Infidelity: A level playing field? (Part 1)

Relationships are built on the foundation of trust and transparency. To be successful, ever-lasting and happy, relationships also must be a level playing field. We often come across relationships where one or both cheat on their partners. Some are aware of their partner’s infidelity, but choose to ignore it, while others use the opportunity to sleep around to get even with their partners. But have you come across some partners, who’ve replaced the word “relationships” in the first two sentences with “infidelity” and continue to feel contended, secure and happy in their relationships? Now, replace and re-read the first two lines again before you embark on my (s)experience journey.

PS: I believe relationship responsibilities belong to those involved in it and it is not the responsibility of those who sleep with one or both of them.

Sealing the deal

Humans never forget their innate hunting instincts, how to create a spark and nurture the fire to keep themselves warm and use it to feed their hunger. But only some amongst those believe that sharing is caring. Unlike the usual player profiles that claim to be single (aka celebataire in French), despite being in a relationship (man or woman), this profile was honest and upfront. It had naked pictures of both of them and the couples were soliciting men to sleep with them together. After a volley of messages back and forth discussing interests, likes, fetishes, kinks, we finally exchanged numbers, addresses and agreed on the time of rencontres.

Secrets in Paradise

I rang the door bell and within a minute the door to the paradise opened. A well hung naked man opened the door, I didn’t know if he was the man that I was corresponding with or if he was his partner. But the man looked much better than he appeared on the picture, sometimes pictures are more deceptive. Very soon his partner welcomed me with a peck on my cheek and a quick hug to make me feel at ease. Intoxicated in their beauty and ambience, I forgot who topped and bottomed amongst the two.

Being swirled by aroma from the candles and surrounded by light from it along with naked men ready to please and pleasure made me feel in Paradise. I couldn't see much in the candle light, but the painting on the roof, tastefully and aesthetically decorated home and their hospitably forced to shameless ask them for a frequent visitor pass.

But then they said I was not the only one who felt that way and shared the history of the place, I felt all the more proud and prejudiced. The house was a brothel until the French Government shut them down in 1940s. I said aloud in pride, "may be we were whores in the same house then and we are being recycled to keep this place alive". That moment I felt the purpose of my life was achieved and I felt like a happy bat hanging upside down in its dark space.

Pillows, willows, wallows!

The doors to the bedroom were open and inviting, the bed was cleared of pillows for us to wallow with our hormone raging willows. I may sound like a greedy slut, but to watch multiple erect and dangling dicks, and multiple men in action sporting their horniness made me feel more powerful.

We began the evening on the bed of poses and hoses with a volley of kisses. Three lips came together and their powerful whiskey intoxicated tongues wrestled in my mouth and tongue-cuffed me. For a teetotaler, their kiss was more intoxicating than alcohol. That night I realized the potency of a French kiss. It can be served as an aperitif, a sizzling starter, a filling main course and a ever lingering desert.

Finally the sensory nerves on our lips turned numb, we shifted the focus elsewhere. Come back next week for more action and ad(vice)!

Imperialistic slut

 

To start this combat support from the allies were not sought after, messengers were not imprisoned, armies were not ordered, men were not dressed in uniforms, tanks and weaponry were not used, and no casualty was reported, yet personal cannons were fired to conquer hormones and spread happiness. Imperialism and colonialism may have ended long ago, but some people continue to practise and derive pleasure from it. I

The Saturday turned out to be an imperialistic slut (that's my dear friend called me when I did my usual kiss and tell). Having come back from a gruelling offsite, I had planned to keep a low profile for the weekend and go to bed early. In fact I had even postponed two movie offers from friends. But then the two text messages and raised my latent energy (horniness) and earned me the title "Imperialistic slut". 

The Algerian conquer: Since the beginning of French summer, this guy had been texting me and throwing me an offer to conquer the concubine in him. Sometimes I delay the offer and keep it waiting to test their commitment and weed out fake offers. I didn't have to go out to conquer him, a text message delivered through Bouygues Telecom with my address and building code brought him to my living room. You can call it subordination, respect, obedience or simply horniness! 

The 6 foot tall Algerian, with eyes resembling the colour and calmness of the Middeterrainian ocean arrived in my living room. The only language his lips and tongue spoke was kiss and that too with deadly passion. Soon his hands started to grown inside my undershirt like magic vines. So now who is really being conquered here?

Not sure if it is a matter of excitement, respect or protocol, he started to remove his shoes while his hands grasped my lateral muscles. But nervousness and excitement overtook the sense of respect and as a result his pants came down ahead of his shoes. He invited himself into my bed room and along with him went a black colour pouch. Very soon he was in my bed breaking the rules of Imperialistic engagement. 

By the time I turned on the "tity latch" (The latch is like a fan regulator or like a radio knob and one has to turn it anti-clock-wise to lock the door) on the door he was beginning to set the stage in the bed room for a true imperialistic take over.

As soon as I entered the room, I saw him squatted in the corner of the room like a guilty prisoner and his hands were tied at the back. Was it an act of self surrender to plead guilty to the charges and reduce the sentence? And when I picked him up for a deep kiss My hands felt his handcuffs. In awe and shock I pushed him on to the bed and for the next 20 minutes there were only my hands playing on him. 

I always believed sex should be a two-way highway for maximum pleasure, but that day I realised one pair of hands can be equally fun. Though it looked unfair, it was a pleasure to watch him helplessly wiggle and horrible moans (hormoans) filled the room every time my lips touched his cock and nipples, my tongue scooped his hairy armpits and my noses crated behind his ears. Like the jailer who satisfies the last wish of the prisoner before execution, I satisfied his wish by firing the cannon on his face. Happiness of a million tulips blossomed on his face.

The Madagascar conquer: After the Algerian was conquered, I took a cold shower and went to the nearby grocery store to revitalise my body. And an hour later when I got back, I had a few Whatsapp messages waiting. Again I didn't have to set out to conquer, but wanted to come home and submit himself. It was from a Madagascarian cub who wanted to pay his respects before he left the city. The cub kept regularly addressing me as daddy (older bear) and that entrusted me with the responsibility to reciprocate. 

Before I begin my next kiss and tale, let me remind you that Algeria and Madagascar were both French colonies. Let's not blame the imperialist, some people naturally seek and derive pleasure from self submission letting them being ruled. Let me set the expectations, the Madagascar conquer was very different from the Algerian conquer. 

The cub had a lanky frame, but a half an inch thick black fluff on his face made him not look emaciated. I put my hands inside his t-shirt to feel his muscles and bones to check his age. His throbbing cock touched my thighs and triggered my hand to grab his wavy black hair. I pushed his head behind and started with the first course: lippitizers. 

The cub wanted the main course to be served on the bed, and with some hot sauce. The first request was to pass on commands and punish him for disobeying them. My choice was restricted to only commands, while he took control of the punishments that he wanted me to give him. The first punishment he suggested was to grab his hair and slap him on his face, the second was  to  spank and yell at him and the last one was to spit on his. Never having executed this kind of a request before I was taken aback. But then I wanted to be a true daddy and keep my cub happy. I tossed him on the bed and taught him the tricks he needed to know. Every time he disobeyed I meted out severe punished which he took it with a smile and hugged me back with love, respect and showered me with a hundred kisses. Like a true daddy I licked and clean him up with care and love.

I never imagined I would have such a imperialistic Saturday commanding the Algerian and disciplining and teaching the Madagascarian cub some survival lessons. But nevertheless the imperialistic behaviour punished me with a load of hook-up laundry (soiled bed sheets, towels for my conquers, etc.) and taught me some new tricks.

Is Richard: Famous? A Regular? A Friend?

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A Peacock sheds its feather and… Part 2

 

 

A curse and not a course
“This is against my will and I am forced engage in prostitution. I have no other job to sustain myself, my previous employer is hesitant to take me back and my family has disowned me. I don’t want to beg on trains and public places like others transgender community, and as result I am forced to take up prostitution. All this sounds like a curse and not a course and I am hopeful that someday my helpless family, the ruthless society and puppet government will treat us with equality and love” said Mayil.

Her biology was mind boggling
That night she also let me in her biology. “I lost my testosterone, a male hormone, after the surgery and since I am not interested to undergo estrogen therapy I don’t have any sexual feeling despite being a prostitute. I learnt the hard way about how hormones control and alter sexual desires and  biology. I never realized that the surgery would have all these consequences. I slept with other peacocks for pleasure before the surgery but today I do it only for sustenance.

 

Sex is mechanical and only for materialistic purpose. The pleasure has vanished and what lingers is just pain”, she completed and tears quickly trickled down her cheeks and soaked the remaining pieces of chicken.

I was aghast at her reply and human biology and the role of hormones looked complex, as dangerous as nuclear weapon and how it can be self-destructive.

Yet Living like other women

"When I was a gay man, people made fun of my effete nature, yet some gay/bi-sexual men found me  attractive and slept with me. Now post surgery gay men run away from me, straight women think I'm a joke, straight men think I'm a cheap substitute for women and perverts love me", said Mayil.

I was lost trying to fathom the devastation gender reassignment surgery brought to her. Mayil quickly read my mind and replied before I put forward my next question. She got up and asked the waiter for the way to the restroom. That night during the 75 minute conversation I kept addressing her as he, but Mayil had no second thoughts when she wanted to tidy herself she went straight into the women’s room. She wanted to be woman and now she is living a life of a woman.

“In my earlier gender till four months ago, I spent my time with many gay men and like them I wanted to chase straight men. But today gay men don’t want to be seen with me and I am being chased by the perverts in the straight community,” said disappointed Mayil.

Today Mayilu is a woman and she also has to endure other hardships that come with the new gender. Apart from dealing with insults and outcast treatment meted by public she puts up with the menace of auto drivers, police and other sexual perverts. She said the auto drivers often drove her into dark alleys and was interested to explore her biology, while perverts on the late night trains wanted to see her breasts, while police only think of her as a prostitute.

A pinch in her feet
That night I didn’t want to have her face another auto driver and offered to drive her back to her den. And when I asked her what I can get her for a gift, without a second thought she put forward her request.  

“I may not be a complete woman in the eye of the public, but internally I am a woman and the surgery is successful. And I would even do the hormone therapy if it would alter my feet size, giggled Mayil.

“A woman’s footwear would go well with this Salwar and I would love to have a half-dozen slippers to match my other clothes. I hear women footwear in bigger sizes is available overseas, can you get me a few pairs when on your next overseas trip?” requested Mayil.

“I will be a better woman when you see the next time. I promise to save-up to get a breast implant done” concluded Mayil with determination.

Before I could make my promise to bring her a few pairs’ of women footwear that would not pinch her feet, she opened the car door she picked up her dupatta from her broad shoulders and covered her head. She waved at me and vanished. As I drove back home, my mind swelled with questions and thoughts.

A pinch in my heart
Personally, this meeting was a life altering experience for me. Earlier I would have run away from transgenders and would not want to be seen alongside one in public or during pride marches. But today, I stood up in support and I was not worried about being spotted with her at a restaurant despite people giving me a look. Isn’t it the same straight society that discriminates me also discriminate Mayil?

Before we go about changing the perspective of the main stream society, we gay men who walk alongside transgendered on pride days must fearless and shamelessly walk alongside on other days. We stop must stop discriminating looking at each other with curiosity, hatred and prejudice, and replace it with care, love and respect.  If love is genderless then how can friendships be bound by gender?

Why don’t you also think about it…and not just only buy shoes for those beautiful feet, but also hold their hands and walk together? Fight together against the narrowminded, the straight perverts, and the deaf government. Wouldn’t that be more comforting?

A peacock sheds its feather and more...

 

 

 

A year ago was when I last met him, and he surprised me by showing up in a saree that carried beautiful peacock prints along the body. Not sure if it was the saree or his attitude that came with flamboyance, but it earned him the title “Peacock” aka “Mayil. And earlier in the day when I called Mayil to confirm our meeting, the same voice answered the call, and asked me to be ready to see a new avtar that night. From peacock to what next? I had not idea.

Mayil was dressed in a salwar with floral prints, the tight kameez accentuated his slim legs and the dupatta vertically wrapped around her face gave a mysterious look. On his left hand he held a handbag like a model; on the right he held his mobile phone like next door girl, and his nails contrasted the color of her salwar. A big smile blossomed on her lips colored in deep pink. Was it Cinderella or a male version of her?

That evening what embarrassed me the most was not the look Mayilu received from public, but rather my English. While Peacock had successfully transitioned from being a woman caught in a man’s body to a peahen (female) four months ago after going through sexual reassignment surgery, I had not yet made the transition mentally. I continued to look for the he in her and as a result addressing “her” as “him” all through our conversation. I apologized and asked her for blanket forgiveness, and it looked like I needed a class in English. And a month later, I am still struggling to write this piece with a “he” embedded in my mind.

The first call
She was late by 90 mins that evening for our meeting, and my anger vanished when I realized the ordeal she had to go through to make it to our meeting. During the dinner she received two calls and it conveyed a lot she wasn’t prepared to reveal.

When the first call came through she picked it up with confidence and informed the caller that she had come out to meet her ex-colleague for a job. Seeing her reaction, I decided to prod her further to understand how and why the peacock decided to shed it feather. And her revelations that night were both shocking and tearful.

In the next twenty minutes…
When she was still a he, he had a job, a steady income, a loving family, and loving bunch of friends whom he met every weekend. After transforming into a woman, she was disowned by her family and had to seek refuge in a slum amongst other transgenders and as a part of the deal she couldn’t have her friends from before visit her. Yes, the peacock lost her wings of freedom that gave her happiness and color.

When I asked her if she had thoroughly researched the risks of the procedure, went through counseling sessions, discussed her decision with the family, and prepared her lifelines before she made the decision.

As an answer to my question she shared the suffering she had to endure while trapped in a man’s body.  At every private opportunity, be it home alone or in shower she said she behaved like woman. She let me in on a secret, now a broken promise, she and a few other friends who felt the same way made years ago.  They all swore not go through the genital mutilation and gender reassignment, but live this life trapped in a man’s body. But then why did he break the promise?

Not sure if the curse of the broken promise came back to haunt her. Mayil had undergone the surgery in a private clinic. Not sure if the surgeon failed to use sterilized instruments or the physician failed to give her the right medication post surgery, but she contracted septicemia. And a fellow transgender who promised to care completely neglected her. Finally, it was Mayil’s mother and her friends who retrieved her from the jaws of death nursed her back to life.

When Mayil’s father and siblings learnt about the surgery they immediately cut their ties with her and asked her never to return home. Mayil had no option but to find a place for her and live amongst other transgenders. Despite having a good standing at work she had to resign her job and HR is reluctant to take her back since other employees may react differently to her reassigned gender.

Is gender reassignment a crime and shame? Do humans have no right to choose the gender that makes them complete and happy? Why should family, friends and society need to have the final word or approve and accept a reassigned gender?

The second call and third course
Mayilu had finished the main course and just as I offered her the menu to choose a desert she received the second call. And this time the speaker on the other end was loud and I heard the all about the new life she had to play as a peahen.

The head of the brothel house was on the line and she summoned her to return home immediately since a happy customer from the previous night had returned. Infact, her third course was waiting back home. And when I asked her if she enjoyed being a prostitute, she replied candidly and let me in on her other secrets.

Come back next week for more revelations about the curse of a new peahen and her physiology...

Just one time, one night and a new status for life

 

Bible was not written in the age of test tube babies, cloning and surrogacy and hence people who live by it may never accept Adam and Steve’s union as a marriage, but American dictionaries in their next reprint will have to amend their definition of marriage. Yes, the Supreme Court of America has finally delivered a landmark verdict recognizing same-sex union as a marriage, thereby giving Adam and Steve the same rights as Adam and Eve.

Does the verdict also imply that the tenets of heterosexual marriage: practicing safe sex, staying committed, be there for each other in the times of happiness and sorrow, keeping it a  monogamous relationship, taking responsibility for their children, etc. also apply to same-sex marriages?

For now let set aside the topic on rights, recognition, and marriage and go back to the topic on safety, responsibility and hygiene. Irrespective of the type of marriage (between members of same-sex or opposite sex) every marriage needs to be protected, safety and hygiene needs to be part of the grammar of life so that both (read as all or many) parties can sustain the happiness, unison and good health forever.

It has been over 30 year since HIV epidemic struck the gay community and the advancement in antiretroviral therapy has turned the epidemic into a chronic, but manageable disease, thereby giving the community another chance to living. Does that mean we can engage in irresponsible sex with the hope that advancement in science and medicine will take care of our negligence?

After our fourth conversation, Atul revealed his status. I didn’t ask him for his status, but he shared it because he felt comfortable and that I wouldn’t turn that information into an epidemic. Atul and I lived in two different cities and there was no immediate opportunity for us to meet, but nevertheless he shared a piece of information that I have hardly heard anyone from the gay community share with me in the 25 years.

The US Supreme Court verdict may now put the don’t ask, don’t tell policy (DADT) to rest, but nevertheless many gay men seem to be actively practicing the DADT policy when it comes to revealing their HIV status. I didn’t want to ask him too many questions over the phone in the first week, but rather wanted to build trust before I prod him further.

Go on any of the gay networking sites (PR, Grindr, Scruff, etc.), like a market most of them declare their relationship status (dating, committed, in relationship, open relationship, etc.), what they are willing to trade and what they seek, but none of them update their HIV status or reveal the last time they got tested. Doesn’t that say a lot about gay men? We seek pleasure without safety and we rarely get tested and seldom exchange information about each other’s HIV status. Isn’t that similar to racing a car without going through the controls and wearing a seat belt?

And one day when I finally arrived in Atul’s city, I texted him to find time to meet me for a coffee. Though we had not been in touch for a few weeks,  Atul promptly agreed and was on-time for the catch-up. The conversation began with an apology for his mood swings and then turned quiet. I decided to have a conversation about his “coveted” status, discovery, ongoing treatment and the emotional turmoil.

Not all discoveries are pleasurable
Atul had just turned 28 the week before, and at the age of 25 he was gifted a bug that was never on his wish list. When I asked him about the source, Atul turned irate and asked me to back-off and not rake up the past. Not all discoveries are pleasurable and often there is only pain when it comes to sharing those unpleasant discoveries.

Not only had the cool breeze and monsoon showers had cooled the earth, but also cooled down furious Atul. He voluntarily came forward to the same place where he had asked me to back-off and shared details about his discovery, how he temporarily withdrew himself from the “gay” community and ran from clinic to clinic, spending his evenings with doctors discussing about his treatment options, and facing the consequence of his irresponsible behavior without being unable to seek support from his family.

Atul discovered swollen lymph nodes and sadly Google was his only friend he could rely to quench is fear and anxiety. But then Google revealed so many possibilities for swollen lymph nodes and Atul had no option but to consult a doctor. Multiple tests and initial diagnosis revealed that he may have TB. But then Atul decided to consult another doctor, who recommended that he undergo the HIV test.

Nailing source and the bug
And when the results came out positive, Atul called up the last guy he had been with before he slept with his partner and the conversation turned into a verbal brawl when the guy revealed that he was HIV positive. Atul nailed the origin, while the doctor nailed the bug and laid out treatment options before him and counseled him to reveal his status to those he was sexually intimate within the past and in the future.

When I asked Atul if he practiced unprotected sex with that night, he drew a blank. He said he smoked weed and as a result passed out and couldn’t recall anything beyond. I also asked Atul why he can’t have contracted the bug from some other person, and not this guy. Atul said the guy had left so many hints at his home and when confronted he finally confessed that he is positive.

Isn’t it the duty of everyone to play safe and reveal your HIV status before engaging in intimate sex? If Atul had played safe and the other person had revealed his status, this painful discovery and living with a secretive bug for life with a hope that medicines would keep it under check .

Giving a new status to their relationship
Atul’s was in a relationship when all this happened and the only fling on the side gave him a new status for life. Not only did it give him a new status, but also his partner.

Soon after Atul’s discovery his partner moved to a different city and one day he received a call from his partner. The partner revealed similar symptoms, and Atul asked him to get tested for HIV. Atul was nervous about his partner’s results, and when it came out to be positive, Atul confessed that he had passed on the bug. When his partner asked Atul if he had unprotected sex with strangers, Atul confessed to the slip just that one time and that one night.

Ever since Atul contracted the bug, his relationship with his partner and the supposedly one night stand turned sour. Fights, tear, anger, disappointment, arguments soon tore their relationship apart, but the bug kept them together and left all them with same status for life.

I stood up and hugged Atul without any fear and applauded his courage and arduous journey since 25. I sat down with more questions for him. Atul again got mad at me when I asked about the guy who gave him the bug, but then he softened and revealed little information. It seems the guy knew his status but was in denial and never took any medication to treat the virus. As a result the virus suppressed his immunity and he succumbed to a simple fever. Atul had no idea that this guy had passed away. A year after he contracted, he went back to make peace with the guy who gave him this gift.

And when Atul arrived at his apartment, the watchman told him that the guy passed away a year ago after a brief hospitalization for fever. Atul was shocked to hear about his death and trudged home that evening with a heavy heart. That one night, ended his relationship with his partner, infected his partner and now a year later he finds out that the guy who he engaged was dead.

“My ex and I have made peace and we provide emotional support to each other, but I know the bug will get us some day. But hope there is some time left for us to make peace with the bug”, concluded Atul.

 

High and dry plus itchy

A few anxious people wrote to me during the week asking if I were Ram or Jason. There have been moments where I’ve had my Jason and Ram moments. But in this context I was neither and one needed learn the safe and hygienic aspects while at play rather than trying to find if it was me. Those who wrote me were also curious to know if anything more happened between them after Jason stepped out of the toilet. Did Jason leave Ram with love bites or did he entrust that job with someone? Come on let’s find out.

Not sure how many of you have watched Sex and the city. In one of the episodes (I think it is season Two) Miranda would call a list people she had sex with to trace who she contracted the bug from. Calling a list of people to find out who gave the bug or prevention before cure, what is more easy vs. embarrassing? Atleast, Miranda had a list to call, but many of us (me included) may not be that meticulous to maintain a hook-up list !

That day after the lousy sex, Ram left Jason’s den with disappointment. A lot of what Ram wanted and expected had not happened between them and moreover, many things between them were one-sided, including the love making session. In all, Jason left Ram high and dry plus itchy.

 

Bookie vs. Hookie
Players in the current IPL season used all kinds of signaling techniques from moving the wrist band to dropping their hand towel to communicate with the bookies. But long before IPL arrived, gay men mastered various signaling techniques to express their sexual interests to the hookies (rather hookups). And today, I found Ram scratching (digging should be the right word) his pubic area. Aha! What does this mean? Was there a hookie nearby?

Since Ram was known very well to me, I enjoyed the liberty to ask him if his scratching was a live communication with the hookup or if it was a gift from one the hookups. May be Jason? “What do you mean?,” sneered Ram. “It is just sweat and heat that is making me scratch”, defended Ram.
I could clearly see that Ram was annoyed on hearing Jason’s name, and now that I was trying to relate every scratch with Jason and that infuriated him. Without scoffing at Ram, I asked if he had a few minutes to spare. He reluctantly said yes.

Lousy to Louse
Ram also appeared paranoid like the Hollywood Directors who made movies on aliens invading the US and global warming destructing the planet. But the crab louse invaded the human population 3.3 million years ago and continues to hold approximately 2% of the global population. And now, Ram was the latest victim!

Once I started to explain the epidemic backed up with some statistics, Ram showed signs of calming down and paying attention to my words. I even shared an anecdote from my life and how I caught the bug from an unsuspecting hook-up, but then I confessed not having the maturity to call up the person and ask him to get treated for the bug. Not sure who passed it to him, but humans are the most common carriers for body louse. BTW, that friend is still on my FACE BOOK. Any guesses?

Hiding dens
Crab louse is contracted through body contact and it typically found in coarse hair (around armpits, pubic area, long beard, etc.). They feed on human blood and multiply at a very fast rate. The eggs of the crab louse are laid usually on the coarse hairs of the genital and perianal regions of the human body. If left untreated and unattended, they can invade your body and bedding in a few days time.

Before I could complete sharing the instructions about cleaning and spraying the bedding material with the medication, Ram started to vigorously scratch himself. I couldn’t picture those bugs multiplying by the dozen and depositing their eggs at the root of the coarse hair. And for smooth men crab louse may not be an issue, but for hairy men it can be a hell. Looking at his hairy chest, I understood his agony and I stopped narrating the facts. I took Ram to the nearby medical store.

Getting a scrub
Without any hiss, hesitation or worry about being judged by the pharmacist, I asked him for a solution to treat pubic lice. Ram quietly stood beside me, as though he has no part in this alien infestation. But if the pharmacist was attentive he would noticed Ram’s body language and drawn up his own conclusions. 

The pharmacist explained the treatment options to me, shared usage directions and periodicity of usage. etc. And towards the end he instructed me to share this medicine with my partner and asked both of us to get checked for other sexually transmitted infections and finally punctuated by looking at Ram. Ram was embarrassed by the “look” from the pharmacist, and immediately stepped out of the pharmacy to take an incoming call on his mobile. Who called Ram? Could that be Jason? Did he call Ram to ask him to get treated for the bug?

Yes bug, no hug!
Ram was overwhelmed by the instructions given by the pharmacist. He cursed Jason and his hyper-active libido. He badly needed a hug, but then I was afraid of contracting the bug from him. Ram took the medication from me and hid it in his bag and we walked towards his home. I could see the bug sucking Ram’s blood and feeding on his happiness. Ram was down and worried but with medication in his bag he was just a few days away from getting rid of his itch and start hitch hiking again on the metro. 

Don't carry the betaal home
Prevention is always better than cure, but that shouldn’t mean that we must not have sex. Men may look physically attractive, well groomed, well mannered, but may not be itch-free.

1. Sleep only with men who are well groomed, who have a good sense of personal hygiene and who don’t scratch their private parts
2. A friend of mine man(dates) his hook-ups to shit, shave, shower and brush (not in the same order) before he gets to bed with him. He also washes himself with the anti-lice solution post sex. Not sure if this is strictly enforceable
3. Ensure that the pubic area is shaven or closely trimmed and make that a condition for anyone who wants to sleep with you
4. It is only my hook-ups that gave me crabs and not my ex-partners. So, possibly have a regular sex buddy and ensure both of you treat yourself for crab louse.

It would be a few weeks before Ram gets rid of the gift and starts to play the field again and when he does,  we will come back with more stories. Until then hang in there, stay clean itch-free and play safe. If you have any itch stories, share them! Wink!

Hygiene and Safety

Jason muscles were all tensed up and with a big moan he just dumped a big load on Ram’s chest. Was that Ram’s honey-do order? I don’t know, but Ram received the load with a big yes, eyes intoxicated with lust and squeezing Jason’s love handles. It was fresh, gooey, the tinge of yellow glistened against the natural light that entered the room without their permission.

Did Jason ejaculate his passion and lust that overpowered him for the last 35 mins? There was a sense of relief in Jason’s body language, his muscles were relaxed and he lay besides Ram like an exhausted laborer after a long day. While Ram picked up the pearl necklace with his finger, played with the consistency and beamed a radiant smile on his face. Was Ram’s behavior a sign of affection, admiration or satisfaction?

Not sure if Jason took cognizance of Ram’s finger play, but he picked himself up from the bed and rushed towards the bathroom. A volley of kisses, passionate moans and what looked like an inseparable union was now quickly replaced with sound of the door bolt, separation, water rushing to fill up the bucket.

Jason stood impatiently starring at the tap and waiting for the bucket to fill up. He pulled out the anti-lice solution from the medicine cabinet and emptied a good amount of Dettol (antiseptic and germicide) into the bucket. He picked up the tooth brush and generously covered it with the neem flavored paste to reclaim his oral hygiene. Ram had no idea what was happening behind the closed bathroom door, but he sat on the bed unperturbed by the sudden disconnect. Isn’t that how it is for many of us? It crossed Ram’s mind if he should just use the facial tissues in his bag to clean-up Jason’s gift and get dressed before Jason comes out in his towel.

Jason and Ram picked each other up on the metro ride an hour ago. What suddenly appeared in the scene that separated the two bodies, evaporated the overpowering pheromones, while making one feel soiled and unclean and the other feel lonely and not needed?

The exchanged basic information (age, preference, whose place to go to, etc.) and when they got behind the four walls, their focus was to make love to each other’s body and not care about their cleanliness before their union. Treating each other with respect and satisfying each other is one thing, but ensuring we engage in a safe and clean way is paramount, but seldom practised.

Many amongst us are like Jason, we care about hygiene and safety post sex rather than pre-sex. In the next few blogs, I will share my learnings and experiences; the first time when I picked up crabs aka body lice (the very thought still gives me an itch), the scary feeling that I went through when I saw a broken condom when I pulled out my phallus, how my ex-boy friend (a doctor) examined my pubic area for warts before we began our first physical union.

It is time to learn and unlearn. So, come back with Ram’s passion and patience!

Pheromones or Pheromoans?

 

 

All species in the animal kingdom (no sixth sense) carry no relationship tags that bound them by moral rules and copulate only for procreation. But why do gay men (with sixth sense) who speak of moral rules, fight for same-sex marriage and child raising rights, practice incest? A classmate touched me inappropriately in the name of adolescence driven by hormones, a cousin fondled me in the name of brotherly love, the English professor in the name of personal attention coached me in private before the University exams, and a friend penetrated me against my wish making it a rape. Is it simple hypocrisy or is it lack of understanding of responsibilities and moral rules of a relationship or is it overpowering lust and absence of abstinence? Is it the power pheromone or pheromoan?

Sepoys from the Revolt of 1857

25 years ago, I was in eighth grade, and my class mate came over with his history text book on a Saturday afternoon, and it was just before the half-yearly exam. He read aloud a few passages explaining the flash point (animal fat used to grease paper cartridges) between the sepoys and the East India Company and how that led to the revolt of 1857.

 

While narrating the mutiny, he slowly touched my cartridge and I was not sure how to respond or react, but then keeping me engrossed in the story about the mutiny and turned my cartridge greasy without any revolt. I experienced a sense of irritation from firing my first shot and didn’t know how to react to the invasion. On the pre-text of studying Indian history together we began studying each other’s anatomy and eventually we both began recruiting more sepoys in our high school.

Brotherly love aka incest?

My father’s sister’s son (my cousin brother) visited my house a few days ago and every time he comes home, he bosses around using the brotherly relationship tag. 23 years ago, that night we were sleeping besides each other at a cousin’s wedding. After the lights were switched off and all the elders began to snore, he freely put his hands into my blanket grabbed my hand to forced me to play with his dick. Since then whenever I was alone at home he would come by and force me to have sex with him. So, should brotherly love be termed as incest?
 

By the time I turned 18 I had enough experiences recruiting Sepoys at high school and having sex with my classmates and cousin. And when I got to college I was ready to for more action and this time it was with my English professor.

An English affair!

It was just 15 days before my first year University exam and the English professor asked me to come by his house for a quick revision of the two text books. He was in his mid thirties, tall and very attractive, but I never had any intention to seduce him. On a Saturday afternoon, I cycled a few kilometers to his home in the hot sun. I rang the bell and woke him up from his afternoon nap. He stepped out of the bedroom in his lungi and was surprised to see me. He invited me into the house, gave me a glass of water and asked me to come into his bed room that was dark and relatively cooler. I looked around the house for his wife, but seeing my hesitation to step into his room he proudly announced that there is no one in the house and asked me to make myself comfortable. I put the two English text books between us, but then he promptly took the books and put them on the bed side table and switched off the light. What he taught me that afternoon was a special class, and none of what he taught appeared in the exam, but stayed in my memory forever.

Call of romance or rape?

We first met online, but I took more than 15 months for us to meet in person. We were mutually drawn towards each other, but I decided to wait for our lust and infatuation to settle down. During the 15 months we kept in touch off and on, and one of the nights he got drunk and called me at 1 am to let me know how much he loves me. I honestly felt this call very romantic, despite feeling annoyed waking up at the wee hours, but I never took the call or his message seriously. It was just cute!
 

Finally lust had abated, atleast I felt that way, and I booked myself on a 75 mins flight journey to meet him. He received me at the airport and took me to his home and made me feel extremely comfortable. Infact, he even offered me his bed and settled in for his couch in the living room for the night. I asked him to sleep next to me, and I clearly felt I had complete control over my body and nobody could touch me without my permission.

But I was wrong that night and my “No” didn’t seem to bear any meaning. Despite knowing that I was a top and me raising loud disapproval, he ignored me and listened to his throbbing lust.  In the dark, he asked me relax, used more lube and shoved his genital inside me. Both my legs were up in the air and I patiently waited for him to climax.  How else can one endure a rape in a new city?
 

And when I cleaned up and came back to the bed, he thanked me for the hot sex. He asked me if he should help me wank off, but I turned down the silly offer and turned to the other side in disappointment and anger. I still can’t believe that I trusted a man, called him a friend and paid for my own rape.
 

 

Next morning I woke up with sore ass, a swollen sphincter and unable to take a crap. Not able to stomach his “friendly violation” I told him that this was against my wish, will and permission and it was “rape” and not sex. He smirked and admitted his uncontrollable sexual drive but never apologized.  Do friends rape?
 

The gay world conveniently defines, qualifies and ruthlessly downgrades relationships based on hormonal needs and wants. And today, 25 years after my first experience I sit back and think how I have experienced lust of a classmate, cousin, a teacher and a friend. During the course of 25 years, I have also brought home strangers and introduced them as “friends” and had sex with them. Two of my boy-friends were my sex mates, but to my family there were introduced and referred as my friend. And after I broke-up with them I still refer to them as my friends.

So, what does it mean in the gay world when you refer to someone as a friend? Does it mean you were someone's one-night stand turned into regular fuck-buddy and finally into partner before being rebadged as a friend? Are we making justice to the tags we attach to people? Or is it justified to expect people to execute the responsibility that comes with the tag? Is it a problem with the tag and not with our nuts? Does it mean that tags and roles and responsibilities hold no correlation in the gay community?

 

 

25 years have passed by since I started this physical journey, and there is no hate or regret when I reminiscent the hormonal journey. But I leave you with a few questions: are gays innately incestuous, born promiscuous and always walk around with a sexual agenda? Does the gay community hide behind the veil bound by relationship and yet practice incest? Is it the play of sixth sense?

Easter and Forgiveness

 

Three weeks ago, one of my doe hunt from the treadmill enquired about my ex’s and if I were in touch with them and how I managed to move on without any trace of bitterness or longing. I could sense a lot of pain when he asked me that question, but I didn’t have much wisdom to share then, despite truth being that no one plans to fall in love or fall out of love and every relationship naturally blooms and withers, and one gets into the relationship ahead of the other and one leaves earlier than the other. I had no clue that Easter will spring in surprises to some and liberation and clarity to few.

 

Easter is all about resurrection, forgiveness, moving on and making a new beginning. To some the new beginnings don’t have to wait for Easter, but to some it takes many Easters to finally get to the Palm Sunday. Today is Monday after Palm Sunday, and I had no plan to stay home or I had no clue about the messenger, a message and an envelope was going arrive that afternoon, but for some reason I decide to work from home.

 

What do messengers and envelopes bring? Do they deliver caution or hope? Krishna played the role of a messenger brokering peace between the warring brothers in Mahabaratha and Hanuman in Ramayana played the role of a messenger carrying symbol of love between the celestial couple and delivering the message of hope to crestfallen Sita and also cautioning Ravana about the arrival of Rama and his army.

 

It was 3.30 in the afternoon; the door bell rang and as always mom opened the door. For some reason I didn’t hear the door bell. This was the same guy who came into the operation theatre and signed off on the papers and also spent 6.5 hours comforting my family. And today, despite my brother and mother inviting him into the house, he adamantly stood outside and handed over a pregnant envelope to my mother. My mother puzzled at his postman behavior, refrained to accept the package and quickly decided to come and get me. Her walk into the room had a sense of urgency and her voice confirmed it. And she asked me to get to the door immediately. I was a bit surprised by the unannounced visitor and when I got to the door he handed out the big envelope with an indescribable look on his face. He handed over the envelope and despite me asking him to come in, he descended the stairs.

 

So, what did the messenger pack into the envelope? He packed all his sorrows, burdens and bitterness (to be read as money for all the gifts that I bought him during our relationship) and traveled 350kms to hand over and move on in life. It sounded ridiculous for an ex to pay for all the gifts given out of love, but if that was going to give him much needed peace and help him move on in life, I wouldn’t mind doing him that favor as a token on love and friendship. Well I never knew that there was a fine print that read “Money back guaranteed” when relationship curdled.  

 

And before I could open the envelope to examine the contents, I received a message from my other ex from London. And this one apologized for the long and abrupt silence and how his partner appreciates me and went on to enquire about me and my parents.

 

Today two men walked back into my life, 30 mins apart, to resolve their unresolved, tallying accounts and gaining their much needed freedom, while I was on my next journey. For a minute I was so happy that I had only two exs’!

 

Everyone opens envelopes in life, while some bring happiness and redeem them of their guilt, there are others create a puzzle and confusion. And there are some envelopes you want to tear into right away, but then are others that you never want to open. But still everyone needs to be enveloped in love, happiness and redeem their sense of guilt and baggage. So, let us not stop loving people and be afraid of envelopes being delivered at our homes.

 

May be I should call the doe hunt from the treadmill and ask him to put abundance faith, forgiveness and friendship before he puts together the envelope for the final trip. And should also tell him that falling in love and falling out of it is both a pilgrimage? It teaches many things about you while you are in it and the journey makes you understand the other person, but the key is not to carry crosses on our back as we exit and be prepared for the next pilgrimage.

 

Today, I learnt that only sad endings need happy and new beginnings and there is no better day than the week of Easter!

 

Incest in zest!

 

What differentiates us, humans from animals is our ability to form relationships, define it, enjoy the benefits from it and also whine when it is turns sour. And interestingly, for us, humans, procreation is a recreational outcome of sex. Sex is as much biological cement in a relationship as dynamite and hence calls for calls for pru(dent) usage.

I had no idea that the bed room would be turned into a hunting ground that night. The lights first went out and then he waited till his roommate, sleeping in the living room, snored his way to slumberland. I was lying physically exhausted next to my friend, sharing his bed, and my body language clearly said that I was not interested. Earlier in the day, during a conversation, I had told him that I was not looking for any flings and I was taking a sex-holiday. And that night I even built a mini Himalayas between us with pillows and crossed my legs indicating my disapproval for any touch or recreational accident. But he still didn’t seem to get it.

Next morning I dragged something along with me to the restroom; it was not my growling tummy and ready-to-burst bladder, but a strange feeling of violation. While the tooth brush was busy freshening up my teeth, my mind was busy chewing the cud from the last night. My eyes were still closed, matching and processing the imagery with sensory from last night; It was so blurry that it seemed I was suffering from both myopia and hyperopia. So what happened the previous night?

Not reacting to his paws and prowls from last night and noticing my normal behavior during the day, he asked me if I recollected his kisses, a dozen times, from last night. I was not prepared for this question, though I appreciated him putting it out there for a discussion. I told him that I felt someone feeling me up and kissing me all over my face, but I wasn’t sure if I was imagining or it really happened. His incestuous smile confirmed the truth, but I told him my choice was always the same irrespective of dream or reality.

Was my mind conjuring the un-happened or did it really happen? I was unable to make that call. Since I was staying with him for only a night I didn’t want to bring up this topic and embarrass him, but nevertheless the thought of failing to respect boundaries of friendship and terms of endearment bothered me. I was his guest, his friend, but I was definitely not ready to be his friend with benefits.

What if he was my type and I trespass the blurry boundaries of friendship and scaled the walls of morality that I suddenly seem to respect and invoke? Would incest vanish then? I paused and asked myself, what kind of beings are gay men?

Why do gay men assume that friendship always comes with benefits and there are no rules when it comes to bed of pleasures? May be that is the price we pay for practicing sex for recreation? Or May be this a price for being someone’s guest and letting guards down? So should gay men be trusted?

While putting this blog together, I also recollected several “manminds” that I and my friends had been through. After I broke up with my ex we were trying to weave back our friendship and on a bus journey together, he tried to get physical with me. When I asked an acquaintance in Singapore to meet up with my closest gay friend, who just moved to Singapore, the acquaintance tried to feel him up in the movie hall.  Visiting a friend, traveling with an ex, going out with a new acquaintance for a movie or spending a night with a long known friend, why should it mean I am available for a touch, taste and toss to them?

Now do you understand how sex turns from being biological cement to dynamite in a relationship and how gay men irresponsibly use sex? This brings me to the point in discussion for this blog: Do bedrooms, acquaintances and friendships have rules of engagement and endearment? And lastly, are gay men epitomes of incest?

Manmathan Ambu (Cupid’s Arrow) on OMR – Part 2

It can be fun when it comes to defending cupid’s arrow and frustrating when none comes your way, but it can also be more fun when you send the arrows back. On the train/auto rides I have had several instances where I have been felt up by co-passengers and there have been days where I have put up the straight-face act and not ready to settle for any low hanging fruits! So, what is Manmathan thinking for the morning? Will he finally do me some good?

This morning after getting down at the station I ran towards the share auto and I was the last but one to get on the all-male ride (mela ride?). May be because I had a delayed start for the day? After settling down in my seat I checked out the guys on the either side and in front of me, none of them seem interesting. But then suddenly I spotted the Young Turk in a bright green tee-shirt and a red cap below which his smooth, soft and silky hair was hidden. He shelved his backpack on his thighs and wrapped his arms around it, while his broad shoulders where being compressed by shoulder blades of men on either side. Beauty was held between two shoulders.

Like a curious dog that turns its heads in all possible angles to capture, process and figure out the prey of interest, this morning I turned into one, indeed a salivating one. I tried to get a glimpse of his facial features, especially nose. I have heard people tell me that sharp and long nose defines keen interest in sex.  May it I should test the hypothesis on this ride?

The last time around I wanted to lift my hands and curse Dan Brown, but this time I wanted to lift my hands and bless the guys who came up with the concept of share-autos. Share-auto rides are enjoyable if you have candies sitting next to you and it turns all the more fun when they play along. Nothing can beat respect that comes with reciprocity!

I badly wanted him to remove his head gear so that I can make a go or no-go decision. And when he did I was unable to get my eyes of him. His nose was long and sharp and his eye brows looked like eye-bows sending arrows my way. The heat from the morning sun and co-passengers finally got him to remove the cap. And the heat from him was also getting to me. His thin long fingers forayed into the dense forest while his palm kissed his forehead.

I got into the same position as he did and let my fingers hang from my knees. Every now and then when the auto-guy hit on the brake my fingers kind of went down his lateral muscles. We were faster and more effective in communication than 140 characters available on Twitter. Seeing him not react to my touch in a negative way or pull himself forward I calibrated and strategized my next move.

We were not seated in an easy position to make eye contact and I think he tried a few times to turn to the left and take his eyes to the suburbs of the back seat, but it didn’t seem to help. Very soon his back came closer looking for my knees and he pressed his back hard against my knees giving me a signal. Was it a real approval and not a false alarm? I was hoping for a few more braking opportunities to make sure my analysis was on the money.

10 minutes into the ride, I set my eyes on him, made my moves and also received an agreeable response, I took a picture of him and the only thing that needed to seal the deal was to exchange numbers. But how is that possible in a crowd and when surrounded by strangers?

I was just one traffic light away from getting off from the auto. My mind was scheming to find an excuse to strike a conversation with him. I pulled out my mobile and charge stood at 1% and it could die any moment. Should I write my number on a piece of paper and shove down his hand or pocket? How would he react and how would public react?

Usually I keep cash ready so that I don’t delay the auto, but today I decided to dig into my pocket so that he gets to see me clearly and hopefully he will make the move or suddenly realized that he knows me from before.

When I thought I almost hit a jackpot, Manmath released the arrow of hesitation and reluctance at me. I got off the share-auto without leaving any trail other than the Twitter touch and his image on my phone. As the auto proceeded he turned around and look at me through the rear window, I could see a deep longing in his eyes.

I have his picture, but I have no idea where he works. But he knows where I work because I reminded the auto driver where to stop, with the hope that he would pick-up the cue, lets see if he did. May be I should have gone on the auto for longer and gotten down along with him and exchanged numbers? Well it is too late now to ponder, wonder and wander. Is Manmathan god of love or villain of love?

In the meantime when I went to work and shared this brush the fire with a friend, he recollected the scene from the movie “Alaipayuthey” where Madhavan first meets Shalini on a train journey and the following conversation he had with his friend. My friend almost convinced me that it was easy to locate someone with a green tee-shirt and was even willing to take me on his bike for man hunt down the OMR.

I had to tell him that day that life is not all about getting our desires fulfilled; and sometimes it gets boring to sleep with everyone you see. The real game begins only when you send back the Manmathan ambu or save it for another day. And this wisdom dawns only after 25 years of experience and when you stare at lust and casually hold it like a wine glass and have a conversation with it. But don’t know why this generation of EMI doesn’t seem to believe equated monthly installments when it comes to lust.

Every morning when I step out of home a quest(ion) comes along – will I meet him today or not? And maybe that is another incentive to travel by train and share auto?