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Shubblie Publications © Jasmine Aziz 2009. All rights reserved.
Published by Shubblie Publications, Ottawa, Canadawww.shubbliepublications.com
Jasmine Aziz asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior and express written permission of the publisher.
This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, re-sold, hired out or otherwise circulated without the publisher’s prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
The opinions in this work are not to be taken as factual but are for pure entertainment. Any and all statistical information is used for the purposes of fiction and should not be considered absolute or accountable and accurate.
This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. No reference to any person is intended or should be inferred.
Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication
Aziz, Jasmine
Sex & samosas / Jasmine Aziz.
Issued also in an electronic format.
ISBN 978-0-9877357-0-6
I. Title. II. Title: Sex and Samosas
PS8601.Z59S49 2011 C813’.6 C2011-905487-6
Shubblie Publications Sex and samosas/Jasmine Aziz
Printed and bound in the United states of America
Cover design by Partner Publishing (www.partnerpublishing.com)
For my Mother
This book, as is my life,is dedicated to you
You never forget your first orgasm…
Chapter 1
It was a Saturday night sex party.
How could I turn it down?
Truth be told, in my infinite desire to get out of going, I could have come up with at least a dozen different reasons why I couldn’t, shouldn’t, didn’t want to go.
What exactly is a sex party? Does it involve naked people? Naked people on top of other naked people? Whips? Latex? What is latex? Okay, so maybe there was a small part of me that was actually more than a bit curious but how could it be better than the Saturday night I had planned at home with my husband in front of the television eating a bag of ghatia and wearing my fat pants?
I changed my outfit four times before I settled on a mocha turtleneck with beige pants. I clipped my mess of curly hair into a banana clip at the back of my head. When my best friend Mahjong arrived at my house she blurted out: “What are you wearing? You look like an overcooked spring roll. Change!”
“No way!” I insisted. “It took me forever to pick this out! And besides I like it, what’s wrong with it?”
“Nothing if it was still 1981. Come on, let’s go. Sorry I’m a bit late. I had last minute customers in my store.”
On the car ride over, I refrained from commenting on what Mahjong had done to her hair. She had dyed the top of her head bright red and left the bottom black. Her almond-shaped eyes were outlined in heavy black liner. She had found red mascara, God only knows where, and had applied it so thickly that I wondered how she could see through her lashes. On the side of her right eye she had glued a small diamond trio. “Like my bindis?” she asked.
“Those are bindis?”
“Yup. Funny eh, you’re the Indian and I’ve never seen you wear them. I wear them more than you ever have!”
“Screw you, Mahjong. I do wear them. I wear them when I go to functions.”
“Oh, functions,” she mocked. “Tonight’s a function. Why aren’t you wearing one now?”
Tonight was not a function. Born to two South Asian parents who were landed immigrants meant the only functions I ever went to were the ones where three quarters of the guests were either related to me or married to someone that was related to me. They were almost all events designed to celebrate the engagement of a couple, the marriage of a couple or the birth of the couple’s first child. Though this was a celebration of my friend Jenny’s wedding, I had a suspicion it wasn’t going to be like a typical Indian function.
The truth is I had never been to an Outside the Box party. I had only heard stories about them from Mahjong who is notorious for exaggerating.
“Is this what happens to you when you get out of your comfort zone?”
Mahjong cursed out loud as she cut off a van to get on the highway waving her middle finger
