loving and dutiful husband. Very gentle, very kind, very caring. He loves me…but it's not romantic...more out of duty.
He doesn't have any physical attraction towards me. I know he's quietly dying inside, trying to hide his secret need for his kind of.…tall woman. And I’m tired of pretending I don’t see it.

But please do not tell him. He thinks I do not know. One day I opened his browser. He hadn’t cleared his history. There were videos… all of tall women lifting men. Cradle carries. Lap holding. 
There were stories …online ‘lift and carry / tall women’ stories. Women like… well, like you… Tall. Strong. Big. Affectionate. Almost maternal.”

My heart was pounding in my chest. I felt like I’d swallowed a stone.

Then I heard her say something that sent a tremor through me—
“You’re the only one who can help him, Didi. You’re tall, strong. You’re only one year younger than him. But you’re so much bigger. He trusts you. He relaxes in your arms. I saw it today… you rocked him to sleep like a baby. He’s never done that with me.

I have a suspicion …. his secretary is tall and big …. I have a suspicion that he may be having an affair with his secretary. 

I had been to one of his office parties with him. His secretary came up to talk to him. They were standing quite close. He had to look up to her face, she was so much taller than him. I saw a glow in his face. It was evident that he was enjoying her company. I am scared, Didi. I am afraid that he will fall for her. That girl is married. But so what. You never know what can happen.
Or maybe he will get attracted to other tall women at work or even elsewhere.

Please Didi, please help me.

Please Didi... just give him that space. Be that person for him. You’re not a stranger. You’re family. And if you stay with us… it will give him that secret comfort at home. He won’t go searching for it elsewhere. It will be helpful if you can lift and carry him sometimes. You are so much taller and bigger and stronger than him. Just like he fantasizes. 

Mausumi didi, YOU can only save my marriage. Let him get all his fantasy at home from you. So he will not look at other tall big women at work or elsewhere.

Tell your parents that your school is closer to our house. Shift in, Mausumi didi. Stay with us. I’ll talk to my mother. I’ll manage everything.”

You won’t tell him, will you, Didi? Let him believe he’s hiding it. That way he won’t feel ashamed.”

I couldn’t hear Mausumi’s reply. Just then, I heard the shuffle of my mother in law’s slippers coming down the corridor. I quickly slipped away and pretended to search for a glass of water in the kitchen, my hands trembling.


Later that night, I lay awake in bed. My wife was asleep beside me, breathing slow and steady. My mind kept going back to that conversation. The pain in her voice. The quiet, desperate love behind her words. The tenderness in the way she spoke of my strange longing. And most of all—her trust in Mousumi.

And what had Mousumi thought? Had she expected this? Would she take that responsibility?

I didn't know.
But somehow… I felt even more vulnerable now. Exposed.

And yet—strangely safe.

Because two women… two very different women… had seen into my most secret corner and didn’t recoil.
One wanted to protect me.
The other wanted to understand me.
And both… were ready to hold me…in their own respective ways.


I couldn’t get over what I had just overheard.

My wife had said it… out loud. Everything I thought was still my secret—she knew. And not just that—she had shared it with Mousumi. And even asked her to help “save our marriage”… by carrying me in her arms…

I couldn’t even process it.

That night, I lay silently in bed. My wife beside me, breathing evenly in sleep. But my mind was a storm. Did Mousumi agree? Did she feel awkward now? Would things change between us?


The next morning, I stayed in my room, avoiding eye contact with both of them. Until—

A soft knock.

“Ei…,” came Mausumi’s voice, low and affectionate.

I turned and saw her standing at the door, a gentle smile on her face, wearing a loose cotton kurti and her usual calm presence. Magnificent - tall - big…but yet so feminine.
But there was something extra in her eyes today. A softness. A sadness. Maybe a tenderness.

Mausumi comes to my room with a cup of tea, knowing everything—and I pretend I don’t know what she knows... but the silence between us grows deeper, warmer.

She walked up slowly, holding out her arms.

Before I could react, she sat on the edge of the bed and reached for me. I froze. Then melted.

As if it was the most natural thing, she picked me up—first wrapping her strong arms under my thighs and shoulders—and slowly drew me into a tight cradle. She straightened up and gently rocked me side to side, like I was something precious.

I looked at her, confused. “Mausumi..I overheard…I just can't believe … did she really…tell you all that?”

She nodded, brushing a hand down my hair. “Hmm. And I told her she’s braver than you.”

I blinked. “Why?”

“Because she told me ‘your’ truth. You never could.”

I looked down, ashamed, “But I did tell you yesterday. I couldn't tell anybody else…but I told you…”

She held me tighter. She started walking with me cradled against her chest 

“You don’t have to feel guilty for what you feel,” she whispered. “A fantasy is just a part of your soul trying to be seen.”

Then, softly, she bent her head and kissed my forehead. “And your Mausumi sees you.”

I couldn’t hold back anymore. In her arms, still cradled like a child, I spoke quietly.

“I used to day dream about this… A tall woman... lifting me up as if I weighed nothing. I used to imagine her carrying me around, sometimes in her cradle, sometimes on her chest, like a baby...”

Her chest rose and fell beneath me as she listened. Not laughing. Not judging.

I went on, “Even during school and college when I saw tall girls, even senior girls; or some of my friends’ mothers; even a few of our teachers… who were tall or big-built…something stirred in me. It wasn’t lust. It was… a craving. Like I wanted to feel small standing beside them …I don't know …it was an odd sort of feeling good…I knew it was strange, it was weird… But I loved that feeling…”

Mausumi was silent for a long moment. Holding me tightly in her arms..cradled on her chest. She carried me and went and stood by the window, looking down on me, curled up in her arms, resting my head on her chest.

“You know why I love lifting you?” she said, her voice thick. “Because when I hold you, I feel needed. I feel like I matter to someone again. Also not just that. I feel whole when I hold you. Complete.”

She adjusted me on her arms again, rocking slowly. I could feel a tear fall onto my cheek—but it wasn’t mine. It was hers.

“I may be strong outside, but I feel so alone inside. And now, your wife… she has given me this space. This silent permission to love you. In my way. Quietly. Deeply. Without breaking any boundary.”

At that moment, my wife gently opened the door.

She saw me lying stretched across Mousumi’s cradle. Not just in her arms—but in her heart.

But instead of any surprise, she smiled.

“Didi… should I bring your tea here?” she said.

Mousumi nodded, her hand still on my back. “Hmm. Make it extra strong. He’s heavy today,” she joked.

My wife laughed softly and left.


From then on, things quietly changed—but only inside our home.

Mousumi became part of our house, as planned. Her excuse to her mother and my mother-in-law was simple: closer to school, and easier to commute.

In private, she became my world.

Sometimes, she would come into my room after her school, throw her dupatta on the chair, stretch her big arms, and simply lift me into a tight hug—my legs off the ground, my body pressed against her soft, strong frame.

In the evenings, when my wife was preparing dinner, Mausumi would call me to the balcony, sit on a cane chair and pat her lap like always.

“Come, baby boy, come on, I haven’t picked you up for so long”

And then I’d climb onto her, letting her carry me in a new way each time.

Some days, she'd hoist me in a koala hug, my arms and legs wrapped around her, her arms firmly holding my thighs as she walked around the room. Other days, she’d lift me up from behind, her arms around my chest, whispering, “Do you see? A big tall woman is holding you up like you weigh nothing?...this is no daydream of yours, my dear…this is reality!”

At night, when my wife fell asleep.. I lay awake. Mausumi would tiptoe into my room, pull me gently into her arms, and carry me away to her room. I would feel so helpless, as if a big tall woman, of my same age, is kidnapping me and carrying me away to her room…and I can't do anything. 

My fantasy became a reality.

She would whisper stories from her school days while lying back, my head on her shoulder, legs draped across her sari-covered body.

But never did she carry me in front of outsiders. Not even my mother-in-law.

Mousumi kept it sacred. Gentle. Our secret heaven.

And I had stopped calling her Didi. Not even Mousumi Didi.
Just Mousumi.


The rain had begun sometime after sunset. A low rumble of thunder rolled in, and by the time I closed my laptop, the sky outside had turned an angry grey. Curtains fluttered with every gust of wind, and occasional flashes of lightning lit up the room for seconds at a time.

I didn’t want to leave my room..

I sat on the edge of the bed, hugging my knees. The thunder rolled again—louder now. My body jerked involuntarily. 

She closed the door gently and came toward me.

She didn’t say anything at first. Just took my hand and guided me to sit cross-legged on the bed.

Then, without needing permission, without asking, she sat behind me—her legs spread out, and gently, like muscle memory, she pulled me back into her lap.

My back rested against her chest. Her long, strong arms wrapped around me—one resting gently across my stomach, the other cradling my shoulder. Her cheek brushed against the top of my head.

She gently repositioned me to face her now—still sitting on her lap, legs dangling over her thighs.

Her palms cupped my cheeks. Her thumbs softly stroked my temples.

I looked up at her—so much taller, broader than me, even though she is actually a year younger. Her thick arms around me, her thighs like cushions beneath me.

“You’re not alone in your longing,” she said. “You wanted someone to hold you. I needed someone to hold.”

A louder crack of thunder startled me again—and instinctively, she pulled me tighter.

Without thinking, I let my head drop against her chest. Her heartbeat thumped calmly beneath my ear.

Then, as if to drive her point deeper, she adjusted her hold—and before I realized it, she had slipped one hand under my knees and the other behind my back. With practiced ease, she lifted me up—cradled in her arms now, not just in her lap.

My legs dangled uselessly in the air. My cheek pressed into her collarbone. I let out a shaky breath. I felt her arms strong under me. My body was lifted high above the floor, and with it, something inside me had risen too.

No one was watching.

No judgment.

Just rain outside—and inside, a quiet bond sealed between two broken pieces that fit.

She carried me to the window. Stood there holding me tightly on her breasts. Looking outside at the thunderous skies. Her voice, steady and low, said, “I won’t let this marriage break, no matter what. But I’ll also not let you keep hiding who you are.”

She leaned forward and kissed the top of my forehead.

“I’ll hold you,” she whispered. “For as long as you need. In my arms, on my lap, across my shoulder…anywhere you want to feel safe.”

I closed my eyes.

Thunder rolled again.

But I didn’t flinch.

As the rain lashed against the windows and thunder grumbled in the distance, I lay curled in Mousumi’s cradle. Her arms wrapped around me protectively, one hand gently stroking my hair. My arms wrapped around her neck. She was gently rocking me. 

The room was dimly lit, warm and quiet, and I had long stopped pretending I wasn’t enjoying it.

There was a soft sound of the bedroom door creaking open. I turned my head just a little—and saw my wife step in gently, barefoot, a faint smile playing on her lips. Her eyes took in the scene—me lying small and folded in Mousumi’s lap, her arms cocooned around me, my cheek resting against the curve of her chest.

She didn’t speak for a moment. Then she walked closer and bent over my face, her voice soft—tender, not accusing.

"So... this is where you feel safe, hmm?"

I didn’t know what to say. My face flushed. But I didn’t move from Mausumi’s lap either.

She gently brushed my cheek with her fingers.

"I know everything, you know. What you like. What you’ve always liked… even before me. The tall, strong women. Being small in their arms. That old fantasy you try to hide even from yourself sometimes."

My eyes darted nervously between her and Mousumi, but Mousumi just held me a little tighter. My wife smiled gently again.

"I’m not angry or upset," she continued. "You’re mine. But I also know I can’t be what you need in this... completely. I tried—those heels.. remember.. lifting you once on our honeymoon—but I saw it in your eyes. You need to feel small. You need to be held... like this. And she—" she glanced at Mousumi with a warm, respectful nod, "—she gives you that."

Mausumi’s hand didn’t stop caressing my hair.

My wife leaned closer and whispered in my ear, her words kind but full of meaning:

"You don’t have to be ashamed. Not with us. Let her hold you. Let her be the arms that give you comfort. And come to me with your heart. That’s enough for me."

Then she stood up, placed a soft kiss on my cheek, and turned to Mausumi:

"Take care of my little one tonight. I’ll sleep in Ma’s room."

And before I could respond, she was gone—leaving behind only the gentle sound of rain, and the quiet, warm world of Mousumi’s embrace.


( To be continued..)

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