It Lingered on (Erotic)

It lingered on, is it the melody of the ‘Marooned’ or the rhythm of his soul. I just know it has lingered on. It hit him, my naked body and the weed. It lingered on, the taste of his lips and the fragrance of his soul.

it lingeredonControlled, gentlemanly, I had seen him always but a wild lion he was today. He smoked the fire just once, but why we both were in a trance, an ecstasy we never reached before. Was it the music, day or the weed, how could he be so unimaginably passionate, soft but still rough, high but still more high on me. He calls me his drug, but today I was so high on him.

His lips, his hands moved as they were following the script of a passionate film, maybe which God was directing. He kept his eyes closed all the time and in his mind he roamed to galaxies with me, I couldn’t resist seeing him today even for a second. He was in search of a new pleasure, and I was sure we will, by feeling the ardent desire in both of us. He seemed to me like my very small baby.

It began with our lips, then his tongue couldn’t stop to reach my bottoms. It reached and it found a home there. I didn’t imagine his tongue could play there for so long like a stubborn child who refuses to sleep without his toy. It is a conundrum of various fears in a child that I could see in him today. Fear of losing the toy, fear of losing the content the toy gives, the fear of never finding this feeling, of belongingness. Like a toy, his body found a refuge in mine today and likewise my body did too.

He smoked the joint with his eyes closed, just like he would suck my nipples and blew it out just like he had blown me at the bottoms. The smoke from his mouth looked like a cloud, the cloud that took us both into a flight. A flight you don’t need any money, or ticket to take, but need passion in your soul, love in your heart, and care in your eyes.

He smoked it all and still didn’t dare to open his eyes. He then removed his pants and I saw in him a lion who just wanted his lioness and no tag of ‘King’ or no jungle to rule. He took my top off, grabbed my hands, my waist, and threw me on bed, removed my jeans and there he was. He pounded and began sucking my breasts like a baby who needs them and a husband who owns them, wants them.

He rubbed his beard on every inch of my skin, my cheek, my lips, my breast, navel, thighs, feet and especially my pubic area. His beard, so hard and rough but I was craving for more of it on my soft body.

His being hard for me and not for the lust of my body sweeps me off my feet every time when we’re naked. Our bodies seek pleasures, but his body demands to deliver the ecstasy first and then moans till the orgasm.

He then grabbed and pulled my hair like a bird who thought those were his wings, grabbed my butt from the sides and took me over him so intensely.

My hands on his head, breast jumping up and down vigorously over his face, and he moved me to and fro not skipping a beat of his own super-fast melody.

He continued moving so fast until I asked him to stop because the pleasure took me to a new world. But he was a stubborn lion, he rolled me and got me on my knees and then kept pushing in and out while we both moaned, in pain or pleasure, we both don’t know. Our moans were so subtle and intense, and with each thrust grew louder.

Right then his thrusting speed increased, and then slowly faded while we reached our highs, our orgasms with moans and whines. He stopped a few seconds after that while still in the same position.

And then he began to roll me, he rolled me into millions of positions, like we were two yarns of threads and he wanted to tangle them in a way that no one could differentiate them into two. We entangled our limbs and lips, and our whole body was tasting each other from all the places. We rolled each other, sometimes he won the top, and gave me the rewards by kissing me uncontrollably and then I also fought to be on top, to let my fingers and nails dance on his back and his hips. The hips that move so zealously to find the trance only which we hear and meditate at.

We entwined our hands, legs, hearts in a want to be as one as our souls are, and twisted and turned for hours and got one just like two different colors dropped in a glass of water. Both the colors are beautiful but trust the other color and mix in it so well to make a new color which dilutes the individuality of both the colors and makes a more unique and beautiful shade in a sense that even hopeless lovers fail to see sometimes.

While all the movements and our bodies’ dance, he sobbed in my arms, he held me so tightly today, I could feel his heart in my body, that’s how close we were.

He was sobbing, moaning while saying he never wants to open his eyes and loosen up his arms today. I wished the same. I asked him how he was feeling while he was so entranced in the movements and sobbing like my small baby, to which he said—and I wish that end comes just like this. I got the emotions—he just wanted to never do anything other than this even till the last breath of ours. I felt purely the same.

We felt so complete today. I was constantly moaning and also cried when he was thrusting me from behind, there was this spark that I felt in my body. I couldn’t just thank God enough for helping us find each other and how we could feel something so beautiful in these melodious movements which people call bodily pleasures. When I could sense something beyond that I cried while his movements began to fade as we had orgasms together—one had through his body, I had through my mind. He felt complete, I felt the same.

After hours of this beautiful time, we slept in each other’s arms, we both did, I was half conscious, half comfortably asleep. My half consciousness could just make me feel the warmth of his soft body and my comfort in sleep was just because of the security I had in his arms.

I just didn’t want to wake up, neither did he want, we had to, though. We both loved every second of the day spent together, in each other’s arms. We found our one color today and we were one after seeing that beautiful color. We became one, all the feelings diluted to create just a small world of ours which was a vast universe in itself but just our universe.


I was born BLACK but I didn’t know it

BlackI was born Black but I didn’t know it. I was my Daddy’s cute little girl. My Daddy! He loved my hair, he used to arrange them every day, be it ponytails or braids. Tickling and Games, my childhood was all about it. One word can summarise my childhood and that is Happiness.

I never saw a Mirror, never needed to. I was the prettiest and the most beautiful girl as my Daddy called me. Then I became a teenager, the time of tonnes of changes, biological, physical, mental, loads of them. The time of fragility and abysmal confusion. The people started commenting on my looks, told me that my skin was not white, not pure.

I never knew the difference between the white and black skin. The only way I could distinguish people was their acquaintance or relationship with me. There were people I know in one group and the ones I didn’t know in the other. That was it, there were no further classifications with their color, class, religion, caste as a base.

With each day, the number of comments was rising, I was becoming a mess. I got confused between the notion of Daddy and that of the society. Daddy called me the prettiest and now people are eying me and calling me Black. He was not there anymore, couldn’t ask him too.

black1With new and different comments, weird and awkward stares, strange insecurities were being born in me every day. I couldn’t believe it, I didn’t want to believe that my black skin was not pretty. But bit by bit, the strange insecurities about the skin, color, lips broke the belief. The belief of being the Daddy’s Most Beautiful Girl broke.

I got to know the difference finally. I was uncomfortable in my skin now. I was ashamed of being black now. They forced me to be ashamed of my black skin. Each day was a sin after the realisation. It took me days to chuck it.

I started to put makeup, layers of it. Primer, Concealer, foundation, highlighter, kohl, mascara and Tone Enhancing, Fairness Creams at night. I thought it’ll be okay now. I felt good in the beginning when my kith and kin complimented me. It gave me a satisfaction. I felt happy, really happy. Months and years passed. My obsession for makeup also rose. I couldn’t picturise myself without makeup anymore. It became my identity, the outer one at least. I got dependent on it. It became my drug.

But one night, I was removing my makeup, I removed the Kohl first, it got smudged and smeared. Then I took the cleansing wipe, rubbed it on my lips. The bold red lips became dull, lifeless at once. I panicked a bit. I folded the wipe, started to clean my face. I could see, stroke by stroke, the two juxtaposing skin tones. I was horrified. I can’t explain the feeling, what I felt that very moment, suddenly there was a tear in my eye. I wiped it, cleansed and washed my face and went to bed. I tried to sleep but I wasn’t able to.

I was confused about this incident for many months. I was losing my sleep. There was this identity crisis in me after all of it that I was neither able to embrace my natural shade, be comfortable with it or wear it publically nor I was able to be happy in my artificial shade, I was wearing it to work but I wasn’t feeling myself anymore.

Then to worsen it, one day, while I was checking Instagram, I saw a white women’s post. It said-“BAN MAKEUP and FAIRNESS CREAM”. I was angry, sad, happy, worried, optimistic, and pessimistic in a single moment. Can you believe it?

Angry! As why a white woman is posting it, she’s not black, she doesn’t feel us then how did she get the right to post it.

Sad! As I was already disturbed about my skin. I thought if this should happen what would I do without makeup? How would I see myself without these products?

Happy as at least someone thought of it, a woman thought of it despite she’s white, she cared enough for others. She wants others to feel beautiful with whatever God has gifted them with.

Worried! I was worried how will I go out, in such a dull and lifeless skin. What would others think of me if they see me like so?

Optimistic! I thought maybe if there are no products, everyone will eventually accept their natural beauty despite the differences and the diversity. After all, we all are the same, all humans, we all have eyes, ears, mouth, lips, brain, heart etc. Maybe the world will embrace the black and white alike now.

Pessimistic! What if this all was a bubble, my bubble of hope. What if this all was my imagination while the reality might be unfavorable? What if the world refuses to believe in black, denies their rights and opportunities. What if we’re all left out.

black1Yes, all these thoughts in a couple of seconds. My head was all about it, and it started to pain because all these feelings were shouting, having arguments and fights with each other. It was a Brain War.

I was messed up beyond words that night. I took a pill and tried to catch some Zs. I slept with a wet pillow. The pill put me to sleep.

Luckily, I had a good dream that night. In my dream, there was a different world, an animated and a really beautiful one. I saw chocolate rivers, colorful trees. Some trees had candies hung on them. Some had cupcakes while others had star shaped fairy lights hung on them. On one side, there was this huge fall, from which strawberry shake was falling. The people’s face were teddy like, had a cherry-like nose. There were big mansions made of waffles which also had noodle shaped curtains on their glass panes. There were statues of chocolate, ice-cream filled ponds. Pasta shaped ducks and all cute little animals. Surprisingly, all the teddies looked alike. A huge bell rang in a while, at the centre of the beautiful Garden. Suddenly all the teddies sat on the green grass for lunch. They held each other’s hand and made a big circle, leaving no one behind. All sat and had lunch circled by small puppies and kittens, they also joined for lunch.

The speciality of this very time was the way they all sat for the feast. Their regular meal was a feast each day. They were so happy and joyous. Each one of them started to feed others with their plate. Each one was filled up with not just food but love. The cute animals were not left alone either. What an adorable scene that was! I wish I could capture it on my phone. Suddenly played the Beep! Beep! My alarm played and woke me up.

I woke up with a smile on my face. I remembered each scene of my dream, so clearly and vividly. I was in awe of it. I was happy about it, the dream fed me some positivity, and a long lost one. I went to the park, bathed, ate my breakfast and got ready for work.

I did not wear makeup that day, it was hard but I didn’t. I tied my hair and went for work. Some colleagues questioned on why looked so dull. To which I replied—“I look real.” Some appreciated while others chose to whisper and laugh. I won’t say it was easy. It was bold, you know, doing something unafraid, indifferent to the consequences. I did it or maybe I didn’t. This was daddy’s pretty girl who did it.

The wicked and surprised eyes disappointed me a little at first. But the impression of the dream was not that weak that I would be hurt by those stone pelted at me anymore.

Instead, the second time I chose to fire back at the ones who came and commented on my skin. I chose to bomb kind words wrapped in sarcasm with a smirking smile on my face. I could see them almost dying as they couldn’t make me insecure anymore. I saw that dissatisfaction in their eyes when they saw my proud eyes. I wish I knew this cycle in my teenage. Comments if not answered turn into our own insecurities while also powering the perpetrators.

Anyway, I was not looking for an acceptance anymore. I accepted myself entirely that day. Isn’t there much more to me, my life than the shade of my flesh?

Problems never last so does satisfaction. I was pondering over a cup of java that what if I had not seen that Instagram post that day? What if I had not cared for my dull lips and different shades that day? What if my daddy never called me beautiful? What if I hadn’t had that dream morning?

I could be happy in my flesh once again, the way nature made me, the way my family loved and accepted me. But what about the others? Who are as black as I yet with golden but fragile hearts? What sequence is designed by the nature to make them believe in their skin again? What if they don’t see that post or have that dream?

What ifs are tonnes but so are the what now’s. We all should be that human to at least someone that betters their life directly or indirectly. I want to inspire many by this small tale. But I’m not going to say Ban Makeup or Ban Fairness Cream.

I would go and shout out loud—“BAN THE INSECURITY”. I would teach the trick to silent the commenters. I’m going to teach the blacks to educate the racists and pity their limited thinking.

I would teach the teenagers how the color palette is incomplete and somehow blank with just white and alone without the black.

The world is also the color palette of the Lord whose colors are white, black and so many others and his arts are equally colorful. If God wasn’t partial to his color palette, who gave humans the right to criticise his art pieces?


The Dark Sky and the clouds are as optimistic as the Grey Skies

Dark Skies are as optimistic as the Grey is (3)

The Dark Sky and the clouds are as optimistic as the grey sky.

The Silver Line above the cloud is so optimistic but trust me, the black clouds are equally or maybe more optimistic than the clear beautiful sky.

The grey clouds that tend to dim the lights of the sun, but only those clouds don’t let the sun’s light to diverge in the vastness of earth and then in these beautiful movements of the clouds, only once in a while, you do see a bright ray of light as perfect as the lord.

The ray with a sharp piercing focus, beautiful line running downstairs like that beautiful angel in white but with the vividness of a thousand rainbows.

Dark Skies are as optimistic as the Grey is (1)

Then there is the dark sky that seems to yell spells and curses but only in some time we are able to decipher the spells when it rains and beautifully dampens the dry earth, extracting aromas and auras and spreading it all around. Only the dark skies have the ability to rain on earth and the people. The rain that’s purer than the purest water on the mother earth.

In only the dark clouds, the thunderstorms, when lightning strikes the earth and makes so loud sounds; people are more silent and enjoying the nature’s play while looking at the power of it, in awe of nature.

When it rains, the purity of water dilutes all the negativity in the people and fills them with gaiety. They are always joyful when it rains.

“A clear sky never rains” is what they say and they never said it wrong.

So, Cheers to the Grey & Dark Clouds.



My Inspiration to write was….

people-woman-hand-desk-6360My inspiration to write was that women in the Metro Coach, who was pondering too much. And, that guy who smiled at me in the hallway. Also, the boyfriend who kissed not just my lips but my soul. The girl who wanted to find her goals. The girl who was already a wanderer searching through her bits and pieces trying to find her hint of success. The old lady determined to create a company. Also, the Men, the proud misogynists, who pushed me to write for my gender. Especially, The Men who made me an un-Feministic Girl i.e. not just in favour of my gender but strongly against the biased women-haters. The Stereotypes that expected women to keep her eyes at the ground in front of her husband. The stranger who saw through my eyes. The stranger who asked my reason of existence in my commute to work one day.

My inspiration was in the love that defined happiness for me and in the love that wreck me. It was in the solitude when I was alone, locked up with books. It was in that book which inspired me to stand up for right and never settle. It was in the disappointments and the satisfactions. It was in the 10 kilometres trek to that beautiful hill that made me want to believe in god. It was in the clarity of thoughts and in the conundrum alike. It was in my want to love and be loved alike. It was in the birthday gift that I never got. It was in the friend that left me for no reason without caring to tell me. It was in the stubborn lover who could not accept that fact that I was leaving. It was in the crowd which made me wonder we all have a vivacious life.

My list of Inspiration does not end here. It has more subtleties than I can possibly talk of. And these inspirations have forced me to write something so meaningful that has an impact on someone else’s life. Something that fires their courage again to hit the wrong in its face, to take their life’s steering-wheel in their own hands. I want to write something powerful that urges someone to speak for them.