Raadha, having tea with

The urge is too real, Raadha,
To tell the world who you are —
To admit to you that it aches inside not to
Take you, to rip your clothes,
To meet your yearning eyes with mine and to
Slide it deep inside. And to push it an inch more,
To inhale your sigh.

While we sit taking our sugared tea,
The silences intervening.
Your eyes – there is a tension which I
Think is the half-hearted call of the
Desired, still wavering.

But, only if I could tell you,
That the only tea I need is brewed in you,
That is need not be sugared, that it
Need not be as thick as this: that
There’s only one plunge I have in mind

As we make the smallest talk
On irrelevancies and topics that
This tension cannot bear.



Raadha, her grief

You are from my class:
Your grandmother hauled sand on the beach
My father’s uncle massaged foreign-skinned women
And touched his groin with the free hand.
Your father broke away from the Folk,
He saved education and favours
And made enough money to make a life,
And wedded the class he had not,
When he bedded your mother that night.

What slid through the wet walls of your mother
Is the emancipated shaft of a low class,
Made big by money and status. The boy
Whose father plucked and threw the
Coconuts down from the crowned trees
Fed on your mother’s classed coconuts,
Making her come – impregnating her with new seed.

And today, three decades and two children later,
He goes to the cemetery on VIP shoulders.
You are in your funeral clothing and
Your grief has made you distraught and tired
That it adds to your voluptuousness
Making me want you more and more.
You give me orders to run errands as
The class status your father had made your birthright
Has taught you to do.

You, the grand daughter of a sand hauler of
My village, my class —
Very soon I will take you to the
Coldness of the storeroom where
One by one the guises you have been trained to take for granted
Must be slowly shunned —
Where the fragrance of your skin,
Anointed by powders too real for softness
Should be sucked off your golden skin.
Where, in the emptiness of a reverberating hollow,
Dumbed and dazed by the shock of an unfamiliar warmness,
You must be entered and fucked long, out and in.


Prajapathi, after sucking

I told you, don’t moan,
I told you not to make slurpy sounds
When you run your mouth over my dick,
And you were hurt that I said so,
And later, on that, a quarrel you would pick.

You say that there should be no barriers to desire.
I contradict that, specially as your
Small son watches the cartoons, ,next room.
You, bended knee, tongue twirled around my shaft
Take me higher and lower, between pleasure and doom.

The foreskin you pull way back, suck the
Reddened rocket-head with exaggerated greed,
Deep-throat it and run your tongue around in a frenzy,
Moving in and out, at breakneck speed.
You were never known among guys to go down on your knees.

Later, a shower later, you’re in my arms
And I kiss you; your eager lips I staple
With my lips that search your taste, while
I caress soft your nipple, your boob, shoulder and neck
While the other hand feels the fat layers around your waist.

You murmur you want this forever,
But you tell me you know that you can’t —
That you would rather have me as master
And be a servant to my pole; that you will
Give all in the world it takes to make me work your hole.


Prajapathi, biting her tit

Then, cupping your boob,
Squeezing its orbit tight,
You brought it towards my mouth,
And in the starless night

I saw the silhouette of you
As you bent towards me,
One hand in that cupping act,
The other, striving to have my member free.

You pushed your tight udder
Forcing it against my lips
That I drew them in with such force
As one let’s the wanton lust as it grips.

Its soft fleshy hardness as it
Hardens into my mouth I drew,
And I felt my dick go stiff
As if to stiffen at such a warm taste it knew.

I groped at your free orb,
Squash it against your chest
And you harden your hold around my dick,
Putting its reflexes to the test.

A shrill, demented cry of a mating cat
Pierces the sky from somewhere there
On a roof somewhere, in a dark shadow,
When you mount me, push me in the snare.

You start steady and slow, and you
Gather strength in pace,
You slide up, slide down,
In a lustful crazy daze.

I bite hard your grain,
Making you gasp and groan,
But, then, surcharged, you ride
Moanful, to the night alone.


Me, being reasonable

You remind me
We are adults in our mid 30s,
You tell me I must understand that
He turns you on and does the right things.
That you find his body, his texture, his ribs
And toned arms too sexy,
That he brushes his thumb on your nipples making them
Hard at a stroke, and making you light.

You tell me, there’s no offence to be taken,
And I agree with you, yes – we are civilized,
And he should be given a key to the house
And I must go somewhere. For, I would rather you did it
Where the comforts are those of home.

You tell me that he kisses right, and that
He touches you disarming you of all your inhibitions.
That he throbs between you, pinning you
Against the wall like a butterfly, and that he,
In a controlled frenzy of brute force coated with
The finer syrups of male-dominated lust
Stings into you as if he were the proverbial bee.

And I listen, and I nod,
And I say , yes – then, what is best perhaps
Is to give him the spare key to the house
And, perhaps, a cue to let me know, so
I could let the two of them be.


Kishani, first time with

First time we fucked, in your
Thick-curtained, blinds-drawn room,
I made myself lose to the streams of vodka
From within which you murmured, “Harder, my love”,

Eyes closed, cheeks flushed,
Hair undone in a fashionless mass,
And I rammed you with all my gut, for
You were a dolled bitch from another class.
Each hit, I could feel, brushing hard against wet walls,
Going deep into the slime, in search of your edge.

Later, you mounted me, and treated me with
Such tenderness — like a lost soul trying to surface
From an abyss into which she had fallen; trying to
Re-live a sentiment long unused, and corroded:
Like a desperate act to learn the male body how to touch.
You traced your wet tongue down the center of my body,
Slid your mouth around my cock; where I felt you twitch.

As we finally lay back, two-two and half hours later,
The taste of your tongue and pussy
Indistinguishable in my mouth, you sighed,
Rolled off bed and walked naked to the bath,
Your massive haunches swinging in disdain,
A dimple in your left ass, and with no word to my
Still hungry self.


Dharshika,her leaving

I crave for your bite:
Now, years later, I recall the
Sudden urgency with which you’d bite into my flesh,
Cat-like in earnest, teeth going in deep,
And you would draw blood from my chest and gloat on it,
Going inch by inch on a downward hunt.

You left me as suddenly as you came,
Leaving behind the memory of
Feverish hidden passages, of making love.
Your left breast with its birthmark underneath the tit
Haunts my mind, and your raptures every time
I sucked it deep, stroking it.

You’re with another man now, and
I can draw in the slate of my imagination
His nerves stretch, mouth hold back the pain,
And I can see you mark with the tip of your finger
The places you want to bite deep into again.
I wonder what memory I have left you with. I wonder
Whether, sometimes, you remember.


Rush, the first time

“What am I doing, here?” and
In the fast fading light there is
Still some room for philosophy:
“You need me. I need you, alright?”
And you give a nervous shrug and make a grunt
As I hold back my hunger to take your cunt.
“We needed this, that’s why we’re here” — and
You look far away into the scenery.
Stepping over the lines is not easy for you
Who is his and his alone; a paragon of virtue.
So, I pull you close to me and hold your face in my hands.

I remember that day, as Moses remembers God’s voice.
Every tremor of your unused person, twisting and turning
In the first encounter with the stranger’s touch.
Lips locking on lips, on the side of your neck,
Sliding down to caress, kiss, suck and bite each
Delicious full breast from each. Your first
Unsure moves to pull me up, grabbing my head, to keep
My downward moves in check. But those
Thighs I’ve hungered for, from the first day we’ve met,
For those inner flanks I’ve waited too long
That I promised you I would do you no wrong
When I crossed your vaginal lips with my cunt-hungry lips.

You were guilty, later, that him you have wronged,
That I reminded you he was my friend too, all along.
That, though the world may not see us together as fit,
That, this had to happen this way – and that, this is it.
You were happy with my reasoning and making bold
I kiss your neck, draw you close, you sigh and tighten your hold.
Your half pruned tuft, wet and delicious to the touch
Touches my half slumbered cockerel who eagerly twitch.
You pin me down, swivel, rise on my lap, grab it, squeezing it soft,
Run the other hand up and down on me, pinch me slow; then, rough.
I stroke through your hair, which to the shoulder falls,
You kiss my ear and you whisper, you want my balls.