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. 

Date Set Match

The year draws to an end, it’s a good time to reflect on every adventure along the way. This was the year of romance, of the most wonderful dates.

I don’t understand why millennials don’t go out on dates. Not ‘let’s go to a fancy bar, get drunk out of our minds and have sloppy sex after’ but actual dates, where you get to know one another through what seems like inane activities to the outside world.

Last week in Bombay, a lovely man and I went to a museum, a local eatery and then to a bookstore. We spent hours marvelling at art, architecture and talking about everything from politics to literature to sexuality and human psychology. There was no “end game” to end up in bed together. 

I guess why I enjoy the company of men who are slightly older is because they’ve passed that “going to fuck every thing that moves” phase. Don’t get me wrong, they can be extremely horny but always more selective about their partners. They need something more than my lithe body, they need my mind. It excites me, their ability to see me as a person and not just an object of desire.

In monsoon, when I was hitting it up with ** he insisted that we do a proper dinner date atleast once. “Why? We’re fucking anyway” I protested. “You kids today have no dating etiquette” he’d convinced me to dress up, wear makeup and act like an adult lady and everything. Dinner was great, he couldn’t take his eyes off me (in a saree) and to be fair he looked like a dreamboat too, in his dinner jacket and tie. We drank single malt and talked science and philosophy. We took our time and enjoyed every second of each other’s company. “What do you want for dessert?” “You” “Oh you youngling. Want to share the cheesecake?” It was such a nice day. “Don’t you want to come upstairs?” I asked him as he dropped me home later at night. He merely smiled, kissed me on the mouth, thanked me for the company and reminded me once again how beautiful I looked. I blushed like a teenager, felt giddy and lightheaded. He waited downstairs till I got inside safely. “I’ll see you tomorrow, don’t worry, we can fuck then. Tonight I wanted to take you out on a date and romance you” 

I put the single long stemmed rose into a glass since I don’t have a vase at home yet, slept with a smile on my face that night.

Boyfriend boy and I did a series of dates as well. Just walking around, exploring nooks and corners of the city. He’d hold my hand as we strolled in the evenings. Sometimes we’d get some ice cream, sit around somewhere and people watch on the streets. Sometimes we’d pop into any cute little café that’d pique our interest. We’d grab a lot of eyeballs when on the road and the devil would hold me a little too close or grab my hand and pull me towards him every time a group of people were watching. “Give them a show” “why not.”

It was sweet really, it became almost instinctive towards the end to sleep like a baby at night with his arms around me. I’ll miss the bloke every now and then, just napping and eating and watching stupid junk with him.

But my favourite date was actually the one which wasn’t a date at all. We took a break from fucking, Mister Hotstuff and I, went out for some ice cream at night. Later, we lay together and read, his eyes set on the book with deep concentration and his fingers tracing the contours of my body lightly as I fidgeted around, sometimes photographing him not-so-discreetly. It was beautiful, something straight out of a fantasy almost. It helped that it was monsoon and my cunt was so hungry for him. I liked that it didn’t take too much persuading for him to stay the night. I’ll admit I did feel a little bit sad when he left but I went back to sleep and woke up still feeling his loving. 

One will argue that romance cannot really exist in a world of instant messaging and social media but I’d beg to disagree. In a world increasingly focussed on fomo, I guess it’s the golden moments of simple things that really make you feel alive and more loved than ever before. 

Lust4U

I’m piss-drunk at 4am and thinking about your hands, your mouth and what they do to me.

Will I ever see you again, my beautiful Salt n’ Pepper man? 

I crave,

I yearn,

I long for you.

I reach out for my phone almost instinctively, figure it’s not too late where you are. Maybe you’ll indulge me like you usually do. Only this time, I refrain.

Come to me. 

I’ll welcome you with open arms 

and legs.

The Liberation Of S

As the year draws to a close, I have to painfully let them all go. It isn’t masochism, but practicality. The ones who come back are the ones who stay in my life forever. My vulnerability can be a beautiful thing as I allow them deep inside me, but I’m not stupid, I can’t let them get inside my head either. 

There’s the fantasy, the one who’s way out of my league. Our chemistry is incredible, so sexual. I quiver at his slightest touch, am left reeling long after he’s gone. But he’s significantly older, I don’t know which version of myself to be when I’m with him. He’s a bad, bad boy who’s bound to break my heart if I allow myself to fall without a safety net. 

The ‘boyfriend’ is everything I could possibly want in a man in every other parallel universe. He’s smart, he’s sensitive and he’s the kind of man who holds my hand when we’re out on the streets and can spend hours and hours just talking to. We fuck like bunnies, it’s athletic and experimental. Sometimes we also cuddle and make sweet, sweet love. I don’t understand why I build my walls around him actually, he’s been so good to me so far. He keeps me safe from my nightmares. But I feel greedy, I need something more. 

Daddy Dominant is the oldest man I’ve ever been with. He’s kind as he is assertive. I get to be a child around him, awkward and eager to learn, eager to please. It’s a strange dynamic because I’m nothing like that outside of the bedroom. I enjoy following his instructions, he enjoys how my body reacts to him when he’s deep inside of me. Our relationship, sadly, remains confined to the house because I don’t know who it’d be to go out on an actual date with him. I don’t think I even want to.

Master puts me on a tight leash when he thinks I’m straying too far. He doesn’t like that there are others, but he knows he can’t control me outside of our little arrangement. I don’t have a problem with the other submissives, if he has any, so he doesn’t have a say in my choice to be with other lovers either. Honestly, this plays out just like a pornographic movie. He’s got all the works but I have a sinking feeling in my heart that he’s starting to fall in love. Our games are always fun, the orgasms are extra ordinary but it’s only a matter of time before he breaks. Love is a strange, strange thing and happens under the most unexpected circumstances. But I know I have to cut him off at some point, it’s for his own good.

Sexual liberation is a superpower in times like these. No matter what the kink, the key is always mutual understanding and trust. It’s rare but my dynamic with all these men are so different from one another, like they all fill voids in me which I didn’t even know existed. I am a mirror, projecting their best versions to themselves. 

I can only love so much because I’ve spent a lot of time relearning to love myself. I need them just as much as they need me. Or maybe not at all...

Strict Machine

“I’d like for to address me as Sir from now on”

“You forgot to say Sir. Do I have to punish you already?”

“I’m sorry Sir. No, please don’t.”

“Every sentence should end with a Sir. Don’t make the same mistake again babygirl. You will be punished the next time you make a mistake” 

 

Daddy Dominant

Bat my eyelids for you, you think it’s cute?

I know you fancy me like I fancy you.

But my awkwardness is no match for your grace.

So I learn a little from you every time.

Reward me for my dedication, punish me when I’m naughty.

I know you crave for me like I crave for you. 

But your cynicism is no match for my naivety.

So I teach you to love a little more every time. 

Keep me safe in your arms when I’m vulnerable , cuff me when I’m arrogant. 

You know who I am.

You know who I am. 

2B

“So this is the last time then, I guess”

There’s no mood to fuck today, despite the physical urgency. But it’s hard to abstain at the same time. There’s undeniable chemistry between us and it’s such a shame that it has to come to a brief halt, if not a complete end.

It’s kind of sad. The sound of the dhaak plays in the distance. I insist that we don’t play any music today. There’s no point, it’ll only sound like noise. 

It’s a dance we’re both familiar with by now. But by no means montonous, we’re just incredibly in sync with each other. I wonder how hard it’s going to be to not feel him inside me anymore. I want to hang on to the feeling for as long as I can. 

I feel slightly chilly, there’s goosebumps on my skin. But he holds me, we cover ourselves with a flimsy bedsheet. He stares at the cieling as he holds me. “Surreal”, he mumbles.

I feel strange. Is this what it feels like to let go even though neither of you want to? “You make me happy, you really do”

“I wish we could have lasted slightly longer. I was starting to get so used to you”

“Surely you won’t replace me immediately? If you do, don’t do the little things we do okay? I want to be special”

You are, baby, you are. 

Somehow I feel like the more adult one for a change. I’m trying my best to console a heartbroken child. 

“I’ll serenade you”, I kiss him endlessly.

Dawn is breaking slowly. I’m physically exhausted. Well loved but drained nevertheless. “Was it a good enough last time for you?”

I don’t say anything. I bury my face in his chest just like the first time and fall asleep like baby. It’s a dreamless sleep, my reality is sometimes more overwhelming than my fantasies. 

“Wil you come visit me?”

I want to but I don’t know if I should. 

I

My love is home,

where you spend playful afternoons

And the occassional sleepless night.

My love is a crumpled quilt on the bed,

for a cool, rainy morning.

My love is a warm of of tea at dusk.

And you can have it, you will always have it. 

Fascination

It takes me a moment to process everything. I’m still unsure of the implications of my situation. I want him, inside me, again and again.

There’s something about him, oh the sexual tension. He’s not my partner, he’s not my friend. He’s my sexdaddy.

I like clutching his salt and pepper hair as he buries his face between my legs. Oh, that tongue. The nasty, wonderful things it does it me. I shake and quiver, I beg him to stop. “You know my body’s not going to be this way forever, so tight, so firm” I joke, “what then, would you still find me attractive?” “I’ll be too old to even have an erection by that time” he retorts snarkily. “You’re not that old” “Oh yea? And how old is too old, you youngling?” I mumble his age as I burst out laughing and kiss him. 

I like his smell on me after we’ve finished, even though I’ve showered. He asks me to stay the night, he always does. “I can’t” “Why,is it past your bedtime?” “No, I’ll fall in love” “oh you really are a piece of work, aren’t you!” 

He kisses me as my cab arrives. “Text me once you get back?” “Geez, grandpa, I’ll be fine” he laughs and I recieve a firm smack on the bottom. 

He’s a good man, great lover. Maybe if he were a little bit younger I’d consider letting him in a little bit more. I’m fascinated, more than anything.

But if I did have to choose, it’d be the light eyed boy.