It’s funny how sometimes all that you really want to do is to jerk off. There is this sudden moment of clarity. A clear aim in life. And the power to achieve it. And then boom! Everything ends with an orgasm. All the clarity. All the aim. And you are lost again. And life is back again.
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She wore a cotton kurti that was green over her bosom and orange over her belly and waist. She also wore shades that belonged to a totally different era – she must have picked them up from her mom’s collection. She took off the shades almost as soon as she closed the door. Her face was unattractive but the same won’t be true for her eyes for the two black dots floating inside a white sea were no less beautiful and cute than a pair of gold-fish trapped in a water filled flask. She smelled of milk. The smell had been rather strong – making him wonder if she had just taken a milk-bath. She probably believed that rinsing her bare skin with something as white as milk would make her fairer.
Lost in her smell and her eyes, he noticed her lips only when they had come real close to his own. Before he could do a mental analysis of the exact shade of the lipstick that she had applied, their lips were locked. For the first few seconds, it felt just like eating Milkybar although it had been long since the last time he actually tasted one. He was used to chocolate. Nothing at the moment however, suggested that he was going to get anything else but a dip in pure white milk. Once the kurti and whatever else she was wearing below it, were gone, it was all white inside, adding in turn to the milkiness of the moment. The undergarments were not just white, but were certainly new as well. He already knew he wanted to call her gaay as his left hand started working over the breasts and as the shining white milk-smelling bra hung by the tip of the forefinger of his right hand. He couldn’t remember the last time he wore a white undie – probably never. As he let the piece of cloth drop off his finger, he knew he would ask for a white one the next time he would go to buy one.
Probably if she hadn’t insisted, he would have spent the entire night, smelling her breasts and playing with them. He wasn’t sure when that last piece of clothing had disappeared from her brown body. He wasn’t even sure about the separation of his own body with his dress. He was too lost. Probably it was one of those nights when his mind floated beyond sex. More than the desire to penetrate her, he wished he could paint her white from top to bottom. He really wished that. But it was mean of him to leave her unsatisfied. He cared for her. He probably loved her. And so they had sex – he still lost in the milky odour that radiated from her chest, his eyes closed – trying to see her as a white marble statue in the darkness of the shut eye-lids. The orgasm felt like a powerful bomb blast – throwing shattered particles of the white marble in all directions. Gradually, he fell asleep amidst the bits and pieces of the white stone, some around him and some over.
When he got up in the morning, he knew one thing for sure – drinking two liters of milk everyday was certainly not a solution to stop night-falls.
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I was listening to a hindi song from a movie called Pyaar to hona hi tha. Kajol asks Ajay Devgan a question as the song begins.
I thought I had the perfect answer for her question. I answered her on behalf of her hubby.
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Dalaal ordered a couple of dick-head (refer to picture above) weed suppliers to get stuff for him on his marriage. All these guys got doped including Dalaal. Every time Dalaal had got high before, the fact that he had problems sitting the normal way on non-moving surfaces had hit him hard. He was feeling similarly even that night. In fact, this was one reason he had made sure all the dick-heads sat the way he did. However it didn’t help him. He closed his eyes and imagined how different his life would have been had he been able to sit like other normal people. He wondered if others realized the pain he had to go through daily when he had to shit.
As he was thinking of an answer, the dick-head dopers who were now too high to follow their Shehenshah’s instructions of sitting in kneel-down position, generally stood up and started dancing. Dalaal was already pained and so he joined the gang and danced and danced. Thus, the marriage ceremony finally got over.
Realizing that Dalaal was totally gone by the time he reached bed, Poda refused to get fucked by him. Dalaal didn’t argue much and went to crash off on a separate bed. Now Poda wasn’t very sure how the Tulsis and the Parvatis dressed while sleeping. I mean every time she had seen them on TV, they had been dressed like fools. So she decided to play safe and went to sleep in full gear. She was lucky the bed didn’t break under the load of unneeded jewelery that certainly must have weighed two times her own body weight. In the picture below, you see Poda moments after she got up the next day. Ever tried crashing like that? Don’t even try ‘coz it might prove to be lethal.
Dalaal had to leave for office early next day. By the time Poda woke up, he was already gone. Later that day, all hi-hellos happened as Poda was introduced to the several characters in Dalaal’s palace. The most important character who would play a crucial role later was a once-upon-a-time-hindi-pop-singer named Maha-panga. She, even after all these years , roamed with her band members and maintained a stupid band-dress-code. Dalaal gave her more respect than his own mother for the simple fact that as a kid he had been totally crazy over her song, nigodi kaisi jawaani hai. He had even made Maha-Panga a councilor in his court.
More about how Poda started singing bettter than Maha-panga and what happened to Poda’s cousin Choosamal and Dalaal’s jeeja Beraham in upcoming posts.
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