Close Too Close (28 page)
L came out from behind the headboard. And sat on the bed and started stroking V’s thighs. V was coming alive, at least his penis was. L removed the condom and tossed it to the floor. He bent down on V and began to suck his penis. Long deep sucks, I could swear that V’s penis was near his throat and every time V moaned, L withdrew, and V moaned more. L came up for air and whispered to me, ‘Kiss him or something.’
I got to the head of the bed and started kissing the comatose boy; I licked his face, those fat lips, yanked his hair and pulled his head back, he screamed in pain, I bit his neck hard and sucked at it. Meanwhile L was playing hide and seek with V’s penis. He would suck him till he was very near coming and then withdraw. I did not leave V much time to complain; when L withdrew I kissed V. He was not really awake. V turned to me, suddenly perfectly lucid and begged me, ‘Please stop for a second, let him finish the blow then you can go down on me.’
Not so homophobic now, I see. I let them get on and sulked on the Bombay fornicator, V had pulled himself up and was sitting on the bed, and L was being ridiculously limber. He had climbed down on V so much that L’s ass was at V’s face. V was hungrily licking it, while L was finishing up with the blow. One more giant shudder and lucky V came again. And like his switch-off button had been activated, nodded back to sleep.
‘The boy’s on drugs,’ L smiled at me, getting off the bed.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ I said to him.
‘Not yet,’ he whispered and stood me up. ‘You were so beautiful, my dear,’ and he kissed me gently. Our mouths did not part, it was a peck; I moved my head back. He leaned into me, kissed me, licking the corners of my mouth, dragging his tongue slowly over my lips. He was pushing his tongue into my mouth, like tasting a fresh, moist brownie.
‘Don’t start what you won’t finish.’
‘I am a feminist, I can’t be a tease ya,’ he smiled.
He draped his arms around my naked waist, tucking his thumbs into the silver chain at my back, and we danced as he moved me around the room. ‘We are dancing naked in D Devi’s room, and you are more beautiful, B. Those eyes speak all the time. They know what you are going to feel even before you feel them.’
‘Filmy ya,’ I was resting my head on his shoulders.
‘Inspired.’
‘I love you my little B,’ he said.
‘I know.’
‘I am so turned on by you right now; I want to lick you all over.’
‘I am feeling particularly dry right now.’
He licked my neck, gave me small butterfly kisses across the breast, turned me around and caressed my back, he danced me to the Bombay fornicator and sat me down.
‘Fornicating on a fornicator,’ I said. ‘Do you think D Devi imagined we would realize the actual use for her chair?’
‘Darling, why do you think she had this in her room?’
‘Everybody is always in an orgy in your head!’
‘Everybody
is
in an orgy in their heads.’
He placed my legs on top of the freakish long hands of the fornicator. Then he went down on me. Licking my clitoris in quick sharp licks, he put his tongue inside me, moving it around like a fastidious wine taster – I had a fever, I was burning up – and then as the pace quickened, smaller, faster licks and I finally climaxed. It was like smoking the first cigarette of the day.
‘Penis is never this good,’ I gasped.
‘Darling, I have always told you your cunt likes tongue.’
‘What about you?’ I asked weakly.
‘What good manners,’ he smiled kindly, ‘I am the
kaneez
remember, and the
kaneez
only gives.’
V let out a loud moan, started chanting his grandmother’s name. L and I grinned. We untied him, he woke up a bit; L shushed him back to sleep and covered him up. He even gave him a nice long kiss, ‘Sleep well, Quasimodo.’
I looked at L, he turned to meet my gaze, ‘Stop staring, two a day is all I can eat.’
‘Disgu, let’s go home,’ I said, getting dressed. He followed suit.
‘I am going to burn that sweatshirt,’ he threatened.
‘Then give me back my shawl!’ We slipped out and made our way to the door, ‘Wait, I forgot something, wait for me outside,’ I said to him. I went back to the living room and took the black cashmere shawl that M had left draped on the sofa.
L was standing outside and smoking, I draped the shawl on him. ‘Here, payment.’
‘I knew you went back for this.’
‘Of course you knew!’
*
‘Yes, really! It’s the rules of my trade.’
Abeer Hoque
is a Nigerian-born Bangladeshi-American writer and photographer. She doesn’t want none but kisses. ‘Jewel and the Boy’ is an excerpt from her novel in progress,
Memory Alone
. See more at olivewitch.com
Anirban Ghosh
studied animation film design at the National Institute of Design, Ahmedabad after graduating in Mass Communications from St. Xavier’s College, Kolkata. Storytelling fascinates Anirban as he uses illustration reportage, sequential art, short films and documentaries to narrate tales on gender, sexuality, human rights as well as other mundane tales of growing up and the world around.
Annie Dykstra
has been living in Delhi for four years and, in that time, has been lucky enough to over-indulge her fetish for swimming pools. It has also helped her explore the endless erotic possibilities of sofas (especially ones created in the 1970’s) and a fetish for the love poetry of seventh-century Tamil poets. She also senses an ill-informed obsession with ghazals rising. She has loved living in India when being queer stopped being a criminal activity. In her spare time she works as a Public Health specialist. Recently she was thrilled by an unusual convergence in her personal and professional lives when she was tasked with flashing masturbation slogans at a queer rock concert, to promote good safe sex. She thanks D for the original erotic charge for this short story – when it was set elsewhere.
Chicu
lives on a farm in the Himalayas with her husband. She defines herself as a natural resource manager, traveller, and gardener. A civil engineer by training, she works in the non-profit sector for the equitable distribution of water resources. For her, reading and writing is a way to understand things that are too difficult to comprehend otherwise.
D’Lo
is a queer Tamil Sri L.A.nkan-American, political theatre artist/writer, director, comedian and music producer. D’Lo has performed and/or facilitated performance and writing workshops extensively in the US, Canada, UK, Germany, Sri Lanka and India. D’Lo holds a BA from UCLA in Ethnomusicology and is a graduate of New York’s School of Audio Engineering. D’Lo’s work has been published in various anthologies and academic journals, most recently:
Desi Rap: Hip Hop and South Asia America
and
Experiments in a Jazz Aesthetic
(co-edited by Sharon Bridgforth). Aside from touring the university/college circuit with
D’FaQTo Life
(pronounced
defacto
), D’Lo tours
Ramble-Ations: A One D’Lo Show
(dir. Adelina Anthony). D’Lo is currently working on his latest solo show
Minor D’Tales
, is internationally touring his full-length stand-up storytelling show D’FunQT (pronounced
defunct
) and is in workshop production for his second full-length play,
Boys that Pray
.
www.dlocokid.com
Devdutt Pattanaik
writes and lectures extensively on the relevance of myth and mythology in modern times. This story is based on a sub-plot of his earlier work,
The Pregnant King
(Penguin India, 2009), that never made it to the final draft.
www.devdutt.com
Doabi
is a daughter of Punjab, born from between the legs of the Beas and Sutlej. She is an activist, researcher, writer and an RJ. She works on issues of migration, gender, sexuality and labour.
Ellen L.R.
has loved women from as far back as she can remember – from when she was eight years old in the 1980s in Sri Lanka. She was brought up in a more or less traditional Sri Lankan family which, taking its cue from wider cultural beliefs, carefully shielded children from any knowledge of sex, out of embarrassment and the belief that it would corrupt them. Sex was hard to write about, not surprisingly, even after many years living autonomously. This is Ellen’s first attempt at it.
Iravi
is an occasional writer and a sometimes poet who would love to dabble oftener in fiction and several kinds of wordplay, were it not for her arthritic knee and many other equally lame excuses. She is also a proud member of a queer feminist collective that celebrates words even as it engages in actions and campaigns.
Michael Malik G.
spent his early years in New York and first settled in India in 1980. He attended Cathedral School in Mumbai and continued his studies in the United States at Tufts University and Hunter College. In his second youth he resettled in India, in 2007, choosing Delhi, city of unsparing desire, as home and master. He teaches language and literature.
Msbehave
is more concerned about canine behaviour rather than her own. She likes to get her hands dirty muddling mint, coiling clay and ripping rubber on the road. Writing, travel, photography and food keep her out of mischief on many a day.
Nikhil Yadav
teaches English literature at Delhi University. Writing is for him what perhaps doodling in the margins is for his bored students. He is currently working on a collection of short stories.
Feline lover, erotica painter, city interlocutor, swing singer and lover of all things delectable and eccentric, is how
Nilofer’s
cats sum her up. An artist, cartoonist and graphic designer, her work explores the theme of sexuality, both earthly and divine.
Professionally, she designs websites and can be reached at bluinker.wordpress.com
In a world where the categories of ‘Man’ and ‘Woman’ exist,
Satya
is a Transman. He is also a gender activist who divides his working life between Trans* activism, cinematography and running a home. He founded and continues to facilitate Sampoorna, a network of Trans* Indians. His writing has appeared in
Himal Southasian, Because I Have a Voice
(Yoda Press, 2005), and online at Kafila, TARSHI, and TransAdda. He can be reached at
[email protected]
.
Vinaya Nayak
lives in Bangalore and has taken time off from academics and teaching to stay home with her two-year-old daughter. She writes when her baby naps.
M
eenu and Shruti would both like to thank Shalini Krishan, editor at Tranquebar Press, without whom this book would not have seen fruition. Thank you for those initial conversations. And once the book began to take shape, thank you for making the process of publishing super smooth for us first timers.
A special thank you to Shikha and Shalini Mahajan for vetting the stuff we wrote and giving useful suggestions before it went out into the public domain.
I
would like to thank all my feminist friends and colleagues for their generous support and enthusiasm about this book. It was through their responses that sudden anxiety turned into great excitement.
– Meenu
I
embarked on a journey with feminist friends eight years ago. You changed my life and it is largely because of you that I have the courage to take on an endeavour such as this book. I reserve a special place for each one of you in my life and thank you for the unending laughter, warmth and strength you bring. I would also like to thank my counsellor for keeping me grounded through the ups and downs of life. And a warm hug to my brother who has grown increasingly supportive over the years of my eccentricities.
– Shruti
