The Black Mamba (Part 2)

I was among six other guys on the stretching floor waiting for the curtains to go up. Is it going to be a one-on-one game or a team sport? Every time the mamba pressed the like button on my profile I felt a drop in my pulse and experienced a new zone of excitement. On the one side, I was not willing to settle down until I got to see the face of the mamba, and on the other side, I was questioning my ability to charm this footlong creature. 

Since there were a few others in the room, I couldn't start a conversation. Finally, under the pretext of wearing my shoes, I got closer to the magician and his mamba. At an opportune moment, the suppressed mamba made a heroic appearance rising to the occasion and displaying its vigor and valor. It was not a hissing angry mamba, but a playful and joyous one waiting to be picked and caressed.

Bereft of words, I decided confirm his interest by flashing my mamba, which in comparison stood like a malnourished dwarf. Scared by its size and undecided whether to play with it or not, I left for the locker room to pick up my bag. The magician holding the tail of the mamba covering its fully aroused head followed me to the locker room. Not wanting to compete, converse or confront, I hurriedly came out of the gym, while my mind and legs was entangled in the beauty and beastliness of the mamba refusing to take the next step forward to my home. 

With our mambas taking a liking for each other, we had no choice, but to follow their desires and escort them to my house. He spent the next five minutes in my toilet getting ready for the show(off). 

On the way home, while discussing the likes of our mambas got excited. And his mamba longer than his shorts visually stimulated the passerby. I felt embarrassed to walk besides him and escort home the wild creature. Who will not get visually stimulated watching a foot long phallus longer than his work out shorts wiggling and squiggling in joy?   

It is true that tops can bottom when they see a more macho top. This is not considered as a sign of weakness or surrender, but a gesture in adoration, respect and pleasure. I sat on the floor like a whore charming the mammoth mamba with my hands, lips and tongue. Since I had not handled such a big one in 25 years of my lip service, it was daunting to begin with. 

I licked the him from the tail to head and finally popped his head inside my mouth. I was only able to fit his head in my mouth and rest of his body stood tall shinning in my dripping saliva that glistened against the evening sun on my living room couch. He stood erect accepting my lip service and collapsed in shyness when I rolled back his skin to enjoy the beauty of his head. This game of displaying power and conquering continued for next twenty minutes. And what soon followed was a mutual power play welcoming my 39 in 69! 

Unable to bear my tease the mamba commanded the magician overpower me and return the favor. We wrestled on the small couch, while blowing off each other's mamba with touch, love and care. 

I nudged mamba's smooth nuts with my nose and enjoyed the delicacy with my tongue. I took the tongue to bottom of mamba's pit and excited him with a few rounds of rimming. I fingered mamba's pit slowly with left index finger. The mamba and his pit was completely relaxed by now and they let me use two fingers now. Soon I overturned the mamba and let my little one take refuge in his pit. 

The finale was a visual spectacle. Magician's right hand played with the mamba, while the left became a cushion to my head. The mamba rose in excitement and commanded the magician pin me down. Between his legs, I helplessly watched the viswaroopa, which was both scary and entertaining. Mamba's hormones made him sway back and forth and when the magician hissed and cried in excitement I realized that he was also possessed by the mamba. From the above came a command and I opened my mouth and accepted the hot, white mamba juice with reverence. 

While the black magician washed up, the mamba coiled up for some rest before for their next show, I slowly came back to my world. To be honest, I was a little exhausted playing one-on-one with the mamba, though he confessed that he loves playing in group. My facial muscles were stretched and tired and this seemed like the best one in 25 years. Let's hope the best is yet to come. I felt proud with his visit and also acquiring a new skill: taming the beastly mamba and ready to take on more heads with joy and confidence. So, go and get your black mamba certification, if you are a novice.

The Black Mamba (Part 1)

When the undershirt is longer than the shirt, we figuratively refer to it as Sunday being longer than Monday. I had no clue what else was going to be longer when I stepped into the gym on Saturday. Since I went an hour later than my regular work time, I was certain to miss some known faces and also expected a longer hour waiting to get on treadmills and machines. But sometimes we forget to understand a delay could also mean that luck is working in our favor and bringing the unexpected. 

To motivate and push my fitness level a notch up, I usually find a machine next to or across from a good looking and/or in-shape man. And today, to my surprise I found half a dozen empty machines, unfortunately they were all out of service, and I had to settle down for a machine next to a woman. Nevertheless, sometimes you don't realize that you can also draw inspiration when you find out that you are being a motivation for a few others around you. 

On social media it is direct and easy to hit the like button, but in a gym with overflowing adrenalin and testosterone one has to be careful and discreet. Our mind and body has devised ways to speak the unspoken language and to convey our sexual interests. For ex: repeated visual assaults in the name glancing, letting our hands nudge sleeping crotches or starring at them like a kid in a candy store, flashing a friendly smile, putting out tongues and wetting the outer lip are ways to show our interest and inclination.

During the 30 mins cardio, my mind was busy playing inky pinky ponky trying to choose between legs and laterals for today's work out. I quickly settled down for legs since there were a few good possibilities lurking in the vicinity. Choices in life come to a quick-end when good looking men are around. Since it was the weekend, I was in no hurry and didn't worry about finishing my work out within 75mins. Stretching it longer is one way of prolonging pleasure and there is nothing like working on legs and stretching the in between.

Though a few possibilities kept starring back at me, I didn't want to game to selection to end fast and pushed my luck to the stretching floor. Everyday the deer has to run faster than its fastest running predator to survive. While I was entering the gym that morning I had spotted a white athletic male in upper thirties and I saw him now on the stretching floor working out with a black man who had a fabulous body with almost zero percent fat.

Lying across from them, I was working on my lower abs and displayed a few yoga posture to entice the Caucasian male who seemed elusive. Not sure why I have never cultivated a taste for black cocks in my 25 years of sexual jubilation though I have heard footlong stories about them. Was it because I was scared of approaching them or afraid they might be carrying bugs? Lack of interest and experience with kept my focus on the white male. Realizing my indifference and lack of interest the black male started to cast his magical spell on me. 

As he stood up to have his arms stretched, I noticed something between his legs making a shy appearance. How can anyone ignore a footlong black mamba longer than his shorts wiggling and waiting to set itself free? When I looked around everyone's eyes (men and women) in the room were riveted on one object/subject of pleasure and excitement and was stay put trying to catch a glimpse of it without being noticed. Even the straight ones were caught in a dilemma trying to decide on their sexuality. That is the power of black magic! Come back next week to read details of taming the hissing black mamba!

Forgiveness Without Confession?

Forgiveness is last act in the process of realizing and owning up a mistake or a crime and sincerely seeking atonement. And it is purely the volition of the other party to offer clemency or punish. 

I met someone from my past yesterday and neither of us expected to come face-to-face with each other. Not sure if he remembers the incident and considers what he did to me at age of 3 as a heinous crime. My memory travels back to 1978. I remember him as a athletic, tall, dark and my mother had engaged him as a male nanny to take care of me and my two siblings.

I was a helpless three year old infant then and I remember only one instance of violation. He took me to the terrace and shoved his dark, uncut, and big phallus into my mouth. I had no clue what was being done to me until a few years ago, when I read articles in newspapers talking about adults entrusted with responsibility to care and protect violating innocence of children - child sexual abuse. 

At the age of five we all moved from country side to the city to start our schooling and my mother brought him along with us and got him a job in the city. Don't know why we never saw him and why he never came up in our conversations; but now life (read as karma) was doing a full circle reminding us of the incident and bringing us face-to-face. 

We had a prayer gathering yesterday morning and a group of men and women had come home to do the chants. One of the men in the group wanted to know more about our ancestry and while I was sharing the details, a woman in the group was keenly making a note what I said. Half hour after lunch she came back with her husband who introduced himself as the nanny who looked after us 35 years ago.

I never expected to see him again in my life because there was nothing to be resolved at my end. Was it his wife's prayer that got him to my place or was it his karma from the past that was pushing him towards resolving and absolving it? Is it his pay day?

He stormed into the house with excitement and called out our names to validate if it is the same family. Not sure if he was expecting us to come running towards him, but I lowered the newspaper, looked at him with a surprise and acknowledged his call. He introduced himself and reminded me about his nanny role, while I recollected what he did to me.

I quickly compared him now and then; his physical appearance had changed so much over three decades, but the skin color was still unchanged. Now, he wore a spectacle, colored his grey hair black and also sported a big tummy. May be after effects of marriage, responsibility of educating two girls and driving around a city bus and caring for passengers in it and for people on the road? How about including guilt from abusing me as a child? 

Refusing to sit besides me, he reminiscenced my childhood days and pranks standing a feet away from me. I was not expecting him narrate "that incident" but he kept asking why I was not married and not taking the genetic legacy forward. Had I got an opportunity to speak to him in private, I would have told him I am gay (without blaming him for it) and definitely would have reminded him of the incident and asked him for an explanation for his behavior then. I would have also asked him if he was a serial offender or was it just me?

Fortunately, unlike many other child abuse victims who carry anger, a sense of violation, low self esteem, and a deep scar, I had no trace of any such emotions in me except graphical memories of the incident in black and white. I understand that homosexuality is genetically imprinted and not a result of child abuse, and I don't blame him for my sexuality/single hood. 

Did he walk into my house to confess, express his remorse and seek forgiveness? No! Though karma was giving him an opportunity to confess, seek forgiveness and get rid of his guilt, he had not reached the point yet. Let's not forget that one's own conscience has the power to conduct a fair trial, judge and punish the sinned soul. 

Though I would like to volunteer when it comes forgiveness, I had done that to both my ex's in the past; I didn't notice any signs of regret, guilt, or intention to seek forgiveness in the 55 year old man. Also the 3 year old in me is not willing to offer forgiveness, without a confession! For now, the judgement is adjourned...

Love bite: Physical or emotional?

Finding love is like getting a seat on the metro. And to find a seat you have to board the metro early enough or someone's journey has to end and you must be next to that person to take their vacated seat. No one can deny that love is both a game of chance and game of survival. It is a game of beginning and end with some overlapping travel time. Yes, one waits ahead of the other in atleast one leg of the journey. But everyone's journey comes to an end!

I experienced lust before love, to be mathematically precise (lag variable) there was a 15 year delay between them. Hope I'm not making it sound like a drought. After two relationships, when I question the very existence of love, it makes a cameo appearance and reminds me of its existence. Not sure if I classified it rightly, but I kept asking myself is it love or love bite? Isn't it human nature to analyze, assay, and seek proofs and validations?

It was definitely not a typical morning after feeling. I slowly and silently get out of bed ahead of him, brush my teeth and close the kitchen door and busy making coffee and packing my lunch. He must have entered while my back was facing the door and the turntable in the microwave was busy heating a mug of milk and the motor was humming. What he did was almost like a scene out of a movie. 

From the behind he wrapped his arms around me and the warm air from his lungs invaded my neck and not wasting the opportunity I quickly kept the lunch box and grabbed his hand and planted a beautiful kiss on his hands. Like a breakfast pan cake, I flipped him around and spotted his hot sausage making a morning salut. I kissed him on his cheeks and I pushed him towards the bathroom to brush his teeth, while I showed him the hot mug of coffee.

"I wanted to watch you and spend time with you" responded the 24 year old when I asked him why he got out of the bed so early. I felt his response endearing and my hand with the mug of coffee began to tremble upon hearing the unexpected response. I asked myself, " what did I do this man and is he smitten?"

I have brought home a few Parisian, and only 2 of them have stayed back for the night. This is the third time he came home and the first time he stayed over. But on his second visit he told me that he would like to sleep besides me for a night. Not having slept next to a man in the last three years, I was not sure of the experience, but he was persistent. And that night he smothered me with kisses and warmed me with hugs. And during our coffee and conversation the next morning he even apologized for disturbing me the previous night with his kisses and hugs. I confessed to him that I was getting used to a man next to me in bed and that he needn't be sorry and I perfectly enjoyed being the recipient. 

I have made him dinner on all three occasions and as my friend says it is my "fuck and feed" philosophy. But don't many of us feel hungry after sex? While cooking that night I asked him what excuse did he come up with to spend the night away from home. He smiled and said it was the clichéd friend's birthday. 

After dinner we didn't have fight over the TV remote, while he was watching French television in the living room, I was watching an episode of Indian sitcom on my iPad. He must be after half hour, he came into the room to check on me. Seeing me curled up in the bed, he planted a kiss on my cheek and found a comfortable spot for him in my blanket. Should I call him an intruder or a house cat? 

Though I have been mostly attracted to older men (for reasons of emotional maturity and experience), my two earlier exs' were younger than me. And this young man exhibited maturity and care in our conversation and intimate moments. Never did he utter the word love, but had his on way of expressing himself that made me ask - is this love? Is he in love?

And when I opened the closet to pick out the shirt, he sat up in the bed, his pupils dilated and he confessed his fetish for men in formals. He picked up his mobile and took a few pictures while I was dressing up. How could I go to work with so much of love in air? 

I sat on the bed besides him and planted a few more kisses and even check out the love bite I gave him the previous evening. I asked him to get back into the bed and sleep for a little longer. 

That evening I came home to an empty apartment and something was missing in the air. Not sure what it is, I opened the windows and I went straight into the bed room. I lay down on the bed he had made and picked up blanket and pillow to get a whiff of him. Something that was there last evening was missing now. With memories stirring up my thoughts, I texted to check on him. He immediately responded saying that said he was back home and that his mother spotted the love bite on his neck and curious to know more about it, but he remained elusive. And I promptly apologized for the embarrassment, but said he was proud to sport a love bite.

Ten years after my first love, I realized how people could come over for an evening and leave you with an emotional love bite that may never physically manifest, while I had expressed my love physically through a bite, his love came through as an emotional bit. Love, bites....

Infidelity: a level playing field? (Part 2)

The hairy chest on the Lebanese and the ribbed abs on the Spanish spiced up my hormones that night. I took turns to hold their soft butts and circled their hard nipples with the tip of my tongue and periodically nibbled on them to give them extra pleasure. While I was busy playing with one, the other rolled his tongue behind my neck and before I realized he took a free-fall and went down my ass and trying to cultivate some sensory nerves there. Their cleanliness and safe play rules made me reciprocate their gestures without any inhibition.

Accommodative, not avarice!

Their mouth were as wide as their views and perspectives on life and they often disproved the popular saying “don’t put more than what you can chew”. Not sure if it is a biological bonus (like the sixth finger) or an acquired skill, but their mouths were able to double-time without tiring their jaw bones or lips losing their elasticity. May be this is the next step in evolution from Homo erectus to Homo sapiens.

And after a few tries, I picked up the skill and realized how one needed to be accommodative and not avarice to taste multiple (like sweet and sour, salt and pepper), dry and wet, shapes and sizes (Laurel and Hardy) in one go.

This couple seemed to be very different in a world where selfishness and personal pleasure was the norm. And sometimes they both even demonstrated and taught me a few tricks to save it for my next encounter. From time to time, the Lebanese partner would nudge and direct me to do things that would pleasure his partner.

G-spot!

After having carefully loved each other’s lips, necks, ear lobes, armpits, torsos, feet, and phalluses, the finale was awaited with both pleasure and curiosity. And the bedside table had all the safety gear needed for the finale. And when I confirmed that I only topped, the ceremonial suit was put around my dick, saliva smeared (victory teeka) on it and slowly launched from a comfortable position to explore his g-spot. Words of pleasure and celebration blossomed on his lips and to keep it wet and busy his partner shoved his phallus into his mouth. We even changed places on the see-saw to experience each other’s the greener pastures. It must have been a visual treat to watch the penetration and trickling sweat on our bodies and an aural treat to hear the noise created (flesh, sweat and vacuum) from my quadriceps pounding his gluteus maximus. My mind tried to capture as much as it could and excited by the visual and aural treat, the other partner lubed his finger in my mouth and stuck it in my ass and started to stimulate my prostrate. This was the first time I ever let someone stimulate my prostrate and I must tell you that I experienced the Zero-gravity and lost control over my lower limbs. The Spanish guy with the big asset bottomed for me and the Lebanese partner with an average one, ensured it was a level ploughing field, and bottomed for his Spanish partner.

Tapas and Hummus

That night I felt like I was on the Mediterranean Sea between Spain and Lebanon tasting Tapas and Hummus. I was still hard after I climaxed and what kept my dick up was the hot action between the couple. Like a curious scientist, I brought a candle inside the dark room and I saw the one of the couple holding his legs up in the air and other penetrating him while sitting on his knees. It was like watching a lion and tiger mate with passion, ferocity and I put the candle aside and played my part my lending my dick to keep the lion from growling.

Soon after the sex, the three of us got into a shower and continued to wash each other and bond further. Sitting naked on their couch, we three exchanged some pleasant conversation and hook up stories. Believe it or not, I drank 3 liters of water that night and fell asleep in minutes after hitting the bed.

Stop reading now!

By playing with them that night, I learnt how infidelity ceases to exist when it is all inclusive and together and the real meaning of the phrase “a level playing field”. If you are single, find a couple and make your own experience and if you are couple play together, kill guilt, explore newer meanings to your relationship, and master the art of keeping of fresh, healthy and evergreen. But always remember to play safe.

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?

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

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...