Musings//Skin

I know not which is more frenzied,

my mind, or the rain outside.

So I let myself go.

Hours pass by,

so much left to explore.

But only as much as you’ll allow me to show.

*****

The sinking is inevitable.

Sometimes I burn too bright for my own good.

I wouldn’t, 

if only someone’d teach me how much I should.

My eyes will tell you so much more than my mouth,

dig deeper, deeper still

Retract gently, with infinite kindness

After you’ve had for your fill.

*****

I like when we frolick,

Without a care,

So vulnerable and bare,

Stuck in time, hoping to stay there.

I like that you trace the contours of my body,

As I feel the stubble on your chin.

Feel my skin,

Never the pain within. 

Nicotine

Your eyes blue in the light are often grey

Just like what we have going on.

I shouldn’t cross some lines.

I wouldn’t, if I knew what they were.

You want to hold me, stay inside me.

You open up to me

And yet you say I’m not someone 

You can love.

That’s alright I suppose

Just be gentle, be kind.

It hurts to get back up

On your own

And I’ve done it so many times

That it no longer scares me.

My fire in my cunt burns like summer

But my embrace is warm like the winter sun.

You say you know love

You don’t.

You mistake it for security, a comforting future.

 I will teach you everything all over again,

If nothing else,

L,

Not mine.

Just, L. 

waterfall

I feel many things today. ‘Pleasantly surprised’ doesn’t cut it. More like dazed. 

It had been a while and my mind needed a release. I figured it’d be just like any other day of us fooling around.

He spent an eternity stimulating me and as he entered me, things felt familiar and yet they weren’t quite. 

For a second every thing became a blur. I was no longer in my body. 

I orgasmed heavily, squirting all over his couch. I didn’t even know my body was capable of it. He came a few seconds later as I was still reeling, feeling the liquid in my fingers as it ran down my thighs. Like water. Like elixir. 

I stared at the wet patch on his couch, unapologetic. If anything he should feel pride in being able to get me there. 

L, the one who made me squirt for the first time.

That’s one incredibly large tick off the bucket list! 

toothbrush

He makes a deep, guttural sound when he ejaculates during an orgasm. We are in a different room this time. I like this bed. I don’t know if it’s ever used otherwise. It’s kindda sweet that he remembers everything I say. 

“We should christen the other rooms too...do it everywhere in your house” I had joked to him on a previous occasion. He was listening afterall. 

After the disaster that was our conversation some time ago, I think we have both been trying to make an effort to be kinder to each other,  be more open. I like when he tells me stories from his childhood. He seems happy, excited. 

All I want is for him to be happy. All I want is for him to be without pain. I guess I’m falling a little bit in love with him everytime we are together. I feel a wave of affection as I clutch him in my bosom and run my fingers through his hair. 

I notice the toothbrush is in his bathroom still. The one I’d used on a previous weekend when I was spending the night. 

“I want to bite you. I want to pleasure you”

His grip around my neck strengthens and his thrusts get deeper. But he holds back. “I am scared I might hurt you” 

Later I asked him where that came from. Very unlike him. “I read it somewhere”, he blushed. 

**********

It feels quite nice to have a system. We start with making mojitos. He’s in charge of the main things and I do the rest. Subtle domestication as we set the table, clear it afterwards. 

**********

It feels good to shower with him in the mornings and sometimes before going to bed at night. 

“Wait, what’s the plan?” He asks as I wriggle around. 

“Can you fetch my bag from the living room and meet me in the shower?”

I think it’s kind of hot that he wears the robe with a tiny stain on it. My stain on it. Tonight we have been naughty. And intimate. So intimate. So carnal. 

************

While fucking him last night, I couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck. I’m falling in love with him. Fuccccckkkkkk”

“Where are you?”

Only this time I was right there, with him. I didn’t run like a coward, I didn’t stop myself. 

My heart is going to get so, so broken eventually but I can’t help it. As I lie on him post coitus, I admit to him that my caution comes from a place of terrible abandonment issues. 

He tries to understand, like everything else. 

I feel like you're starting to take me for granted. I want you to be the one I talk to, the one I share my hopes and fears with.
But I see you slowly starting to take my company for granted.

Familiarity breeds nonchalance.


So I let my mind run to him.

How beautiful I felt to be with him.

I want to substitute you with him. I wish he was holding me and cradling me to sleep tonight. I wish I could kiss his mouth and feel him so deep inside of me.


I am greedy. And a little bit in love.


I don't want comfortable. I want insanely passionate.


I want to clutch his head in my hands and whimper, beg him to stop and enter me. I want to kiss him till dawn breaks. I want to feel him inside me. I am desperate. I want his touch, I want his affection.

I want  him.

(pre) toothbrush

I notice the picture of him, a very young L with his grandparents , on his bedside table. I see it as he’s penetrating me, his thrusts deep and hard. He lets out his deep, guttoral sigh. I collapse and he turns me around to face him.

Is this what I expect from him, to magically read my mind?

As I lie on top of him, he tells me things. I ask him to teach me phrases in his mother tongue. I repeat the words enthusiastically like a parrot. I will forget immediately but I want to try.

“So it’s very similar to French” I exclaim.

*****

We resume watching our movie after dinner. I nurse my glass of red as he chugs his and lays on my lap. He’s watched it before so he knows how it ends. I’m craving for a cigarette but I’m trying to quit. It helps that he doesn’t smoke. Or maybe I use my cigarette as a way to disconnect and go sit outside on his balcony. 

It can get a little bit overwhelming sometimes, the vulnerability. 

*****

I wear his t-shirt and severely regret my decision to not wear any underwear to his apartment. I didn’t think I’d be staying over tonight but I feel tired and it’s quite late.

He gives me a toothbrush. Will I find it the next time I go stay over again? I don’t know. 

I don’t know anything. 

******

He’s like a child in a candystore as he spots the motobike on display at the restaurant we’ve dragged ourselves into. I didn’t quite pick him for an enthusiast but he rattles off tech specs like an expert.

“I like the colour. It’s pretty. Maybe we can come back when the place is closed and steal it?” I suggest

“Yes and then go pick up that painting you liked so much the other day”  he adds.

Excitedly, he takes out his phone and shows me pictures of his bike back home. I love how animated he gets when describing his happy memories. He’s absolutely adorable. 

************

“I can’t tonight. I’m meeting L”

“You mean your boyfriend?”

“I don’t know. But I do really like him”

la mia pelle

There are tears in my eyes. I feel vulnerable and yet liberated at the same time. I hold on to him so tightly. 

who am I at this point.

He holds me in his arms and showers me with gentle kisses everywhere. I am overwhelmed. He collapses but doesn’t let go. 

There is a kind of comfort in his arms. I’m drawn to the way he smells, the way he tastes. After we’ve fucked and we’ve showered, I ask him to hold me as I shiver. It feels warm, I feel protected. 

He runs his hands down my body, my back and tries to find knots. I tell him he won’t find any so instead he gently suckles on my breast for a while before I tell him I’m hungry and need to eat. 

I toss and turn a bit at night. He falls asleep almost immediately. I think at around 5am, his alarm goes off and he shuts it off almost immediately. He leaves so silently that I don’t even notice he’s gone. 

I wake up and make the bed, brush my teeth as he emerges in his underwear.

“you were so quiet in the morning”

“I didn’t want to wake you...”

I kiss his face. 

This turned out to be a lot better than the last couple of days. 

He brings back a tender coconut with him after his walk for me to drink. So adorable. I don’t want him to be late for work and I keep checking the time.

Also, I’m still sleepy. I want to go home and nap for a bit on my bed. 

I guess fights can be good sometimes. 

Domicile

I'd been putting it off for so long. For good reason. I guess.

I like that he neatly arranges all our clothes on the bed before we shower. I like that practically empties out his kitchen onto the table for me to pick something out for breakfast. He feels self-conscious to do his morning stretches together. Which is hilarious because I've seen him naked so many times. His balcony is different in the morning. There are people working outside, sneaking in a glance as we cosy up.
I don't understand the science behind his shorts fitting me. But they're comfortable. Like him I suppose.

Later we explore a new thing in the city, eat some lunch, some ice cream and then head back to his apartment again to watch a movie. He dozes off clutching me. I feel too comfortable to protest or wake him up.

****

The directions to his apartment are now cemented inside my head. Instinctive almost. I've lost count of the number of times I've been down the same road, anticipating his touch every single time. I'm late. Traffic. I'm not in the best mood. I tell him that my body feels broken today. He proceeds to rub my back, trying to get rid of the knots. He's significantly older. We're 12 years apart. And yet I don't feel much of a gap. I'm drawn to his calm, his emotional stability.


****


He's slightly tipsy after chugging a beer as we eat dinner. I'm taking my time as he drops more food onto my plate. He watches intently, looking for a reaction. I need to go outside for a cigarette. It's stormy outside. We sit overlooking the deserted street.


I like that he holds me and perches me on top of him instead of disconnecting immediately after. He stays inside me for long. We kiss. Run our hands down each other's body. I head to take a shower. Gently reminding him that he needs to clean up too. Tonight's been messy. I'm cold and he hands me a robe to wrap myself around. He looks so adorable when he's sleepy. His eyes are narrow and his cheeks are flushed.
His hair is soft. His dimpled chin feels slightly scruffy from a long day of work. I enjoy the sensation.


****

My hormones are making me sad. I want to push him away. But I tell him how I feel instead of bottling it up. I guess that's I have the (now ex) boyfriend to thank for the lessons emotional maturity. He handles it like the more adult-y adult between the two of us. He wants me to see him and talk about it. As we lay on his couch holding each other, I tell him what's plaguing me. His eyes look grey and they grey mixed in his light hair shine under the dim light. I can't resist running my hands through it. He looks handsome tonight. I want to eat him up.

As our tongues embrace and dance, there is a sense of comfort.

I don't know how long it'll last before my bubble bursts but somehow I don't feel cynical at all. Only a deep sense of comfort.

I'm starting to care about him. My L.

Banter

I really missed the Irishman last night. Although M’s really lovely. He’s little bit older than someone I’d date and is introducing me to so many new ideas, which is wonderful. We went out drinking and got ourselves a bunch of mojitos till the last call forced us to sober up a little. But I missed the constant banter like it was with P and I, joking endlessly till tears streamed down my face from laughing so much. I don’t think anybody’s made me laugh as much as he did in such a short while.

It kind of sucks when you meet someone you connect so well to, emotionally and physically, but you have to let them go because your worlds are strikingly different and like lines, you intersect only once in a lifetime. 

I suppose there’s no point in trying to find a replacement. There can’t be. Every lover is unique, every lover has their own set of stories. 

It certainly doesn’t help that I haven’t gotten my period yet and I’m starting to get a little bit anxious because I remember getting one right after I was hooking up with B. I know I’m not preggers because I wasn’t ovulating when I was with P and we were careful to be protected, even putting our friskiness on hold when we ran out of condoms in the morning of our marathon date.

M smelt really nice yesterday though. He was wearing a white shirt and seemed like he showered and shaved after work, before coming to pick me up. I love me a man who smells good. Not the cheapass axe perfume kind, but a nice cologne. I’m dying to run my hands over his face and see what he feels like.

I remember P wearing some kind of a perfume on our last night together. It was irresistible. Also a little bit funny because neither of us made an effort to look particularly attractive the first time we met because obviously we did not anticipate the whirlwind that would follow. 

Once back home, my heart feels so heavy. I really do enjoy M’s company. He’s so charming, a perfect gentleman. I can’t help but miss P a little too much, especially after the alcohol has clouded my judgement. I type out a long, surprisingly coherent message to him. Maybe he’s reached home already, maybe he’s somewhere in transit. There’s no point in hoping for any sort of a miracle really because I really don’t think I’ll get to be with him again. So best I can do is move on really.

It’s a little bit strange that I was able to get over the boyfriend with relative ease. Maybe because we did spend a considerable amount of time together. 

I don’t know. My heart is in knots. I need time to get over this guy. I really do. This one’s really done a number on me. 

Love is wonderful.

And all kinds of strange. 

Courtship

I like his apartment, it’s minimal with white walls everywhere. There’s a sense of calm about his house, him. 

I can’t believe my luck that this gorgeous Italian man is cooking for me. What is this life!

As we snack on bruschetta and scamorza on bread, he makes some martini for the two of us. In the sunlight, his eyes shine. He’s wearing a white worker’s shirt which makes the blue in them pop even more. He’s beautiful. I nearly blurt it out but I refrain. 

We chat for a long time before heading into the kitchen. I’m his sous chef, keeping him company as he’s careful to not let the pasta sauce burn. 

Simple. Elegant. Just like him. 

After lunch, we skip our plan to watch movies. I want to talk to him. We talk culture and politics over glasses of wine. I’m curious, I like picking his brain.

We make plans immediately to meet again.

I want to.

We talk all the time anyway. Might as well do it face to face.

M’s been living in Calcutta for so long and it’s strange we hadn’t met before. But that’s even more reason to make up for all the time lost.

 

Pot of Gold

I’m still reeling from the whirlwind of the past few days. I haven’t showered yet, I smell of him still. 

“You’re so beautiful” he keeps saying. Well, he isn’t too bad himself.

He’s funny, intelligent, sensitive and so good looking with his blonde hair turned dark with shades of grey in them. He doesn’t look his age, so much younger, like me in a way. I think we make a good fit. His eyes are almost greenish brown, his gaze is piercing. He looks at me as we make love, cups his hands around my head. I feel like his lover, I feel loved. 

We spend hours running our fingers down each other’s body and holding hands. I place my head on his shoulder, curl up into a ball as we spoon.

At night we hold each other as we sleep. We twist and turn, yet always holding each other in a way or another.

****

It’s dark and gloomy outside, about to rain. I look at the polaroids we took on night 1. We look deliriously happy. 

If I die tomorrow, it won’t all be in vain. I met a man and we fell in love and said our goodbye. I’m happy I could love, I’m happy I was loved. 

“I feel lucky to have met you and even though our time together was short, I learned so much from you. You’re a beautiful person inside and out”

Words. 

He says exactly what I want to hear.

He says exactly how I feel. 

My 6-foot tall leprechaun, the one who leaves with a piece of my heart always. 

48

I have officially been on the longest first date one could possibly be on. He was gorgeous; his mind, his positivity towards life and his universe. 

“People come into our life for a reason, season or a lifetime”

I think he taught me that sometimes taking a chance can be the greatest thing ever. 

il maschio

His accent is thick, his eyes are light.

Show me a little bit of your soul and I’ll show you mine.

“Bell’uomo”  

Let’s Work Out

Since the time I’ve been sexually active, I’ve had a lot of different kinds of sex but with him there’s a carnal, animalistic instinct. Our bodies entwine in new and fascinating ways. The timing feels just right and I feel so beautiful, invincible even. 

He’s tall and athletic, dare I say, a perfect match for my petite and lean petite frame. He’s strong, but not disgustingly bulky like a gymrat. His body is a treat. I’m sure it’s all the yoga he does, treating his body like a temple and all that. But he makes it hard for me to stay focussed on the physicality of coitus, my orgam comes in waves.

The sex I’ve been having with him puts pornstars to shame. I figure my body will not be able to stretch and twist and bend and balance in these ways forever so I’m determined to make the most of it. We’re both attractive people, exotic to each other. We share similar sexual habits and most importantly, we’re working our way to move past the scars of our past through learning, empathy and kindness. 

I have an epiphany as I’m upside down, my legs resting on his firm body as he thrusts away in pleasure. I want to encapsulate this exact moment. Not a photograph. Not a song. But I want for it to stay in my mind forever. “Tell me how you feel”

He’s confused, probably thinking “what the fuck S?!”

“Tell me in words how you’re feeling” I struggle to form coherent sentences. But I’m stubborn to get my words out amidst all the panting and moaning. 

“After”, maybe my epiphany can wait. I need to give the fella some time to gather his bearings before I pounce on him with my existentialism like that.

“I was feeling you. A warm home. Of love. Of familiarity. I wanted to penetrate deeper and deeper into your soul. Like I belong inside you...

....till you sort of ruined it by going all Freud on me”

I smiled sheepishly as we cuddled later. 

I’d found my answer through orgasm.

My love is home. 

Heart Emoticon

I am alone, yet never unloved.

You say I am beautiful and I agree. 

It’s not hubris. I have spent a lot of time trying to make myself better, to make myself feel that way.

When I kiss you, I shut everything else out. My world is you and only you alone. You’re in me, I let you in me. Again and again and again.

It’s maddening, the lust I have for your body. But even more obsessive is my affection for you. I feel like I’m drowning in a pool of love. I have forgotten how to swim. I don’t want to be rescued. I think I’m going to be quite alright. I feel no fear, panic. 

Your kindness shines like my sun, my dark disappears in cowardice. Your warmth seeps into my body, into my bones. I feel alive. So alive.

All because I took a chance and let you in me.

All because I let you inside me. 

Disaster Management

I’ve worn him out, he sleeps like a baby. 

His skin glows from the sweat. I instinctively wipe his forehead. I fidget for a good, long time. I’m sleepless even though I’m so tired. I fall asleep at some point. Our backs are turned towards each other. It’s okay I suppose. I have grown so used to having things go my way. 

He’s woken up before me. I know because I sleepily caress his arm as he hold me and kisses my back. I like being held. I turn around towards him and bury my face in his chest. 

“Would you like some tea?”

“In a bit?” 

I like his hands. I like it when he runs his fingers through my hair. I like it when he runs his fingers down my back. I like that he gently covers my exposed body with the duvet. It feels rather warm but the affection is sweet. 

Later sometime, we spazz out on the futon watching Mean Girls and drinking rum. There is music at some point and I feel emotional. But I don’t want to sabotage our little affair with the baggage of my past so I suck it up and bottle my apprehensions. I’m glad I do. 

Orgasm. Liberation. 

Down Under

The past couple of days have been full of self discoveries and actualisation of ideas in my head about my sexuality and emotional prowess.

He fucks quite gorgeously. I watched in the mirror today after a long time and it looked fucking hot. Thanks to the recent Aziz Ansari type of “woke” men v/s consent debate, he kept asking me periodically if I was okay and if he had my consent to do what he was doing to me. I kept moaning yes, initially a little bit annoyed about the loss of momentum but in a way very glad that we were both on the same page. I no longer feel shitty afterwards. Only physically exhausted, which helps me sleep like a baby at night. 

I’ve found, lately, with all my lovers that a conversation on pleasure points and red flags help both parties significantly. I don’t fear them judging me for my kinks. Afterall, we’re both adults, trying to climax. I’ve reasurred him that I will ask him to stop if it gets too much for me at some point. But till I say so, he has my consent.

I like it when he chokes me. I didn’t even know I enjoyed it till Mr. Adultey Adult happened last year and now I’m quite into it. I guess it’s the power play that is a turn on for me. In all other aspects in life I’d like to think that I’m a dominating person so losing control has been really getting me off lately. I see no problem with enjoying a little bit of mutually-agreed sinning. Especially since my partner isn’t my friend, my boyfriend or someone I feel particularly drawn to without the sexual tension.

Sexually, things were very different with the boyfriend though. Sure we’d fuck like rabbits but it felt more of a partnership than a dominant/submissive dynamic. I guess I miss the little things like cuddling and falling asleep in his big, strong arms after but I haven’t really been craving for it enough to try and fill that void in my life at the moment. I talk to him when I feel the ground beneath my feet starting to shift. He brings me a lot of peace, still. Maybe in a parallel life we’re married, eating avocados on the regular and teaching our kids to do yoga but I’m happy with how it is between us. I’ll always love him for bringing out the best version of me. It’s not often that along comes a person who helps you glue back broken pieces of your sense of self together without expecting much in return, just a little bit of love and warmth. 

Anyway, I digress. I couldn’t fall asleep last night post coitus and it didn’t help that he’s not a cuddler. Maybe spooning would have helped but I fidgeted around and thought about the time with Dr. Wonderful when I fidgeted around like a child on a sugar rush while he was worn out so he just held me tight in his arms till I fell asleep. It was a classic alpha move. I fell asleep instantly almost.  

After endless running around the apartment like a headless chicken, I went back to bed at some point. He looked so peaceful as he slept and I didn’t have the heart to wake him for cuddles. Needless to say, he woke up before me and held me for a bit which had the exact opposite reaction of waking me up. We listened to his jazz playlist over a cup of tea and later, the Boy from Down Under fucked my brains out. No, this wasn’t the tender kind of lovin he was giving me the night before. This was straight up chokinspankinfuckin sex. I loved it and heavily orgasmed before riding him to climax to seal the deal. We ended our marathon binge watching reruns of a sitcom after a heavy brunch, which had rendered the both of us unable to move or even excitedly chat each other up. After he left, I went back to bed for a bit and napped. I felt worn out, satisfied. 

It’s a little strange because this is the kind of life I had pictured for myself in my 30s: lazing with a lover, listening to a jazz record and fucking like hormonal teenagers but with better technique owing to the wisdom that comes with age. 

I don’t know where I see myself in a couple of years. I’ve spent a majority of my 20s discovering who I really am as a lover and I think the journey is going to be a lifelong one. There is no end, only constant change. 

26 Years Young

I find myself drawn to only those who are physically away, emotionally unavailable. It’s a game of self-sabotage. There’s no method to this madness, only yearning and subsequent heartbreak. 

I think he’s a lovely guy. Shy, awkward and probably a little bit intimidated by me. He’s surprisingly “nice”. I don’t know anymore. I guess I’ve turned into the kind of person I despise the most, one who is unable to love.