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.
Archive for the category Fiction
Fiction stories and poems by the Gaysi to be read by all.
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.
Kiss me already, because you can’t stop leching at me Kiss me already, because you can’t keep your hands off me Kiss me already, because I need to stop fidgeting around
Across from her desk were the desks of Accountant Mr.Paramasivam and Steno Mrs.Susheela. “Good morning” smiled Paramasivam. “Good morning Ma’am! How are you?” Lakshmi smiled back.
She introduced me to wonderful new things; In the hope that I would be distracted and start a new innings. But her witty and funny lines; Made her to me all the more divine
“Just a few moments, wait, finish the wine” I tell myself. It is funny. After waiting for days and being patient, these moments of keeping my hands off you while you are right in front of me are unbearable. Your eyes are doing most of the talking while you’re trying to fill in a few sentences to break the silence.
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.
Amidst all the noise, all the crowd and all that hypocrisy, I saw you and I saw a cigarette fall. Boys getting drunk, dirty dancing, sex on the floor. Fake smiles, fake body language, fake accents, fake laughs and fake opinions. All to get laid.
My BB misses you so badly nowadays Cannot accept you’ve moved on to another phase My Gmail account feels no better Sad that you no longer wanna write it a letter