A warm towel slowly ambushed my feet—cleansing my toes in circular movements. Kneeling by my side, Neha spread the sesame oil warmed by her hands over my right leg. Stroking my legs from the inner thigh to my calves in a circular fashion, her soft palm was edging my unease out. Her palm followed each other in an easy move as her palms moulded the contours of my legs… Her touch was warm and her steady hands felt smoother than satin.
Archive for the category Fiction
Fiction stories and poems by the Gaysi to be read by all.
I adore cooking. The snap, crackle, pop, fizz, hiss and fumes swirl together and evoke much sensory delight. And tonight, I was cooking for her. Reminded suddenly of the bizarre need to impress, my left hand automatically reached out for a wine glass that possessively ensconced some crisp and dry dutch courage. Gulp.
I entered the Parsi villa in Breach Candy with Jeff and Nadir, gay neighbors of mine from the ‘burbs. We were received graciously by Rustom, studded with numerous gold rings on his right hand and a glass of wine in the other, possibly a Los Vascos, Chilean Rothschild. Some were outside, smoking, talking, laughing… oh! Even a couple engrossed in an indulgent kiss right there, towards the corridor on the left, and a bunch of kids dancing near the music system in the big hall– the party was on.
"What a noise!” She added, “God knows how you guys listen to such stuff!” She then caught side of the boyish looking girl in the midst of all the boys, and gave her a strange look, which was mixed with pity and disgust. The look made her feel, for some inexplicable reason, ashamed of and angry with herself.
Today, I had decided to tell Anubhav everything. I couldn’t lie to him anymore. Although I was petrified about his reaction, I needed to let someone know what I was. Even though I was perspiring heavily, my throat was dry as sandpaper. Anubhav, Oblivious to my dilemma, was pondering what movie we should watch.
When tears don’t flow And all is trapped All you feel is numb And nothing else Paralyzed with pain All that flashes is the past
I always knew I was gay, but I just refused to come out. I have a couple of gay friends too. They would always encourage me to come out of the closet, but I refused. I claimed to be ‘straight’ but the truth is I have never had any sexual or romantic thoughts about a girl. I have always been a closeted gay man.
Fireworks I liked. The spot I stood on I didn’t like. I’d stood at the same exact spot very many times. On the 66th floor. The last was two years ago. Watching the same fireworks. Having just realized that I intensely disliked the woman standing next to me. At the start of what was to be two terrible months of insomnia. It felt lonely and cold.
My dear Here’s a little about me. I hate crowded roads. I hate walkways filled with men where I have to dodge unwanted touch.
Your nose ring It calls out to me. Almost saying touch me, tinker bell It glints, telling me... I am so within your reach
Our meeting certainly wasn’t love at first sight I didn’t get a clear picture of you that night But something about watching the waves crash and collide Egged me on to be back to see you against the sun at high tide
There was something so appropriate about hotel rooms. Non-committal. Sometimes adventurous, sometimes depressing. Bedsheets soiled by one only to be washed and reused by another. So many stories must be woven into its seams by now. Of lonely people. Of strange escapades. Of unions and partings.
Alas, I get to dance alongside you, Our ankle bells sound enchanting together, Now devadasi, will you dance for me?
What did I love about you? Was it love? I thought I loved you. But then again I know, I loved who I thought you were. Not who you really are. As much as I hate accepting it, I wish you really were that person I thought you would be. I wish you weren't so brutal.I wish you weren't "too hot-too cold".
I want my lips to be sure, in the darkest night, of the many paths that lead from the nape of your neck to the arch of your foot and every dip and turn that lies between
Now that I look back I don’t even know why we separated. It was not as if we hadn’t been with other people, in our relationship. I had been seeing Mitchell for over a year now. But Trope … was just bad news.
It takes a little getting used to you know to see that no one really cares. Some people continued eating throughout the whole fiasco while others just stared blankly. But I was still coming to terms with the fact that Terry had just shot me.
I’ve got curves, you see. Call them love handles or whatever. But yeah, I’m sure I’ll turn into a sleek geek soon. Low carb, high fiber, low sugar, high water. I’ll do those 8 diets a day and turn into a hot hunk soon. Plus the fitness center – the tread mill, the machines whose names I don’t know, the hot gym instructor, the sauna and the pool next door – that’s inspiration enough to turn me into one gym-rat.
It begins in your hotel room. I don’t know why I have this fondness for them. I suspect it’s because they’re cut off from both our worlds and the familiarity that floods our senses every day. I like it because in my head, it becomes an island of our own. A clean slate where we can write just our memories without anyone else forcing their way into them. It’s a setting that ties our fantasies together.
The heat had tired our bodies out, but not our minds. Our conversations revolved around life in India and Singapore, our origins, being queer and also the effect of globalization on travel and tourism. His penchant for the Hindi language, Bollywood and the Muslim boys peeing outside the slums or in front of the local train tracks were enticing.