But on this regular, bright one, she woke me up gently… A lingering kiss… Tentative nuzzles on my neck. And then smoothing her hands way down my legs still tangled with hers.
Archive for the category Fiction
Fiction stories and poems by the Gaysi to be read by all.
The first ones you tiptoe around by sinking your teeth hard into chunks of work, allowing yourself no space to breathe. For the next ones, you remember Elizabeth George's latest schizophrenic character; and no, you don't draw angels on your walls (you would, if you could), you stick your earphones into your ears and play music. Pity all of it makes you miss more.
The door opened… and she found herself staring into a set of brown eyes, short hair and a wide smile. Arnika held out the flowers. ‘These are for you,’ with a tentative smile! The lights were dim. The loudspeakers belted out a romantic song. And the sofas looked non-threatening.
She had me unwrapped and threw my scarf onto the couch. I had to touch her. She placed her hands on my waist, and I cradled her cheeks with my hands. I stared at her, taking in the details that were both blurry and new. My eyes wandered up that dusky collarbone, the sinewy muscles of her neck, the soft cheeks I caressed, the firm nose … her eyes.
The candles by the window on the inside of the restaurant cast long shadows on her face as they flickered where we stood. I sensed her joie de vivre had been replaced by an enchanting self-possession which she radiated in waves. I watched her study me closely. She didn’t claim any excuse to do so, She just did.
My eyes scanned the room from my perch slowly. There were some business suits unwinding after a long day, an older couple with a grandson and a few others spotting the room. They came to rest on the two women who now occupied a small table. The one of whom I had a frontal view wore a pinstriped pantsuit with pearls. I never understood those who wore pearls.
Her eyes darted to my lips and to this day, I don’t know who moved first but our lips were upon each other. Just touching, barely moving. She inhaled deeply and I pursed my lips. I enfolded hers in mine, enjoying the soft wet texture. She gently ran her tongue along my upper lip, I briefly opened mine. She did it again.
I opened my eyes and saw the ceiling holding the wisdom to me, “ futuro y pasado, la verdad de este momento; Teje un hilo solo”. It meant “Future and past, The truth of this moment; Weaves a single thread”. ??My mind wandered to the years gone by. To the moment when I had seen her for the first time with my lover.
Do you forget? I exist. I existed?
She was lying on my narrow bed. Reading. That book I’d bought yesterday. Her reading glasses were perched on the end of her nose, her brow scrunching up occasionally, her chest gently rising and falling with each breath. I felt playful and a bit jealous. Like I wanted her to all to myself. Like that book was stealing her away from me. And she was on “my” bed, wasn’t she ? How was that fair ?
I am not going to share your joy and sorrow till you are ready to partake mine. I am not going to give you all till you meet me halfway down the road.
Planting a thousand lingering kisses on her neck and shoulder; I slowly moved down and my mouth reached the base of her spine. This was not how I had imagined our first love making seven years ago.
I am going away to get off your drug of intoxication before one more whiff blows my way.
I’d met her for the first time one evening at a friend’s place. She was there - A friend of a friend of a friend. We laughed, we joked surrounded by many. It wasn’t just the two of us. Then I met her again and again and again. Still surrounded by a mass of humanity. And each time, I discovered something new about her that would make me smile when I got home.
And in a nanosecond she was pushing me up against the wall, her mouth on mine, her tongue searching, probing.
The beloved always leaves, James had told you. So when you learnt to love, you should have learnt to grieve, my love.
I had reached to turn off the shower and felt burdened. I had no idea or hunch of when we would meet again but I knew it wouldn’t happen standing naked in the bathroom. It could only come in its own time. I knew from experience that all I could do was relax and stay receptive.
Later that night I dropped by her cubicle, to hand in my research. She was beyond doubt, the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. And it didn’t stop there.
She was the sporty kind who drove a red and black Hero Honda and and was always in T's and jeans with a new pair of sneakers she had picked up in Dubai or Bangkok.
I approached her with unsteady legs and a quivering smile. I am surprised that she doesn’t recognize me. What better way than to be strangers to reconcile! She told me that she works as a nude performer in the galleries of NY.