The Desi Masala Story


Every story has a certain truth in it.

Every truth has myriad opinions following its course of existence.

Each opinion is important, as it is an accumulation of one’s upbringing, morals, cultural, religious and social standpoint, and more. It depicts one’s socially stimulated individuality.

The following events will instill piety in some of the readers, in others it will bring out a sick envy, in few it will originate an ethic debate and the rest will be sticking to either of the three or form some minor point of view. But what really matters is – the conclusion.

The place is the heart of India- Varanasi. It has a heavy stardust of ancient culture, beautiful detail of related structures and a million experiences all residing in that one place. The trio of Varuna, Ganga and Assi converging into a whirlpool of sanctity, and nesting possibly the biggest pilgrimage hub in whole of India.

It is a house a few kilometres away from the river bank. The house is quite lavish, with a few fruit trees in the backyard, a wall garden with Bougainvillea and Tulsi and some parking space up front. The fence is of a human’s height and whole construction is located a house away from the road. For a monkey to summit the house it must jump from the ground floor to the balcony of the first then make it to the roof or simply climb up either on the mango or the guava trees and leap. There is a room on the roof that one of the residents had built to comfortably give his board exams in a joint family environment.

It was the wake of 21st Century, but the time has no value in the following.

The family living in the house is a huge one. The building belonged to the great grandfather of the Kid. He was a very old, strict and just man living a next to yogi life. He lived on the ground floor. The house was divided into two portions – one for each of his lovely daughters. One of his daughters lived right above him with her family. The other half of the building was leased by the second one, residing in the same city. Kid’s grandparents are people of academia and at those times happened to be approaching the dusk of their careers. They are Brahmins by social status and are very particular about helping the fellow needy people they know. They always try to employ them, educate them, give them relatively better opportunities and perform numerous related acts of philanthropy. The dynamic duo parented a son and two daughters into the successes that they are now. Their son went abroad for studies, one thing led to another and soon he landed a job and married his college sweetheart. That’s how the Kid came into the picture.

It was the third time their son visited homeland after the Kid came to this world. This time it was different, the former wanted his parents to get closer with his newly founded family. The stay was planned to be 5 months long. Arrangements like schooling were made for the Kid. He was 5 back then. His father had to get back to his job and hurried back abroad. His mother and he were left to mingle even more with grandparents, educate themselves of Hindi and finish LKG & UKG in the given time. Funnily, the Kid was a foreigner to both of his homelands.

The food was delicious and the spices were heavenly. Both grandparents are great cooks. Both tutored their daughter- in- law the art of Indian cuisines. There was a domestic Help- a curious and friendly teenage girl who was given an opportunity to progress from family’s home village to the city. Grandparents helped her out, gave her ample different opportunities throughout her tenure and supported her even further. She’s somewhere in Mumbai now, married and happy. But back then, the kitchens were mostly ruled by the Grandmother, but whenever she wasn’t home- by the Help. There was also a Maid who came in the evenings or whenever there was a soiree and the volumes of the spicy art were not manageable by the limited number of chefs in the house. These were visits by relatives, but they were even relatively infrequent. The communication gap was a challenge, but was quickly overcome by the fertile young mind and motherly efforts. But even after that it was not allowed for the Kid to roam around and play in the streets with the rest of the children, because such an ordeal could’ve proved to be dangerous. The lessees didn’t have any children of Kid’s age, so he was pretty much left all to his own.

These were times when Cartoon Network showed great cartoons and looked like a checker board. A lot of hours were well invested into watching the television. There were a lot of self- strategized and self- directed epic toy soldier battles and numerous vehicle chases before one day the Help offered to play with him. It is practically fascinating how young children and basically everyone who’s not yet an adult find a common language fast and easily make new friends.

During a common day, the Help finished all her responsibilities and by the time she did it, Kid did his homework and was generally about to click open the cartoons.  The TV had its own course of life and magically was not allowed to stay awake whole day. They had it to themselves for an hour or so, then there was an optional nap time. The option was controlled by the Mother. The Kid slept with his mother in his room while unknown to him things happened around the house. Little did he know that the house turned into a peaceful sanctum with a kingdom of dreams ruling over it, as everyone napped. Slowly waking up, house always picked up its pace towards the evening. Whenever the Help was free, the Kid used to play with her. They were the Ludo masters, the King & Queen and what not. Whenever she was busy, the Kid always nagged her to allow him to help. As he was not allowed near the stove or any sharp objects, all he got to do was cleaning peas, pitching water and an occasional crushing of Maggi.

One day, she was cutting some vegetables in the kitchen on the first floor and the Kid barged in. His hyperactivity stepping a notorious melody, filled the atmosphere with playful energy. She looked at him and asked what was everyone doing. She got to know that everyone else was either asleep, busy or didn’t yet reach home from an extra detailed chirrup she heard in retaliation. A few minutes passed when she looked at the Kid and enquired, if he had any homework left to do. His patience wore out as he blurted out “No!” and started hopping out of the kitchen. She called him back. She asked if he wanted to play something new with her. She left the vegetables and the knife, turned towards him and added- “But you must promise me not to play this game with anyone else, they won’t play it nor will they understand it…” “What are the rules?”, he enquired. “Silence.”, she replied, “and your hands…” “Should I build something?”, was his first reaction. “No, you must feel something…”, she said, “give me your hands!”

He gave her his hands, palms up, the way he gave them to the teacher before he got hit with a ruler. He got worried, if that’s what was going to happen right now with some kitchen utensil. She held his hands in hers and as if studying the fair skin crevices turned them upside down. He looked up at her and asked- “So?”. She pulled his hands under her kameez and stuffed them up to her chest. The Kid was stunned, but turned playfully curious. She told him to feel her breasts and tell her the experience. With awkwardly straight open palms he traversed from the tips to the ribs and back both ways. He told her that it felt soft and big. Each scaled at least three of his palms in breadth and almost two in length. She instructed him to fondle them. He pressed them like balloons. In unease, she exclaimed to be gentle. He didn’t understand how so she took his hands in her own again and guided him. It was a strange, undefined, rather exciting feeling for the Kid- a brand new experience and he liked it. She seemed dissatisfied, so she told him to hug her from behind locate them again and massage the tips. She folded his palms and explained the light twisting movement that she wanted him to perform. He was more than happy to conform to her instructions. They stood like this for a while and once he got steady she started chopping vegetables again. In a few minutes, he got a bit bored and pulled himself away from her. She asked if he liked it. He said that he did. He asked the name of the game, she told him that it was “love making”, but if he wanted to play he should ask her whether “they could clean some peas together”.

The Kid was bedazzled with the new occurrence and developed an inexplicable curiosity to play it again. The memory of the feeling drove him to ask her every day, but only once in a few days did they get a chance to play this game again. They literally got a chance to clean some peas in the kitchen. As always, when everyone was either away or asleep, they sat in the kitchen. She laid the newspapers on the ground, spilled the pea pods into a pile on the wicker grain cleaner and put a kneading plate nearby to collect the cleaned peas. She told him to throw away the plastic bags into the dustbin under the washbasin while she latched the kitchen door. She sat on one of the newspaper edges and started to clean the peas. He sat nearby and moaned at her. She asked him if he wanted to play. He agreed. She told him to sit on her lap and face her. He climbed into her lap and sat facing the peas. She told him to turn around and hug her with his legs and hands like a monkey. He got excited with the reference and did as she asked. She asked him if he remembered what to do since the last time. The Kid complied to her request. He spent a great fraction of time figuring out a way to find his way under her shirt. He was unpleasantly surprised when he discovered that their texture changed and reminded him of some fabric. He complained, she smiled and single- handedly took each bosom out of the brassiere and let them hang freely under the shirt. He didn’t get the structure of the vest she wore under her kameez, but satisfied with recollection of the previous experience started to play. He kept on fondling her while sitting in her lap. She pulled him closer to herself and started cleaning peas behind his back whenever she got a chance. Howsoever bedazzling was the nature of the game and whatsoever effects it had on his body, he felt ecstatic under effect of what appeared to be something close to adrenaline. He kept on caressing her summits the way she wanted. It was only when grandmother came home and called for her that she asked him to stand up and rushed to unlatch the door. Grandmother saw the door opening and asked why was it closed. The Help confidently told her that they were cleaning peas and the air blew the door shut. It was convincing enough.

Whole house became their castle when the siege of mid-day solitude used to hit. They even played on the roof whenever it wasn’t that hot. Whenever it was as sunny as it gets in Varanasi, they simply played in the room on the roof or so it used to be before. They got into the room to the left of the staircase and sat on the mat. The Kid used to have these figurines of soldiers and a Batman Beyond which he brought to the roof along with an aeroplane and some Hot Wheels. She said- “I am tired today, let’s just lay down on this hot day.” The Kid made a grimace, turned around and played on his own for a while. He was running one of the figurines across the wall when she sat up and pulled him towards her. She immediately lied on her back and told him to climb on top of her. She promised that he won’t be able to get out of the comfortable bed she was going to make for him. He climbed on her from her side. He thought he knew what followed this so he reached out to fondle her. She stopped his hands and pulled his head on her breasts. She asked if he liked the cushions. He didn’t deny that they were surprisingly calming and homely. He turned his head to the side with his head planted right in the trough and looked at the wall across the bulging fabric of her kameez. He was content in his innocence.

The above is not the sole event that happened to the Kid here and neither it might be to either of you, readers. The events followed, less aggravated or even more despicable, then, now and might still affect most of us in the future. The essence of these events stays true even if details vanish in time. The following conclusion contains more points, but those cannot be mentioned due to possible “radicality” of some readers.

There must be no blames associated with the described act, neither it must be fine to accuse an individual for an unguided portrayal of their curiosity. It is only a common effort that might prevent such things from happening. Sex must not be a taboo anymore in a nation as dynamically affected by development as India. People must accept sex as a basic orientation of human curiosity. Instead of imposing bans on the mentioning of anything related to the theme, yet openly joking about such things in the dark corners of their abodes and developing high sex valuing mindsets and psyches, we must rather seek guidance, discuss the simplicity of this act with no attached value to it and educate themselves and people around them. India, the home of Kamasutra, must now embrace, guide and nurture sex, instead of exiling it altogether and leading to formation of secretive crooked minds.

For, as long as peacocks shed tears, the nation will stay in the darkest corners of dynamic, yet confused culture.

The Wizard


Some people ask:- “What’s it’ you say?”
Parry them I:- “With words I play…

Bedazzled, stand they, gazing broad

I point at them, while they applaud”
“What ’bout ‘s all the fuss?”, a voice.

“Oh crowd, I’m left with no choice…

How dare forget my name, you dude

This act of yours is utter rude!
For you’ve not asked from me the same

Involved the crowd to my shame!

It’s time to show you wizardry

You turn ‘nto toad by my decree!”
With that he gestured ‘nto air thin

A toad turned man sat aback then lean

With watery eyes, glanced at the crowd,

While wizard stood all great and proud.
The crowd spoke:- “With words you play…”

A scared pause added:- “…was what did you say”

“Afraid?”, exclaimed the spellweaving man

“It was just humour, that’s all a plan!”
Our wordmeister swung his hands.

In a whiff he changed the magic trends.

The toad leaped up and in no time,

Hugged him, shameless, covered in slime.
Wordplaying man was set aback,

Slime flying about with each whack

He did renounce all the claims:-

“I’m not the one who binds in chains!”
“What, what?”- crowd got all confused

To speak any further he refused.

Toadman spoke:- “All of you we do address,

Don’t worry, we did not digress to your distress
He’s an actor- I’m the man, his magic’s fine

And this darn script ‘s of my design!

I guess you all were played damn well,

You read till here and that is swell!”

Like fish in the sea


The awestruck fish was stuck in a tree
Thumbing it was, trembling, to get free…

Life twirled and turned it like a darn hurricane

Only to leave in hardship and vain…
Fishy fidgeted a few tiny leaps ahead

Then it realised that it just fell from bed…

But how felt the dream, you can’t fathom, just see…

The man turned- fish felt like one fish in the sea…

The One on Strength & Perseverance


When people ask me:- “Are you strong?”

I point, that their question’s wrong,

I say:- “It’s not just really all the strength,

That helps survive you to this length.

But how, this length, you do perceive

Through all the friction you recieve.”
When people tell me:- “Wrong, you might be!”

I flail them, “That depends on how you see.”

They preach how strength and even power

Is grown with friendly people’s shower

Of their goodwill and blessings; “That’s thin”

I say and add, “This first comes from within…”
They scream and shout, “How dare you!?”

Of egoism, in this debate, they me do sue.

“A little scared they’re, ‘s what I think

To face their sins and cross that brink,

Confess of evil thoughts lurking their mind

And speak of how they fight ’em for mankind”
Each day, each night, each dusk, each dawn,

Pitch black heed grows our mind upon.

We strive, we fence, we burn, we fight,

With morals, ethics, brought up might

And frown when fellow strikes amiss

And finds oneself in dungeon bliss
He is not strong, not strong at all,

For him his friendly people took the fall

And now all they all do is just repent

On how ugly scary was his dissent,

And how they had in this no hand

And this was only his failure grand!
The lonely bastard’s hit hard by wall

How people standing by him tall

Now vanish, never to be seen,

While once lost mind, is never clean,

And there he sits in stone cold cell,

With all well-wishers, lest wish well.
He sees now, that this sin his- grave,

If only once he were that brave,

To shut them out, stay solo- soul,

And let his wicked thoughts to crawl

And face them straight with no advice

From friendly people- witless’ demise.
Then maybe, maybe he’d have seen

That strength he seeks is there within

 And darkness shunt away, aside,

That right came with no one beside.

For no one’s wicked born with head,

But it grows unto them instead.
But what is done, is done and stains,

And now he’s left to endure the pains

Of heavy chains and morbid thoughts,

With none, but hope of grimly sorts

That perseverance’s all what’s left

Now, lonesome burden for him to heft.
He might not live to tell his tale,

But this- a thing one must not fail,

To seek and find within that good

Which makes one strong or so it should

At least to judge oneself permit

Where people rise, where fall in pit.

Pedal of Century


It was half past eleven, then a quarter to twelve,
Then creeped the clock stealthily for a gong beat.

We sit, somewhere lay we, in deep thoughts we delve,

Mind like some clocks did serenade and tweet.

Our stupor, if not turned to a slate’s screen

Is rather enthralled by the darkened bright skies

Or maybe traversed to some grasslands lush green

Calmed, but not really, we shut down our eyes.

Anxious lay some, restless are others, few left baby-like,

Heartless some, broken are others, few lay cold and alone.

What they all really need is to take that darn, lovely bike

And pedal way deep into abysmal abyss with no phone!

Impressions


Remember the first time you were scared, but not really…

Sometime around that time, your infancy left.

Remember the last time it all felt so easy, but not really…

Someone made sure your castle of childhood was built.

Remember the first time you lost, but not really…

Somewhere in that decision, you befriended your teens.

Remember the last time you risked it all, but not really…

Someday, thus somehow, we all matured.

The Search


Something highly relatable for each of us at one point or the other in our life…

Maybe it is the search for the ultimate purpose or maybe it’s just all about a pizza…

One might never know…
What if whatever you just fail to find…

Is hiding right there in plain sight…

But you’re one clumsy kind of blind…

You just can’t find it in this light???
What if you search for that in place…

That’s just not right, for it to hide…

And it’s damn staring at your face…

Lost, have you sight- eyes open wide???
What if that thing has no disguise…

But you’re searching masquerade…

Still here- seeking, post it’s demise,

Shortsighted, dwelling in crusade???
What if all this effort blown to skies,

Mirage made into​ the fair of Vanity

Is moulding real all those lies

And dripping on our sanity?
What if you’re searching​ for the meaning

Yet can’t find a pivot point- full life- like..

And think of these as words demeaning…

Bedazzled, but still void in thy psych?

The Chances


At playing card factory, piles of cards- all prints, get sorted…
Still hot, they travel miles, to get to box they courted…

We tag defective our lives- a solitary Joker of a deck conforming…

A random draw- high fives, thus turns our lives heartwarming…
Getting that tightly packed, they smudge each others’ ink…

Those tinsy smears stacked, amend more than you think…

Some turn Hearts sweet, hurt spiky- Spades few prick…

Some Diamonds built with heat, some Club until they sick…
How lucky is thy draw, depends on how you perceive…

The monster that you saw, turns to lifeline you recieve…

You’re boxed in, solitary Joker, and yours are chances rare…

This draw game is like poker, each draw- a million dollar affair… 

What if…


What if at the end of the line, if we say no to “Is there anything that you want for what you’ll be willing to go through the hell all over again?” and therein lies our salvation?

What if in process described lies the sole purpose, the educational aim of meditation?

The neighbours’ greed

turnt conquistador…

The conquistador’s wrath

against one’s valour…

The rebel’s sloth

of neighbour’s neighbour…

The early murder

was in labour…

The glutonny of the free

turnt sinners into hoarders…

The feudal lust

grew up those country borders…

The current pride

lies in the strength of orders…

What if…

What if he asks & you say- “Yes, more?”

& therein lies punishment?

What if…

​The sweet essence of moment…


This one is for the depressed souls, those who spend their nights in sorrow and absolute stupor of their situation. The psychological wave is used first to conform and accept the situation and then to show an alternate beauty of the nature, which keeps our side through thick and through thin.

If there’s a difficulty in understanding the poem straight away, read odd lines and get the vision of nature, while if you’ll read the even ones- you’ll get the condition of the person in depression.


Sandwich’d layers top down skies…

One’s fed up with their hissing lies…

Ascend the staircase to stargaze…

Burn one’s eyes on that face…

Boiling, mighty Earth’s insides…

Fuming are one’s darkened eyes…

Brush’d the breeze through the green…

Burnt down- memories one’s seen…

Deadly pitch plack crouching fear…

Doomly thoughts one does wear…

Pounc’d & snapp’d lope’s pain…

Lies one crampled ball of vain…

Smooth melodious crackling bark…

Clenched lies one’s hair stark dark…

Fat burstin’ cheeks, holed in rodent…

One’s cheek- crimson pressed in dent…

Sweet smelling joyous dancing grass…

Veined out, one fails to cry out brass…

Sniff’d the air that sworn predator…

Beating, tearing up- this darn obliterator…

Swift & cautious pawed by lost soul…

Cramped, stiff, yet sobbing whole…

Hoot missed  that disappearing tail…

Still, lies one doubting one’s tale…

Turn’d the Earth, stifled beauty- Utopia…

Thoughts railed with chaotic Dystopia…

Calm’d are the starnights, calm’d the moonsight…

Calm’d now lies one mindless, child of the light…

Verbose at night


Lots of emotions + a vocabulary growing extinct day by day may lead to a creative envision of the events that can be visualized by an imaginative reader…

This is a first breach into this genre, I have no idea what effect will it have on you…

Please review…

A lady mind- centred foreplay erotica…


Verbose at Night…

Night of a Glance

 

My heart is full with love for you…
My eyes are full with gratitude
My feelings yearn for your attitude
But feelings’re tender things…
I think of you, I thank you
I wink at you, I thank you
Declared my love with heart on plate
I slipped, but I hope I ain’t late…
(My brave and lovely Sweetness, cat,
She’s sleeping on her lovely mat…)
My baby, baby- I will sleep…
For now, you listen-don’t be a creep!
(For I’m in love with curly hair…
And girl is fair, very fair…
Her wavy red sea all around,
Her wavy bosom.) “I’m on the ground
I see the stars, I see the eyes
But I fail more to fantasize…
My fingers weep for her lips a touch
Thank you so much, thank you so much…
Yes, maybe I am mad right now
But I am now, I’m very now!!!
‘She’s still afraid of both my eyes
That I’ll like her less than her disguise.
So I’ll look forward for her gaze…
She will amaze, she will amaze…’

‘Brave up, my heart, for we are trying…
Please, do it right- we’re not flying…’
I think of you, my eyes swell up…
My pounding heart- please, don’t screw up!!!
The thought just stays in all those curls…
All feelings, all like water whirls…
I see there maths and maths sees me…
My heart shouts out- cease me, cease me!
Those eyes, eyes of emerald are those…
I look at sun, I look up close…
Their blinding beauty finds me now…
I’m blinded, thus I ask-“Just how?”
Things, she claims she’s never heard…
Amazing, that had her, never stirred…
She feels afraid, yet warm at soul…
But all that fear makes her a ghoul…
Just understand he’s afraid too…
And she is too, and they’re too…
Of seven is afraid that two…
For it ate nine, but I won’t you…

(For those who get emotional a bit)

Sweetness, Sweetness, please don’t cry…
Look that’s dancing “chicken fry”…
What about that wrapping roll?
It grooves so bad to rock’n’roll…
Flying saucers, falling pans…
That’s how kitchen things are- they dance…
Clunck- a clunck they spring about…
Are you sane, damn,  are you sound?
Oh my God, my God- that a mess!!!
Oils, vinegars, sauces- on recess…
Cleaning up will be a  stress…
They’re shaking them legs no less…
My little curly mess right there…
Starts moving as if she doesn’t care…
She goes around and turns about…
With kitchen sink clapping, so sound…
Crazy wild girl and kitchen tools…
Prancing about the kitchen, like fools…
He walks inside and sees her that sad…
“Come dance with me!”- THAT’s very bad…
Chairs and table all vanish aside…
He’s lucky to have her by his side…
Now she is smiling all along…
His mission accomplished all so strong…

Night of Feather

To the lady with stars on her cheek…

(This pretty being have I seen…
Becoming hers I got so keen…
Has lots of thoughts up right her mind…
She all time catty, smiling, kind…
With emeraldy eyes at me she gazed…
With feelings’ coating soul my glazed…
She got entwined in all her thoughts…)
But I am there to connect the dots…
Fearless Sweetness, she turned mine…
Though that was not by my design…
Me becoming hers, she became mine…
Well, it sounds great and still goes fine…
(“Don’t get sexual!“- that’s what she said…
Yet, biting her lips, she lied in her bed…)
‘I went right on describing filth…
She imagined all, but felt her quilt…
I pushed the boundaries, controlled myself…
For her request, I ceased THAT self…
She went on saying, yes that’s right…
I had her then and I felt- might…’
She said: “No sex!“- yet dwelled ecstatic…
‘I felt her thighs and then it’s static…
Taming the beast, stopping right there…
It’s not just me, you too are there…
In my hands there is your hair…
Yet no kiss, all we do is stare…’
Don’t get sexual, yet please embrace!!!
That’s the most amazing maze…
Solving which I’ll pass my time…
Kissing you- committing crime…
Right I see the way she does pout…
An urge to have them in my mouth…
I can’t see things, a blurry vision…
To kiss or bite- a tough decision…
(He waits, he waits well past midnight…
And get a glimpse of her he might…
He thought he’ll catch her, then they’d kiss…
But to his left, in car left his miss…
His desperation growing old…
He yearns to feel, when her do hold…
Away with chivalry, away with thoughts…
He’ll have her then, with all the clothes…)
(She hopes, he’ll get the magic right…
To feel her, she’ll give him a green light…)
(He’ll cage his energy for feather’s touch…
He’ll give her things she’ll love so much…)
(She has her wings, but won’t let them spread…
Envisioning things all time in her bed:
She’ll see him climbing over her…
She’ll clutch him, make him own her…
She’s shy, she’s there right there in bed…
All kinds of things right there in head…)

(He can’t control, he can’t resist…
To find her soul, clenches her wrist…
Right on her, he falls all slightly…
His intentions she can’t take lightly…)
We can’t, no sex, no damn ways…
(With her legs she clings to embrace…
To get his mind, to help his mind…
She clings to him, so damn tight…
Her lips don’t leave his- tight embrace…
He truly, truly can’t feel his face…
With both his hands- he her head he takes…
He doesn’t care what is at stakes…
He pushes her head well deep in pillow…
Her fallen hair resembles a willow…
He licks her once as if she’s cream…
Then she wakes up- it was a dream…)

Night of a Touch

(She hides her mountains with them clouds…
Leaving all men die in doubts…
She hides the rocks right under waves…
He never knew he got one of them babes…)
(In rocking chair he rocks and types…
While his lady gets her shy vibes…
His mind right now, pounds and hypes…)
Why isn’t she from naked tribes…
(“Please stop, please stop!“- she says out loud…
But not for him, that’s all for crowd…
She craves and craves for each word that drops his lips…
That maybe he’ll kiss her with his hands on her hips…)
(She has that wink, she has that smile…
Her racy voice is heard from a mile…
She can seduce with “Mio  Amor…
He’ll let her in and shut the door…)
(What he’d have done if she was wild…
His efforts would’ve gone a mild…
For she’d done a lot of things, her own…
Forbidden things she would’ve shown…
The door is closed, the eyes wide shut…
The big bad wolf just blew the hut…
The huts-his head, the wolf is she…
With her on top that’s how sit we…
Right on his shoulders all her weight…
Get to the business thinking straight…
The warmth of thighs is turning on…
Look at her shyness all its gone…

(His head in hands they dance in stance…
That’s a tornado for a foreign glance…)
(He bends right forward holding her back…
Her butt- the table, with a smack…
He frees his head and behaves right…
Goes from the thighs up to her might…
His waist on hers that feelings warm…
What happens next is just a storm…)
(Her hairs’ on table, back’s her bent…
She kisses him, impacts a dent…
He holds her tight amidst her flight…
Their closeness feels perfect and right…
Her lips on his, she bends her neck…
Her hands go down… He’s:- “What the heck?”)
(That naughty- shy girl spreads her wings…
Now, she is doing crazy things…
His collar is clutched, neck is licked…
He was leading, but now feels tricked…
The raging monster to him she clings…
Back unto the wall their union springs…
The wall’s a cheat, it’s not right there…
He’s on the ground out of nowhere…
The fall left him out of the breath…
Breathtaking- that’s how she looks- a bet…)
(She takes his hands and leads the blind…
For things he might not ever find…
She says- “Be gentle!” Less she knew…)
(He was an artist- her he drew…
He drew on her like on canvas paper…
He felt her arms, like sticks- the draper…
His slightest touch left her like goose…
Hands at her back unhooking them loose…
After much time she gives him to lead…
He feels her up with no less greed…)
(Enlightened, she lifts her eyes to ceiling…
He touches her lips- she’s very willing…
She slides away her plans on tips…
He lifts her closer by her hips…
She looks at him with funny discontent…)
(He gets this- lady is crooked and bent…
With open palm he goes through hair…
Her skin so soft, babyish and fair…
His other hand on her back gets under…
Her skin, a touch is just a wonder…
He leaves her hair and gets tight pressed…
His interest got her impressed…)
(She backed him off and in a jest…
Removed her very skinny vest…
The boy astonished, mouth wide…
Is that adulthood by his side…
He meddles, waits, her to give a cue…
She sits like that for moments a few…
She saw him brave, but now he’s not…
She sees how helpless, shocked he got…
She then rewards him with a tight embrace…
And heard his heart in chest run race…)
(Two points of excitement pressed against his chest…
To interpret he does his best…
He feels her hands slight down his waist…
His shirt was pressed- oh what a waste…
Unbuttoned him like in that game…
He then got lucky- and for her- fame…
He sees them right and firm and tight…
Touch them as well he maybe might…
He feels all grateful, all again…
In her embrace he does that drain…
Her warmth against his jumping chest…
He feels her breast, yes that’s her breast…
He didn’t figure- the switch got on…
To give her he’s got feels a tonne…
His hands run free & wild and got behind…
What he did there is on your mind…
That’s hard to stop, high is the tension…
He longs for this moment’s extention…
His first encounter with a her life…
To catch his breath he had to strife…
He lifts her up and lay on ground…
To her body his mind is bound…
All he sees- switches a bunch…
He sucks her lips with upward hunch…
He leaves her lips and licks downtown…
He is her king, but where’s the crown?
His lips on left, on right- his magic…
Hard- soft, hard- soft, to make it tragic…
She kissed his head, he kissed her bosom…
And overall it feels so awesome…
He gets some teeth right on her nip…
She gets so high- a marijuana trip…
He’ll stop it there, let her think…
Next time at him when she’ll wink…
She will undress him-  and so will he…
His hands so gentle- where they should be…
They are free, this can be true…
Now she can think of things to do…)

 

4SJ

 

Please, tell me how this is…

Play Along


Can I see you later?!
Cuz now I am with her…
Baby gimme your number
Stay on Friday as you are…

We’re young & rave…
We jump & wave…
In this game…
That we are…

We crave & lust…
Love turned to dust…
Hurting, hurt…
That we are…

Baby, baby don’t reprimand…
Cuz I’m here on your demand!
If you see me on Friday night…
We’ll spend the night!
Well spent, a night!

It’s a game & we are players…
And the world is not as old
Don’t be crying…
Don’t stay in prayers…
Love will come, but for now, just play along!
Just play along!

If we went out
And spent a night…
That doesn’t mean
We’re in it all right?

We kiss & date…
No love & fate…
In this game…
That we are…

We don’t mind or stay…
We forget & play…
Hurting, hurt
That we are…

Baby, baby don’t think too much!!!
Neither of us, felt love, as such…
I’m scoring my next Friday night!
We spent tonight!
What’s your next Friday night?

It’s a game & we are players…
And the world is not as old
Don’t be crying…
Don’t stay in prayers…
Love will come, but for now, just play along!
Just play along!

(About current relationship trends)