Push him against the nearest surface and proceed to feel every part of him and use my teeth to scrape the sharper ridges of his body and with my tongue bathe and lap the deeper valleys. I want to push against his erection and grind into it – Making my intent clear. I want to climb him. I want to drown him in between my breasts. I want to be used. I want to abuse. I will grab his wrist so he cant move and silence him with my mouth clamped on his. I will then remove my clothes – urgently and rub my naked body against him but not let him touch me with his hands or mouth. I will not let him surface. I will be on top of him. I will let him struggle. Till it reaches the frenzy where we both are actually fighting for control. And then I will fight him harder and harder till he is actually mad and his erection in trying to penetrate me and still I will fight him. If he is a strong man and if I am tired he might gain a lead on me and may succeed in pinning me down.
May.
And then I will sigh and and moan and give up (but not really) and open up my body for him and surrender and relax my limb while arching my back to make contact with him and receive him into me.
Love is like the reflection you see on the surface of water. It looks exactly like a thing you already know. Something that looks and seems recollectible. But you cannot really touch it. You cannot really remember it in your heart. You cannot really feel it at will, can you? You feel something in your heart and your body. It is lust. You know it. When does that become love? And what are the signs? And how do you not confuse it with friendship or lust?
I have always been a believer in the notion that once you say the word Love out loud. You feel it in your 'Heart.' That it is that easy. But I am not sure anymore. What is love really. The stubbornness of the word is so confusing. It refuses to budge. It's as if it can have no other meaning. Is crush love? Is infatuation love? Or is love referring to something long-term? But then when at the onset one says “I have fallen in love,” how do they know it's long-term?
I still think of these things. Yes I am that juvenile. I feel so much. So passionate I am and so confused. So inward-looking. That I am constantly looking for a marker which will show me what love is. Purple for Love! Yay! Yellow for Crush and so on and so forth.
Recently, I had an amazing experience in love. With a man I frequently share my bed with. Who then leaves it by 3 or 4 so as to be back home before his mother wakes up. Whom I don't meet or call on Sundays and Mondays because those days his girlfriend has offs and he needs to be with her then. Yes It is very sordid. But we are friends first. And I am supposed to understand his busy schedule and he my lonliness and fears.
It gets murkier still. On my birthday, he couldn't come home for his ex-gf, my very close friend was to be there. She knows we used to be f@%* buddies, she doesn't know we are 'closer' still. So yeah. Dirty dirty things we are.
And of course, that it is supposed to be so covert is very exciting to me. Of course it is. To him too I suppose. And we have a nice stable relationship. Friendship it could have been called if there wasn't also tenderness/affection which usually translates into something sexual for me. For us. And yes the chemistry is good and familiar as it is something we have settled into over a couple of years.
For my birthday, he took me out on a mid-night drive. We drove to the airport. It was raining incessantly and visibility was low. And the road was almost never-ending. And in it we created romance. Out of the murk, out of the immoral we created romance. I sang songs, completely unselfconsciously. I rolled down the windows and caught raindrops in my mouth and my eyelashes. He looked on indulgently. I drove a little bit of the way, erractic; he sat well pamperd. We ate out of the same plate. And then I demanded cookies, he bought me two of everything. And we watched the rain together. Completely at ease with each other. Completely unconscious of the world around us. Seeing us, nobody would guess at the truth is a bit under the table, a bit tainted and not as wholesome as it seemed that night.
There was a cake for me. And gifts. In the car in the deserted parking lot of the airport miles away from the city, where we live a couple of lanes away. For afterall we are a secret. There was a cake for me and gifts and love and affection.
The drive back was more serene. A detour we made to the end of the world. For the clandestine and the sensual go hand in hand. The drive back was more silent. And I felt secure and cocooned in care and love. With the soft sleet of rain touching my palm and the wind moving my hand without my control, I murmured, “You love me.” Just like that. A statement. He stiffened. Remembering perhaps our earlier struggle with this word. But this love, the signs were so clear, that I had no qualms in saying it aloud. We share our lives – day-to-day, our thoughts, our pasts, our family troubles or love. We both pay attention to the smallest details of whatever the others say. And and ....and.... it is still sordid, murky or dirty to the world. For one is a coward, afraid of rocking the boat, afraid of having people hate him and the other relenting, lazy, believeing instead in the temporal.
And hence even though it is love. It is not. For we say it is not. And the reflection on the surface of water secretly distorts into the sordid, the murky and ......
It got to me at last. The ball dropped. Or am I being too severe on myself? So a girl gets horny. She does you know. But she doesn't necessarily want to 'do it' 'go all the way' with someone she doesn't know. Moreover the Need to be held and cuddled is just paralysing, but she can't gurantee just holding and cuddling will not arouse her. She gets aroused as hell. She can't help it. That is how she was made. But sometimes she can't go on with it. And she knows she doesn't have to. So she tells the man she is with, “No” “Stop.” And nothing in her past, filled with polite men, Men caring about her emotions and her personna, Men with whom she's shared a history, prepared her for the moment when when she had withdrawn and curled up and preparing to get dressed, to feel his penis trying to push past her objection, into her vagina.
I guess somewhere, not very far behind, in the labyrinth that is my mind, this is what I have wanted. Fantasised about even. But then my mucky mind has fantasised a million things already. Young, horny men. Boys really. Salivating at your simplest little shake of the hip. You casually, as part of the song of course, grind your ass into their crotch. Oh! The instant rise. A part of you is almost embarassed and wishing you were sitting at home and eating instead, and a saucier part of you pushes ass further into the said crotch to remind the kid, who is boss. Complete attention to him for 15 minutes and then complete inattention. Switch your affection, attention and ass to someone else. A friend of a friend's who's always attracted you anyway. Dance with him instead for a while. He is 30. So he has the guts and gumption to steal a kiss. You break away and wonder, Deja Vu. (Drunk and at a club. I kiss. ) The kid at the corner feels hurt and sulks. You still ignore. He then gets your friend to get you to dance with him, you go, cos the 30 year-old is horny too, and to feel that erection is just lame. Then there come a moment, when there's almost a dance-off between the 2 men who are trying to impress you and for a while you dance with the both of them. It is weird and exhilarating. You are half in the moment and the other half is screamiing inside your head saying, “Is someone filming this please?” Drama galore, the club amost stands in a circle and applauds when you finish your last dance with aplomb. Which guy to go home with. You know, that your panties will be on, but they don't. There's a 9 year age gap and they still behave the same. You choose the sober one (But of course) and go home. You have obviously miscalculated and it hits home when fully clothed, and making tea, you turn to hug him and his boner tries to enter you through your pajamas as he whispers, “I love you” in your ears. You try to laugh it off, but he insists, being used to being around other 21 year olds. You then say the legend and as you say it, You can't deny it. There is immense power and drama, “You are too young for me.” And you drive him outta your house. Wishing you had instead tried your hand at the drunken 30 year-old, or better, danced alone, or better stayed home eating, or fat. But you know, next weekend, the drama will repeat. Till then....
