Pooja and Regis at Massasoit

"Dude, I told you before, my name is Pooja Manochahal, not frigging Poo-Poo, and if you poke my nose one more time, I swear will slap the shit out of you," said the diminutive, curvy, raven-haired and brown-skinned young Indian woman, speaking in a measured tone. Fearlessly she looked up at the tall, young Black man who stood before her, a smug smile on his rather handsome face. Taking a deep breath, Pooja eagerly awaited the brother's answer.

"You're so damn cute when you're angry, Poo-Poo," Regis Benton said, grinning like the Devil himself, and with that, he poked Pooja on the nose one more time. Or one time too many, depending on whom one asks. That's when the five-foot-two, tiny Indian woman flew at him, turning into a veritable cyclone of pent-up anger being released. As the tiny fury lashed out at him, Regis laughed as he batted Pooja's small but strong little hands away, finally getting his arms around her, holding her in a bear hug.

"Put me down you oaf," Pooja shouted, and Regis looked at her, and winced upon seeing the hurt look on her lovely face. Holding his hands up, he nodded, and Pooja shook her head, and glared at him through reddening eyes. Ever since she transferred to Massasoit Community College in Brockton, Massachusetts, from Tarn Taran District, Punjab State of India, life had definitely not been kind to Pooja.

It was bad enough that Pooja came to the United States of America as a refugee, ever since her parents, Sardul and Sonia Manochahal got into it with Minister Ahmed Khan, a local Muslim politician of ill repute, and were forced to go into hiding. Now that Pooja was living in the State of Massachusetts, attending a small local college, she had an insufferable young African American who wouldn't stop teasing her. Seriously, what in the name of Guru Nanak had she done to deserve this?

Pooja Manochahal came to the City of Brockton, Massachusetts, with the goal of integrating herself into American society and prepare for her eventual reunification with her parents. She knew it was only a matter of time before they left India and sought political asylum in the United States. Tensions between Sikhs and Muslims were at an all-time high in India, and Pooja feared for her parents safety. Since she'd just finished school at the time of the incident, they sent her to America, with the promise to rejoin her later.

Pooja hoped to become a permanent resident soon and be able to sponsor her parents. This meant studying hard and getting a good job, thus proving to the American immigration authorities that she was an asset to the nation, and not a burden. Adjusting to life in small-town America hadn't proved very easy for her. Pooja worked thirty hours a week at the Dunkin Donuts located near the Silver Line Train Station to pay her rent and tuition. Oh, and she hadn't made a lot of friends at her new school, Massasoit Community College...

"I'm sorry, Pooja, I didn't mean to, you know, bug you, I thought you were just kidding," Regis said, and when Pooja's eyes met his, she saw that the brother was genuinely sorry. He looked almost hurt by her words, if that were possible. Pooja sighed, and when the young man apologized and held out his hand, she shook it without hesitation. I'm a stranger here and must establish peaceful relations with the locals, Pooja thought magnanimously.

"Alright, Regis, I accept your apology, but let's establish some ground rules for this class project, no poking, no grabbing, and let's be respectful at all times, yes?" Pooja said, pointing her index finger at Regis for emphasis, and the young man smiled and nodded. With that, the two of them returned to the table by the library window, and resumed working on their class project.

"Professor Mackay wants us to discuss the impact of Black Lives Matter in American politics today, we should focus on the birth of the movement and its aims and gains," Regis said, speaking in a crisp businesslike tone. Sitting across from him, Pooja was surprised by the change in Regis tone and demeanor. Initially, Pooja had dismissed him as the class clown type, and been slightly offended by the way Regis criticized her traditional Sikh wear on the first day of class.

"Americans know very little about what goes on in the world beyond their borders and have zero respect for other cultures," said Amrit, Pooja's landlady, when the young Sikh woman asked about what she could expect on her first day at Massasoit Community College. Pooja had been initially doubtful, thinking the old Indian woman only wanted to scare her, and then she walked into her first class, and everyone, including the minority students like Regis here, looked at her as though she were an alien from Mars.

Pooja had little interest in Western women's clothing, and came to America with a ton of traditional outfits from India. The young Sikh woman wore her Salvar Kameez, traditional Sikh women's wear, with utmost pride. Let them stare at her loose-fitting Salvar pants, her Dastar turban, and her loose-fitting Kameez shirt all they wanted. I am a Sikh woman and proud, Pooja thought that first day, undaunted by the Americans and their stares, which ranged from puzzled to hostile.

"Why are American police so violent? It seems that they like to shoot first and ask questions never," Pooja said, mystified as she looked at an image on her laptop. According to the web news, a black man who was stopped by the police while driving around with his lady and her daughter was shot by a Latino cop even though he was compliant and posed no threat to the police officer in question. In India, police could be a bit rough around the edges sometimes, but they paled in comparison to American police, apparently...

"They're like that because they hate brothers, they are slowly exterminating us," Regis replied with a sad shake of his head, and there was a hollow, haunted look on his face. Pooja looked into his eyes and saw none of the infuriating mirth that she usually considered his trademark "Regis" look. Leaning back in his chair, Regis pursed his lips and looked at Pooja, and for the first time she'd known him, he seemed hesitant...

"Regis, are you okay?" Pooja heard herself ask, even though she really ought to be focusing on the class project, on which thirty percent of her grade depended, and not on the campus playboy's mental state. Regis nodded, and flashed Pooja that fearless smile of his, except this time it did not fool her one bit. Pooja's own father had been a sergeant in the Indian Army, and while a loving husband and father, he was not the most expressive man in the world. Pooja saw right through her father's armor, just like she could see through Regis tough guy act...

"I'm cool, don't you worry your pretty head about it, Miss Manochahal, now, let's focus on the project," Regis said, still smiling, and Pooja grinned. For she was impressed, both with how he managed to pronounce her last name correctly instead of butchering it like so many Americans had, and how he kept up his tough-guy act. Men are the same everywhere, I swear, Pooja thought, smiling slyly.

"Wow, Regis, you pronounced my last name correctly, I'm impressed," Pooja replied, and Regis laughed out loud, flashing some of the whitest teeth she'd ever seen. They continued bantering and working, and then took a break for lunch. Exiting the library, they walked a couple hundred meters to the nearby cafeteria, which was packed at this hour.

"Pooja, what are you having? It's on me, I feel bad about bugging you earlier," Regis said, and Pooja looked at him and smiled, pleasantly surprised. They lined up behind the fifty or so people who were buying food in the small cafeteria. Pooja looked at the food under the transparent covers, mostly sandwiches, and pizza. Crème de le crème as far as American cuisine was concerned, and yet the Yanks dared to make fun of Indian cuisine, dismissing it as 'endless variations of curry'. Ha!

"Thank you, Regis, I'll have a sandwich, fries and a Pepsi please," Pooja stated with a smile, and Regis nodded, and then took out his dark blue Bank of America debit card. After they got their food, Pooja and Regis sat at a corner of the cafeteria, by the window. As to be expected, even at this racially diverse school, the sight of a tall, burly young black man and a short, chubby young Indian woman in traditional attire got a lot of looks. Welcome to the United States of America, Pooja thought with a smile.

"So, what's life like in the Punjab State of India, birthplace of your beautiful Sikh religion?" Regis said, smiling at Pooja as he took a bite out of his sandwich. Pooja sipped her Pepsi, and then smiled at him. For the second time that day, the young African American surprised her with his candor. Pooja sensed that Regis was smart and decent underneath his smart-mouthed, tough-guy exterior. Why was he hiding it?

"Hmm, Punjab State is a beautiful place, we're the most storied area of India, and have bred the toughest warriors, when the Arabs invaded, we Sikhs fought them more fiercely than any other group in India, and we're damn proud of that," Pooja said, and a faraway look crept into her lovely face. A deep, soulful longing that Regis understood all too well...

"You miss Punjab State and your parents, I take it, I pray you are reunited with them someday," Regis said thoughtfully, and Pooja blinked in surprise. Regis bit his lip, and she looked at him, wondering what brought this on. The way he looked at her, it was as if he understood what her life was like. No way, Pooja thought, and Regis drew closer, and brushed his hand against hers.

"Thank you, I guess, it's a nice thing to say, but you don't know anything about my family," Pooja said at last, a bit uncomfortable. Upon hearing that, Regis nodded, then fell silent. He looked at his paper plate, which was nearly empty, and looked at his watch. Whatever he had to in order to avoid looking at me, Pooja thought, mystified by the change in Regis behavior. This is very uncomfortable territory for both of us, Pooja thought.

"I know what it's like to long for family, Pooja, after all, I was put up for adoption and never adopted, and I was raised by the State of Massachusetts," Regis said, and Pooja stared at him, stunned. She considered the raw implications of what Regis was saying. The poor brother is an orphan, Pooja thought, and before she could say anything else, Regis rose from his chair, and walked away.

"Regis," Pooja called out, and he turned around, smiled sadly, grabbed his backpack and walked away, tucking his hands into his pockets. The young woman sat down, and shook her head. She thought of what she'd just said to Regis, and closed her eyes, hard. I've been such a bitch, Pooja thought. Looking down at her meal, she realized she'd lost her appetite. Rising from her chair, Pooja headed back to the library. What a day, she thought, amazed and saddened at the same time.

Regis Benton walked through the sunlit quad, and headed away from the library, toward the gym. He found a bench near a copse of trees which provided much-needed shade from the sun, and much privacy. Satisfied, he sat down. Not for the first time, Regis wondered what it was that drew him to Pooja Manochahal. He'd seen Indian women before, and none of them had that effect on him. Whenever he looked at Pooja, Regis heart went tum-tum in his chest. To mask his feelings, he teased her. He learnt better and opened up to her instead. And now it backfired...

Regis Benton looked around the Massasoit Community College campus, which had been his stomping ground for quite some time. With so many other young African American, Latino and Asian folks whom he knew from his Brockton Academy days around, he felt quite at home. Benton dated gorgeous girls, played basketball for the school and was now considering transferring to a Division One school like Boston College or Northeastern University after graduation.

After all, Regis knew his grades were excellent and at six-foot-three and 230 pounds, he was the kind of point guard that any Division One NCAA school needed on its varsity basketball lineup. Regis had always excelled at both sports and academia, a fact which surprised a lot of people throughout his lifetime because he looked like the 'rough and tumble' type.

People didn't expect Regis Benton to be the kind of deep, thoughtful brother who read Nietzsche, or quoted everyone from Che Guevara to Nelson Mandela, from Barack Obama to Tupac Shakur, from Shaka Zulu to Julius Caesar. That's why Regis learned to hide his true feelings, and acted one way while thinking another way. He had the mind of a genius and the body of an athlete, but he played to the stereotypes to catch people unawares when they dared to underestimate him. It was fun. Pooja, though, she got to Regis, and that wasn't something which happened often.

"I must apologize to Regis, he's been so good to me, and I've been such a bitch to him," Pooja thought, remembering how, even though he relentlessly teased her, the brother helped her a lot. Indeed, he helped her get the job at Dunkin Donuts, where his good friend Paolo worked, and so much more. When Pooja got lost on campus, Regis often helped. The dude was quite nice, underneath his tough-guy swagger, she had to admit.

A burst of insight shot through Pooja's mind, and the young woman began to walk toward the gym. Next to the Massasoit Community College library, it was one of Regis favorite places. A few times, unable to find a prayer space, Pooja did her Nitnem Banis ( daily prayers ) on the soft grass in the field located behind the gym. She liked the area. It was nice and peaceful, when there weren't a lot of people around, of course.

"There you are," Pooja said, and she smiled hesitantly as she approached Regis, whom she found lying on the grass, his discarded backpack on the bench next to him. The young man looked up, and blinked in surprise, clearly he wasn't expecting her. Pooja bit her lip, and when Regis eyes met hers, her heart skipped a beat. Such a beautiful young man, Pooja thought, amazed.

"Um, hello," Regis said as he sat up, and Pooja boldly stepped forward, and took a deep breath. After a brief hesitation, she apologized for her earlier words, words she knew cut Regis to his core. The young man held his hand up but Pooja would not stop, and she continued to apologize profusely, and that's when Regis looked her up and down and smiled. A sly look crept into his face, and Pooja narrowed her eyes in wonder.

"Oh, what the hell?" Pooja cried out, as Regis suddenly lashed out with a foot, tripping her up. Moving with the reflexes of a conditioned athlete, he caught her before she could fall. The young woman gasped in surprise, then smiled at Regis as he held her in those strong arms of his. Pooja grabbed him by the jaw and shook her head, amazed at Regis boldness.

"Well, cutie, I accept your apology but you were going like the energizer bunny and I got scared," Regis said, laughing. Pooja looked at this handsome, infuriating American, and an idea sprang into her mind. Without another word, she grabbed him and kissed him. Regis, though initially surprised by such a bold move from the rather conservative Pooja, nevertheless kissed her back.

"I finally found a way to shut you up, Regis," Pooja said slyly, when they came up for air. Regis grinned, and kissed her again, and they embraced passionately. Regis and Pooja rolled around on the grass, and she found herself on top of him. Regis smiled adoringly at Pooja, who tenderly stroked his face. Just like that, the two of them began making love.

"Hello beautiful," Regis said, and he smiled up at Pooja and gently caressed her breasts through her cream-colored Kurti outfit, and Pooja smiled and unwrapped her Sikh turban, freeing her long, curly dark hair. Regis caressed her lovely face, astonished by her beauty and raw sensuality. Pooja sucked his thumb, and flashed him a hungry smile. Playfully he caressed her derriere, and Pooja sighed happily.

"Make love to me," Pooja demanded, and Regis kissed her once more, and his hand slid under her Kurti dress, and pinched her nipples. At the same time, her hands roamed all over his hard, masculine body. Regis gasped when he felt Pooja's small, strong hands on his crotch, and she unzipped his pants, freeing his dick. Pooja grinned upon noticing that Regis wasn't wearing underwear, and began stroking him...

"Oh yes," Regis said, moaning sharply as Pooja pumped her hands up and down his dick. Think of her pleasure before your own, Regis thought to himself, remembering words of wisdom from the first female he ever hooked up with. Kissing the lovely and very sensual Pooja full and deep, he laid her on the soft grass and went to work off her. Lifting her Kameez shirt, Regis began caressing and licking her breasts.

"Hmm, this is nice," Pooja whispered, smiling faintly as Regis kissed her breasts, while his hand slipped inside her baggy Salvar pants. The young woman gasped as she felt her lover's hand against her sex. Regis smiled at Pooja and kissed her lips, and then he began fingering her pussy. Initially tense, Pooja relaxed and enjoyed as Regis began pleasuring her.

"Just relax, my sweet," Regis cooed softly, and he slipped Pooja's pants off, and yanked down her panties, before pausing to admire her hairy, wet pussy. Smiling at her, Regis brought his face before her pussy lips and kissed them, then slid his tongue inside. Without further ado, he went down on his lover, and Pooja began to moan and squeal, loving what Regis was doing to her.

"Hmm, continue, please," Pooja said softly, and Regis winked at her as he continued to eat her pussy. Flicking his tongue over her clit, he fingered her pussy, causing Pooja to shudder violently as she continued to moan and squeal, tumbling toward ecstasy, as they say. When the young woman finally came, shrieking at the top of her lungs, Regis held Pooja tightly and admired his handiwork. An orgasmic woman is a wonder to behold...

"Come here gorgeous," Regis said, a few moments later, as Pooja straddled him. The young woman stroked his dick, and smiled slyly at him. He watched as she rose up slightly, and guided his dick into herself. Regis sighed happily as his manhood was ensnared in Pooja's pussy. At last they were one. Bucking his hips, he thrust into her and just like that, the two of them continued with their impromptu but passionate lovemaking.

"Oh yes, Regis, go harder," Pooja squealed, and she locked eyes with him, her fingernails digging into the flesh of his shoulders as she supported herself while impaled on his dick. Regis groaned with effort as Pooja continued to grind against him. For such a small woman, she had a lot of passion. The diminutive cutie was like a sexual cyclone. Pooja rode him hard, and Regis slammed his dick into her pussy, which pulsed hotly and gripped his dick like a damn vise. Regis pumped his dick into her, and Pooja gave as good as she got. After what seemed like forever, the two of them collapsed on the soft grass...

"Welcome to America, my angel," Regis said, and he smiled at Pooja, and then, impulsively, he took her tiny hand and brought it to his lips. Pooja smiled, pleased by such a sweet gesture, considering the merciless pounding Regis just gave her. Indeed, her pussy was sore, but in a good way. The two of them looked at each other and smiled, and then rose and readjusted their clothes.

"Hmm, I think I'm going to like it here, and by the way, this is what you get for calling me Poo-Poo and poking my nose all those damn times," Pooja said, and she playfully slapped Regis butt, causing the towering young African American to jerk awkwardly, shocked. Regis looked at Pooja who smiled slyly, a mischievous look on her beautiful face. What a woman, Regis thought, amazed.

"Pooja, you're new here so I must warn you, us American brothers, well, you see, we have a serious taste for bossy women so if you keep this up, I'm going to make you mine and refuse to let you go back to India," Regis said, laughing, and then, for the second time that day, he grabbed his favorite Sikh cutie and lifted her up in his arms. Pooja pretended to fight, and then grabbed his face and kissed him.