Dick apologies
"I can feel your stool", he said. "I think I just touched it". I rushed to the washroom. Rolling out a handful of tissue from the stand, I wiped off the fuckload of vaseline he had applied to finger me. On the first wipe, there was just some translucent fluid that came off. I wiped again, some more of that. I continued. Further down this exercise, I saw a faint hint of red on the tissue. I ignored. I wiped again, and the hint became a smear and later, the quarters of paper came out white as dove. I went back into the room. I was embarrassed that he had to "touch" and "feel" my stool, so I did what I hate doing. I sucked his dick. He should have something in return for having come so close to my excretion. Even if that meant I had to take in his smelly, ugly dick down my throat.
Dicks are ugly. At least the ones I have seen in my life, including mine. The way the foreskin collects at the top, wrinkly, lifeless, covering up a not-so-beautiful-looking thing inside. And unless they have been mosturized, scented and washed to a religious degree, they smell. And I'm not a connoisseur of dicks that smell. So far, I have just seen one dick (that too, virtually) which made me go "Whoa!", but that's probably because it was photographed well. So, in my limited experience of impulsive decisions of sucking dicks, they are ugly. Sorry for offending the dicks out there.
"It's okay even if there's some shit on the condom, really, its perfectly fine!", he said. "But...", I interjected. "Really, relax, this happens, it's okay", he continued. Retreating into the blanket, I was both horrified and relieved that he was so cool about it. One part of me wondered, if he's fine with this, what all would he be even into, and another part was just a prevalent sense of calm. As if all the cells in my body let out a collective gasp of "phew!".
He came back into the blanket, resumed playing the John Denver song on his phone and kissed me. We continued from where we left and I could not help moaning when his dick finally entered me again. And again. And again. I didn't care if any of my remains were getting in the way of his thrusts, and I guess, neither did he. I grabbed hold of the iron bars at the head of his bed and pulled in my stomach when he finally sent a chill down my spine. He collapsed on me, sweating and I hugged him tight. The stubble on his face grazed on my collar bones and I liked that. His dick gradually retreated from inside of me and I liked that too. He landed with a thud by my side and I put my arm around his tattooed chest, his tattooed leg casually finding its way on mine. And we slept. Slept on everything till a very long time until last week when it was finally time to wake up. And I guess, one of us is finally awake.
Dicks are ugly. At least the ones I have seen in my life, including mine. The way the foreskin collects at the top, wrinkly, lifeless, covering up a not-so-beautiful-looking thing inside. And unless they have been mosturized, scented and washed to a religious degree, they smell. And I'm not a connoisseur of dicks that smell. So far, I have just seen one dick (that too, virtually) which made me go "Whoa!", but that's probably because it was photographed well. So, in my limited experience of impulsive decisions of sucking dicks, they are ugly. Sorry for offending the dicks out there.
---
"It's okay even if there's some shit on the condom, really, its perfectly fine!", he said. "But...", I interjected. "Really, relax, this happens, it's okay", he continued. Retreating into the blanket, I was both horrified and relieved that he was so cool about it. One part of me wondered, if he's fine with this, what all would he be even into, and another part was just a prevalent sense of calm. As if all the cells in my body let out a collective gasp of "phew!".
He came back into the blanket, resumed playing the John Denver song on his phone and kissed me. We continued from where we left and I could not help moaning when his dick finally entered me again. And again. And again. I didn't care if any of my remains were getting in the way of his thrusts, and I guess, neither did he. I grabbed hold of the iron bars at the head of his bed and pulled in my stomach when he finally sent a chill down my spine. He collapsed on me, sweating and I hugged him tight. The stubble on his face grazed on my collar bones and I liked that. His dick gradually retreated from inside of me and I liked that too. He landed with a thud by my side and I put my arm around his tattooed chest, his tattooed leg casually finding its way on mine. And we slept. Slept on everything till a very long time until last week when it was finally time to wake up. And I guess, one of us is finally awake.
---
The journey from Delhi to Lucknow is a short one. 50 minutes by air, and 6 hours by train. 5 hours if you zoom across the highway. I prefer taking the train, preferably the overnight one but the seats on that are almost always on waiting list. Therefore, the next best option is the early morning 6 AM Shatabdi, which means you wake up at (at least) half past four, and leave home by five. Or better, not sleep at all.
Be it any mode of travel, I have always wished for a sexual encounter in transit. But as luck would have it, nothing has even remotely transpired so far. However, the last time I travelled this route, there was...something (for the lack of a better word). He came into the coach with a lot of luggage, stowed it in the overhead compartment and sat next to me. His mouth was covered with a scarf, a beanie on his head. Since I had made the wise decision to not sleep at all the previous night, I slowly sank into my seat while watching an episode of Carmen Sandiego. Carnal desires were not a priority in that state of slumber.
In the several intervals between my broken sleep, I could feel his leg grazing past mine, or him trying to lay his shoulders on me. To his aid, the handle separating our seats had decided not to rise at all, giving any desire of intimacy to flow without boundaries. At times, I would blame my imagination for conjuring such images, but when he casually put his head on my shoulder, I let out a small laugh. What are we even doing?
I am not an initiator. I patiently wait, sometimes to an exhausting degree, for the other person to move, gesture or even gaze. Sometimes, despite debating in my head the possibility that the other person might not be an initiator either, I let chances fly. But this time, my co-passenger had initiated enough for me to join the joyride. But somehow, the mind always double-thinks, "what if...?". What if he's just an over-entitled hetero-male so accustomed to having his space in public places that he doesn't care who he is touching? What if he's just a large person who occupies a certain amount of space on trains and buses and rickshaws? And what if, even if, he wants to have some "fun" on the train, why should I be the gateway to a word of curiosities? I know, my mind has no limits when it comes to overthinking.
We were close to our destination when he removed the scarf from his face and I could finally see him. He had the faint markings of an infant beard, a sharp nose on which the light from the unusually large window shone to a blinding degree. Without turning his face towards me he said, "किधर जा रहे हो ?". "Lucknow", I said. "घर है वहां आपका?", he continued. "हाँ, मम्मी-पापा रहते हैं, उनसे मिलने जा रहा हूँ", I responded. He went on to inquire what my father did, and then went back to sleep. His legs continued to play with mine but nothing beyond that. I probed and tested the possibilities of something further but there seemed to be no reciprocation. After a point, I was annoyed, even more so when I realized that the train was pulling into the platform.
While I was waiting for my taxi to go home, I saw him again. He was with a group of other men calling out for an auto rickshaw. All of them had huge travelling backpacks, and a number of them. Was he going for a hiking trip? But in Lucknow? Was this a pit-stop? But, to where? And does it even make sense to come from Delhi to Lucknow if the intention is to make a hiking journey to someplace mountainous? When the hills are so close from Delhi itself? O my god, he must be very well built and strong if he's a hiker, right? Yeah, those legs sure seemed hard as rock. Argh, shut up.
It's funny how I agonize over things that could have happened. The mind swirls into a whirlwind of possibilities and what ifs, only to be further sucked into a black hole of imagining end-results had I done this and that differently. What if I had not given into the impulsive decision of calling someone over without preparing myself first? What if I had said no to him in the very beginning? What if I had pushed him away when I had the chance? What if I had bitten his dick instead of sucking it? What if I had stopped his advances when I thought it was getting too intense for my own good? What if I had slapped him instead of ruffling his hair?
As I write this, it becomes difficult for me to assign a face to any of the "his/him" above; strangely enough, each question fits every sexual encounter I've had. Quite neatly.
So yeah, dicks are ugly. Sorry for offending the dicks out there.
I am not an initiator. I patiently wait, sometimes to an exhausting degree, for the other person to move, gesture or even gaze. Sometimes, despite debating in my head the possibility that the other person might not be an initiator either, I let chances fly. But this time, my co-passenger had initiated enough for me to join the joyride. But somehow, the mind always double-thinks, "what if...?". What if he's just an over-entitled hetero-male so accustomed to having his space in public places that he doesn't care who he is touching? What if he's just a large person who occupies a certain amount of space on trains and buses and rickshaws? And what if, even if, he wants to have some "fun" on the train, why should I be the gateway to a word of curiosities? I know, my mind has no limits when it comes to overthinking.
We were close to our destination when he removed the scarf from his face and I could finally see him. He had the faint markings of an infant beard, a sharp nose on which the light from the unusually large window shone to a blinding degree. Without turning his face towards me he said, "किधर जा रहे हो ?". "Lucknow", I said. "घर है वहां आपका?", he continued. "हाँ, मम्मी-पापा रहते हैं, उनसे मिलने जा रहा हूँ", I responded. He went on to inquire what my father did, and then went back to sleep. His legs continued to play with mine but nothing beyond that. I probed and tested the possibilities of something further but there seemed to be no reciprocation. After a point, I was annoyed, even more so when I realized that the train was pulling into the platform.
While I was waiting for my taxi to go home, I saw him again. He was with a group of other men calling out for an auto rickshaw. All of them had huge travelling backpacks, and a number of them. Was he going for a hiking trip? But in Lucknow? Was this a pit-stop? But, to where? And does it even make sense to come from Delhi to Lucknow if the intention is to make a hiking journey to someplace mountainous? When the hills are so close from Delhi itself? O my god, he must be very well built and strong if he's a hiker, right? Yeah, those legs sure seemed hard as rock. Argh, shut up.
It's funny how I agonize over things that could have happened. The mind swirls into a whirlwind of possibilities and what ifs, only to be further sucked into a black hole of imagining end-results had I done this and that differently. What if I had not given into the impulsive decision of calling someone over without preparing myself first? What if I had said no to him in the very beginning? What if I had pushed him away when I had the chance? What if I had bitten his dick instead of sucking it? What if I had stopped his advances when I thought it was getting too intense for my own good? What if I had slapped him instead of ruffling his hair?
As I write this, it becomes difficult for me to assign a face to any of the "his/him" above; strangely enough, each question fits every sexual encounter I've had. Quite neatly.
So yeah, dicks are ugly. Sorry for offending the dicks out there.
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