Oh god, fuck me

It started when I saw my kundali in my parents' room, lying on the table underneath the TV.  Calling out to my mother, I asked what was it doing outside, more like why was it out. My father replied instead, "वो बस ऐसे ही देख रहे थे". What do you mean, ऐसे ही, I asked. Since when did the two of you get an astrologer's qualifications? I was also annoyed that my mother was avoiding answering the question. "माँ, ये क्या है? मेरी कुंडली के साथ क्या खेल खेल रहे हो तुम लोग?". She came in rushing. I could see a hint of nervousness in her eyes. "तेरे को बताया तो था! हम पूजा करने जा रहे हैं न, इसीलिए!". I knew about a पूजा, but what connection did my kundali have with it? I knew that they had been planning to go some 100 kms away from Lucknow for this पूजा, but why are my stars being studied for that performance?

"मुझे क्यों नहीं बताया की मेरी कुंडली दिखाई जा रही है इस पूजा के लिए? और क्यों दिखाई जा रही है, ज़रा ये भी बता दो?", I said, with anger and irritation just about to burst, lurking at the corner of my lips. Nothing significant, they assured. Just regular religious things. Things that need to be done for the well-being of the family, you know, they said. "पर मेरी कुंडली क्यों, माँ? अपनी या बब्बा या दीदी की क्यों नहीं?", I interjected. Some talk about being the son, and that my sister has already done this once (god, when did that happen!?) and that "घर के जो भी द्वेष या कलंक हैं, वो सब मिट जायेंगे!". Aaaah, so that's the reason. The responsibility of erasing the misfortunes of this household falls squarely on my shoulders, is it? And this performance is the only way of doing that, right? Because discussing things has never really solved anything? One has to make a spectacle out of everything, make it grand, spend a lot of money, involve god, religion, invoke some parental-familial bond and duties and we can resolve everything, can't we? 

"अरे हम हैं अंधविश्वासी, तू बस हमारी ख़ुशी के लिए कर ले ये! माँ-बाप के लिए भी कुछ करना चाहिए बच्चों को!", said my mother. Wow, mother, wow. All this life, we have been leading selfish lives where we have done absolutely nothing for the two of you, right? And if you're going to emotionally blackmail me into doing this, I'm sorry my resistance will only become stronger. If you actually want to resolve things (read problems) in this house, let's talk. If you want to study how the stars have been (or are starting to be) unfortunate on the fate of this household, lets dig things from the past (I already have a mine to dig stuff from) and carefully peel their layers to reveal the absence of some very basic parental duties. But no, we won't do that. Because it upsets the order of this house. It makes them uncomfortable. They can't tolerate that they have failed as parents, in more ways than one. A semblance of stability and happiness is paramount to this household. What are we!? The royal family of England? वहां भी Megxit हो गया है.

Simultaneously, my mind started the exercise of self-loathing. Why did I even come home this time? Why couldn't I have booked another date for my passport renewal? Why didn't I carry all documents the first time around? Why don't I strategize better, if coming home effects me so much, every time I'm here? Why the fuck can't I get my priorities sorted in the first place? Why am I such a complacent piece of shit? Why have I never stood up to my parents ever in the past? Why have I never stood up to anyone, for that matter? Oh god, fuck me! 

"चलो, भाई, चलो! तुम्हे चुप कराने का यही तरीका है, तो चलो!", was my final response.

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Bithoor is at a distance of roughly 90 kms from Lucknow. Situated on the banks of the holier-than-thou Ganga, half of its religiosity is derived from this fact itself. Added to this is the religious lore that when Vishnu destroyed and re-created the universe, Brahma decided to plonk his holy ass in Bithoor, the place earlier known as Brahmavatra. Out of the 52 ghats along the river, there's one Pathhar Ghat where a Shiv temple is located, where my ass was sought to be holi-fied.

We approached the temple from the river bank and a Shuklaji made his presence known, dressed in his dhoti, kurta and gamcha. He made sure we had all the things required for the pooja and then asked us to follow him, up the stones steps of the ghat to the temple where preparations were underway for the performance. Multi-coloured rice grains were arranged in all kinds of patterns in front of some hard-to-discern god faces. We were told which god is which and where each of us shall sit for the length of the pooja. I was the karta, and hence the main actor, through which the background characters (my parents) would perform their roles (mainly passing stuff from one place to my hands).

We were seated in the sanctum sanctorum of the temple. Right below the centre of the temple-dome, on the ground was Shiva's dick, surrounded by Parvati's vagina with Nandi, the bull gazing at this holy sight of containment. What a memorable threesome, I thought. Worshipping a dick is not completely unknown to me, although doing it in front of my parents would be new. If this is the way they prefer I come out to them, well, what's better!

The chants started. I was required to take some flowers in my hand, clasp my palms and concentrate on his holiness. Everytime I'm in such a situation, I try not to think about anything. Sometimes, I concentrate on the temple-architecture. But I was the agent that day. I had to think, or at least pretend to. Before closing my eyes, I looked around. A big black dick in the centre, two priests in their dhotis, one of them with the face of someone who'd command, people circling on the perimeter of the sanctorum, visible from the windows, trying to catch a glimpse of what's happening inside. My mind had gathered enough to conjure images, or even situations, or even possibilities. I let it wander.

The priest ripped his dhoti apart to reveal Shiva's ling hanging from his crotch. I touched it, but it was already hard. It was of stone, after all. I opened my mouth as wide as I could and tried taking it in, but it wouldn't fit. The priest flipped me and started fingering my asshole. Milk, ghee, havan samagri were used in generous quantity to ease the passage of ling into hole. Slowly, the thrusts began and my hole magically opened up to take it in. But it hurt. But I also thought the priest's face would be red, so that gave me a hard on. Is he even the priest anymore? Is that Shiva fucking me now? 

I was flipped again and the ling was hard as ever. But the face was still of the priest. His eyes had rolled up and he was stroking the ling furiously. I helped. I always tell whoever I'm in bed with to cum on my chest. But I didn't have to tell him. Holding on to his waist tightly, he came all over me. Aaah, he's a god after all then. I opened my eyes. I had been pouring milk over the ling, some of it had spilled on my feet. Oh god, fuck me.

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Was it deliberate? Did I force myself into conjuring all these images? One part of me of course wanted to build an alternative memory to that day and yes, I hardly remember what all was said and done but for my imaginings. So yeah, mission accomplished but fuck, the image of a well built blue bodied Shiva thrusting his stone black dick into my ass still gives me a hard on. When we made our way out of the temple, I glanced at the sanctum sanctorum one last time. The ling was visible even from the outside. Gleaming from all the milk and ghee that had been offered, it stood there with its big dick energy. I could not help but imagine and compare it to all the content-satisfied faces of those fuckbois who fall back on the bed after having cum all over someone. And I also could not ignore seeing myself naked seated on top of it, legs wide apart slowly descending into the ling.