Une anecdote à Paris
– by raconteur123
There was something uneasy about her. I could tell. I could tell from just being with her. I could tell from the way she breathed. Every night we would come back from a glamorous, lavish celebration of the week long Punjabi wedding, of our dearest friend – the first day she wore a pink ghaghra choli, second a blue and tonight a fiery saffron sari. She insisted I take pictures. “What’s the point of all this dressing up, if I can’t get you to capture me?” (Oh! capture I did). And just like that, I obeyed her like a little puppy and pulled out my camera. No matter how drunk we were, that was our routine. Every night, she stood against the wall by the bathroom, in our tiny hotel in Paris – and I, the observer, behind the camera – capturing images that bide in perpetuity. I clicked a few shots. Her resilient face posing for the camera; all I saw was the vulnerability in her eyes. I walked up to her, got real close, our eyes met for a trifle second. Oh, what I would give to recoup proximity to those brown eyes! I touched her face to move strands of her short hair out of her face and this gush of sensation took over me. Electricity rushed through my body, like a train charging through a tunnel. The tiny hair follicles on my body standing in absolute attention, like troopers ready to salute. Yet, my face remained nonchalant, disguising this surge of energy underneath. My juices were out of control. It was a flood down there. I wanted to lean in and kiss her. I wanted to grab her and fuck her. I imagined it; pinning her against the wall by the bed. I knew she’d be hesitant. Her logical lawyer self, resisting the carnal bolt. But I’d ask her to not think, just FEEL, for once. She held on to me tight. Her eyes locked into mine, against her will. I kissed her lips. Gentle at first. She loosened her grip, letting down her guard, which is up 24X7, working over time – working all the time. She kissed me back. Tongues twirling with passion, such passion she had never felt before. I, had never felt before. I couldn’t comprehend this inexplicable feeling of everything around me just melting away, when I was with her. I was present in the moment, completely. One. hundred. percent. “OK, now take a close up”, she said. I stared blankly at her, unable to comprehend what was happening in real time. She stood there in her fiery saffron sari, igniting unfathomable feelings, and destroying any possibility of breaking out of this imaginary ‘scène de la passion’. But at the same time, an unceasing combat between incredible ecstatic feelings and a contorted rationale, condemning me of lascivious feelings, reigned my interiors. Suddenly, this incessant battle taking up so much room in my head and getting louder and louder and LOUDER— “Thanks for taking these pictures. I know my husband won’t even care to see, but I want to preserve these memories”. She said in choked desolation.
Fiction : Saffron http://t.co/kInPlMuvs4 via @gaysifamily
Hey R.. Loved reading saffron! And also enjoyed the name of the story- reminds me of the colours of india and it was a good contrast against Paris!
Thanks TTW! Saffron is the color of fire, sunrise, sunsets.. so it’s metaphor has many layers, like that of a sari. 🙂
RT @gaysifamily: Fiction : Saffron http://t.co/M9CTVGaLw8
#LGBTQ #India #Fiction #Love
RT @gaysifamily: There was something uneasy about her. I could tell. I could tell from just being with her.
http://t.co/M9CTVGaLw8
#Lesbia…
I couldn’t comprehend this inexplicable feeling of everything around me just melting away.
http://t.co/M9CTVGaLw8
#Lesbian #Fiction #love
Short & heated! Good stuff Ms. R.
Hoping to read more from you. 🙂
Thanks MJ! Now, where is that damn pen!? (scribble scribble scribble) 😉
Sigh! (waiting waiting waiting) 😉
Years on angst on paper, takes a while to clean it up, fictionalize and present it for public consumption. Patience is a virtue. 😛
First you get us hooked & then you expect us to be patient. Hmmm..mark of a best selling dyke author! 😉
*blush* oho! enough with the flattery! 😉
You were still referring to the writing, right? 😉
Yes was strictly referring to the writing but you are free to think otherwise. 🙂
Imagination is an indispensable attribute of a raconteur! 🙂
If it gets your boat floating & pen writing 🙂 Better get down to scribble scribble scribble 😉