Franco rolls an 8mm camera as we’re flying up the same tangled, winding hills that the real Hopper and the real Wood sped on the night of their famous accident. Franco commands the girls to take their shirts off. They giggle and strip. Dean sparks a butt in the back with his tits out. The wind slaps hard on our faces. We snake up the road, way too fucking fast.
I thought of the afternoon to come, no the evening that was to follow. Diego and the rest of the boys at Rustom’s party.
Diego said he’d come dressed in …
Surf my couch, or my crotch?
“You’ve got a big dick”, said Leo as he slurped on my tool, my Salman Khan as he termed it Bollywood Ishtyle. …
It had been weeks since Dee last got off. As she lay there in her bed, she looked at the clock her ex had given her. It was 9 in …
Neha dreamt she was flying.
Rika slept beside her, spooned up close, her body snug against that of her beloved’s. It was the end of what had been a long …
On dreary winter nights, movies billed as ‘psychological thrillers’ are probably not the cheery fare I am looking for but having heard rave reviews about Black Swan, a few nights ago my sister and I ambled along into the theatre that was packed with people. I assure you - a packed theatre is a considerably rare occurrence out here. So after squeezing into 2 seats together padded by our parka jackets, we settled in for the ride. And my! What a ride it was!
6 pm …A cold winter evening in Chicago after a sufficiently bad day, I venture to the Gene Siskel Film Center to watch Room in Rome (Habitación en Roma) Upon entering the stark white and clean environs of the film center, I acquaint myself with some popcorn and a glass of wine [clearly I was intent on making my day better] I shuffle my tired feet into the theatre and suddenly, stop and stare.
I have read a bit of Sister Toldja’s rad sex column and sex advice but she mostly just compares black women’s sex lives to white women’s, and obviously that racial binary is not all-encompassing.
So, as QC has mentioned before, us desis can get a little hush-hush when it comes to mas-tur-bay-shun. And I can personally attest to this because this lack of open-communication about sex within the desi community has definitely affected my sex life, especially with my experience with a woman. Plus, I didn’t have my first orgasm until I was 19, and maybe that is not shocking but my white friends definitely thought it was!
We were pressed against each other. Her back to my front. My nipples hard against her feverishly hot skin. I held her as she lay against me in my arms, my legs spreading hers open to allow me access to her wetness. Arching in the pleasure I was giving her. I was angry. I needed her with an intensity that I believed was the only emotion that would satiate an indescribable feeling of irritation and lust I felt for the woman I was fucking.
Finally, a midnight shower
in the candlelight
No residue left
Of you and me
Making a memory
Now the steam …
Mornings: Not my favourite part of the day, I can tell you.
But on this regular, bright one, she woke me up gently… A lingering kiss… Tentative nuzzles on my …
I awoke. The room was still dark. The rain drummed against the window panes with a threatening intensity. A confusing warmth engulfed me… a naked softness that I was unused …
*Based on dreams
I felt her before I saw her. We collided.
“I do apologise… I …”
“No, it was my fault … I was in the way…”
She took …
*Based on partially true events
6 years later…
The Present: London. I was tired. A red eye flight from Chicago had me running on two hours of sleep. The past …
*Based on true events
The Past: India. I was 18 years old. On the verge of turning 19. Sitting at a coffee-shop in a large restored colonial bungalow that sold …
*Note: Post contains explicit sexual content.
“It was winter dammit. December 2003!” She pushed me away and walked towards the couch. I had no choice but to follow her. She …
*Note: Might contain explicit sexual content.
I came out of the shower. Scrubbed, Exfoliated, Shaved and Plucked to spanking smoothness. As I put on a pair of shorts, I was …
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.
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.