I Don’t Think We Should Have Sex : Ashu

Ashu. Gaunt features, a fair skin that accentuated his eye-brows and uneven spread of facial hair, Peshwa ‘Bali’ on his left ear’s cartilage, some uneven teeth across luscious, yet sort of dry lips and a naturally sweet smile, earthy shades of color on the semi-Indian clothes he wore, simple white cotton undies. Ashu was an attractive bottom – to the extent, he wouldn’t even do anything during sex except kiss, so passive that the top would have to do all the hard ploughing.

I found him on one of the more ‘social’ networking sites that helped people surf couches whilst traveling around the world, without any sexual connotations. The boy was blessed with a penchant for the German language, or just languages in general, and for traveling. He was a globetrotter at the age of 23, romping around half of Europe over a month, with the money he saved from his IT-job. Clever, witty, entertaining, those conversations we had on the phone were more than just fun or romantic, they were addictive. I was planning a trip to Munich around a seminar by the lake in Herrschin. Ashu was going to be in Munich around the same time – and a week later in Berlin. I thought I’d meet him initially and host him later. And a Puneri friend of his from Kiel would latch on in Berlin.

Munich. We meet, talk, walk, laugh, eat, hug, travel around. In the dorm, we talk, listen to music, cuddle up. I almost get to stripping him; I slid my hands through his boxers to feel his supple buttocks while I planted a kiss against his lips, in the empty dorm, just like that. We hugged a bit longer than we kissed, and soon we were aware of the students streaming into the dorm. So we stopped, headed for a shower, and then had dinner at the Italian restaurant – Ravioli, white wine and some merry music. On the way back, Ashu muttered – “we shouldn’t be doing this, not like this… don’t misunderstand me, but we shouldn’t have sex, it will only spoil our friendship.” I gulped, trying to not react to those words, yet I couldn’t hold myself. I turned cold for the next hour or two, and like the Germans say, sprung over my own shadow, and decided to leave it at that.

A week later, Sid visited from Kiel. I picked him up amidst an adventure in the Berliner S-Bahn, almost losing his rucksack. Ashu joined us a day later, only to fall sick and be taken care of by me. The nights were lonely, yet the chemistry between Sid and me was explosive – we made out every night like bunnies. Ashu left a couple of days later for Pune.

Four years later, on the Flaucher-Isle in the Isar river in Munich, on a balmy warm afternoon, I swam in the gushing river, and stepped out dripping, waved to my friends who were busy sunning themselves, and suddenly noticed Ashu, stark naked with a bubble butt and some pecs, with three other gay boys and a girl – we talked, laughed and swam in the river for a while. I knew Ashu had a boyfriend, with whom he was sharing an apartment in Munich, 3 years since the relationship, 4 since I had moved back to India. We exchange numbers, and plan to meet up very soon. The week I return from Berlin, we decide to meet for dinner on one of those Bavarian Catholic holidays. We miss the appointment. Ashu leaves for Berlin’s Christopher Street Day with his partner that weekend, I fly back to Bombay.

Ashu. We shall meet soon. But, I don’t think we should have sex.  Any more.

About the author


Distracted as ever - by life and its vibrant hues, Srini discovered writing recently when a bushy eye-browed Muse with luscious lips tickled his senses with her couplets. Fat man grew up to be a fitness conscious cook, a gardener by grandma's inherited green thumb and an Agnostic who used to believe in myriad rituals and gods and goddesses of the Southern landscapes, landscapes where rice paddies and Gopurams made people believe in the gifts of music, culture, art and nature's miracles. With a face that's expressive enough to throw off a couple of stubborn people off their stools, and an arse that can dance to drum and base, he's constantly trying to bridge his semi-German thoughts with his roots back in the Land of the Peppers. He writes, occasionally.