Five

These are stories of course, of love and pleasure, but, the characters are ill-formed, and the purpose ill-defined, yet I tell the story to satisfy the most carnal of my desires.

                                          .1.

“I shall not make love to men anymore” he said, pushing his partners face away from his chest, “it is totally depressing, and unwholesome, but then, I sure had desires before.” The partner, his name not known, was rubbing his face on his chest, on the dry and harsh hairs, and the sweaty smell was making him grow every moment. The partner licked his armpit. He shuddered. With pleasure.

“Why is not our body subject to our thoughts, why does it not stop feeling when it is commanded not to feel, why is it still pleasurable to have my armpits licked by a man, when it seems to  me a man I do not desire?” His partner could sense the thoughts rushing through his blood. He started licking his nipple. The thoughts stopped suddenly and the hands rushed to press that brusque face up on his chest.

He pleaded with himself again, half-moaning. His eyes were dilated, his breathing fast, and every hole of his body was secreting some sort of mist or the other. His partner was a musician, whose choice of instrument throughout has been a MALE BODY. He did not classify himself as gay though. He did not need to fell proud being a gay. Rather, he was just an admirer of Greek sculptures.

                                           .2.

She wrote him a message, “I m ur pumpkin.”

He wrote her a message, “u r my munchkin”

She wrote, I luv u

He wrote, I luv u 2

She asked a man, “Can you make me blush?” The man said, “The power is long gone my lady, or, as I feel now, I never yielded any such power. I rather think that, it was you who chose to blush.” She said, “I will go and blush with another man. Perhaps I shall tell him what flowers I like, and perhaps, he will bring them when he first meets me. I will blush then.”

The man said, “There lays my vindication.”

The game of extortion has already begun.

 

 

                                                               .3. 

He went to ward every day, and every day they would assemble. She would come too, and her first glance would be towards him, and she will stand in front of him, and undo her hair. Her hair always smelt fresh, but it was not what he noticed. He always smelled her sweat underneath her armpits, he imagined the sweat drops, how would they dangle from her curly thick hair, he prayed she was not shaved like the freaks who think having hair is akin to monkeys. He was tall, and she wore a salwar the back of which was very daring. He would look at the olive skin of hers, the lighter and darker dots on her back, the pearls of sweat that accumulate only to be soaked by the fabric. He could she her rubbing herself, in a messy bed, all sweaty, he could imagine her stare at his eyes, her licking her own fingers. It made him feel famished. He loved it.

She thought he loved the scent of her hair.

Some men like to remain hungry.

Some do not know how to feed.

 

                                          .4.

It was bright and sunny outside. And a barren day. The room was painted brightest of bright yellow, and all the sheets were white. Too much light he thought as walked out naked from the bathroom. He has just taken a bath, his member was limp and in close proximity of his dark brown skin.  His body was not made but carved out of granite, and every stroke of chisel could be traced on his body.  He was made to be a savage man.

He walked straight to his wardrobe, and wore a white shirt and perfectly ironed black trousers.

All in front of his woman sitting near the window, whose left hand held a burning cigarette, and the right hand has just stopped rubbing her genitals.

 

                                            .5.

“Life is lie, so fuck the lie” he thought, grasping his hard member with his ever moving tight fist.