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Siege Mentality

No, I’m not under siege yet. Maybe.

Right, I started writing this, and I’m already losing my nerve. Yeah, well, I’m not known for being the bravest man under the sun anyway.

I read the article a little late. Personally, I think it was a brilliant piece of link bait. 7 out of 10 paragraphs were completely about the man. That got lost completely, because at the start he says, this article is not about the man. Yeah, whatever. Now, the other three are:

The new legal regime, put in place after the December 16 gangrape, though well-intentioned, certainly seems draconian, and full of grey areas. The police are duty-bound to register a case as soon as they receive information, even if the complainant hasn’t come forward. The definition of sexual harassment has been widened to include ‘sexual overtures’ (like sending an email or a text message), demanding ‘sexual favours’ and ‘forcible disrobing.’

New laws

Frighteningly, the new law makes it clear that consent given under intoxication does not translate into informed consent. This means that a drunken consensual tumble with a woman can come back to haunt the man the next day, or even ten years later. This seems grossly unfair. And what about demanding sexual favours? Clinton, for example, was clearly demanding a sexual favour of Monica Lewinsky. But if a man offers to ‘go down’ on a woman – is he offering a submissive sexual favour or demanding one? Many Indian men admit privately that they feel they are under a state of siege. The bedroom has been criminalised. Is it going to be impossible to form relationships from now on? Have we as a society, yet again, swung from one extreme to another?

Let’s not forget that iconic feminists themselves have criticised hysterical feminism in the West. Doris Lessing once said, and I quote, “I find myself increasingly shocked at the unthinking and automatic rubbishing of men which is now so part of our culture that it is hardly even noticed. The most ill-educated and nasty woman can rubbish the nicest, kindest and most intelligent man and no one protests. What is happening to men?… Why did this have to be at the cost of men?”

The first paragraph ended on a stupid note. And was promptly and thoroughly dismembered in this article. No issues about that. The bit about hysterical feminism, that really was an “Aa bail mujhe maar” right? Forget.

Now, from a personal point of view, I kinda sorta understood where he was coming from, and before you all shout at me and thoroughly disown me, please remember I’m a good boy who wants nothing more than equal orgasms for men and women and that I’d be more than happy to be disabused yes? Also, mind you, this is more of a stream-of-consciousness chattering rather than any structured discourse.

Also, in the spirit of disclaimers, may I also say that yes, I do kind of understand the stuff an average girl/woman goes to the limits that a man can without actually being a woman. At least I think I do. And I hope that what I’ve written and tweeted earlier substantiates this.

Right, coming to why I am actually writing this, attempting to justify the injustifiable is because I think, I THINK that I got what the male author was trying to point out.

Let me start with a small anecdote. This is from my personal experience, although its been a while, more than a year back and before the Nirbhaya episode. I was traveling in a crowded bus and soon found myself behind this comely young(ish) woman. Unfortunately, there was very little room to maneuver and I soon found myself pressed against her in a very uncomfortable position. I tried pushing back etc. etc. Nothing doing. I was squashed. Usually in such situations, I turn around so that at least its just butt-to-butt contact and not crotch-to-asscrack. This time I couldn’t. And then the driver braked. The rest you can imagine. What I’ll never, ever forget is the cold, accusing stare the woman gave me as soon as we got our bearings straight. Her eyes were clear: You touched me sexually, inappropriately. And if the facts were laid in front of anyone, I guess I had. What was I supposed to do? I suppose I could’ve got down from the bus, taken another one and all sorts of other theoretical solutions. If it hadn’t been me, maybe it would have been another innocent male passenger.

My point being, if (a) the incident had occurred post-Nirbhaya and (b) the lady decided to make an issue out of it, I was cooked. Dead and buried. The crowd wouldn’t have wasted a second before beating me up soundly. I know, maybe the crowd would have asked the lady to not make an issue of it, to keep quiet. But in the charged atmosphere we live in nowadays, I don’t feel comfortable giving myself a more than 50% chance of survival in that situation. These are not calm-the-fuck-down-let’s-talk situations.

I felt ashamed that day, I really did. Why, I don’t know. I still feel bad for her. All of that lady’s experiences in the past were telling her, here’s another piece of shit making daily life hell for you. I think I know where she was coming from. And in this case, she was completely, utterly, wrong.

I don’t think men are under siege. But I definitely feel that in the battle for women’s rights, men are in the firing line for the first time. And while this is bad news for bad men, its even worse for the non-bad ones. There will be civilian casualties in this war. I can only hope I don’t become one of them. And what happens when the war is won?

Right, where was I before grandiloquenting?

Right, ‘sexual overtures’. I have problems with this. Technically, if a man sexts with a woman, and she deletes all the messages/emails which she sent to him, and keeps only the ones he sent and reports it to the police, do we really think the Indian police is technically qualified to find out the deception quickly enough to not charge the guy? Or are they bound to register a complaint, arrest him and then jail and procedure, procedure, procedure? I don’t know.

Also, when he says that men feel under siege, what he means is that men now have to be much more careful while looking for affairs and/or one night stands. Before, during and after an existing relationship. When he says the bedroom is being criminalized, he means to say that men now have a smaller bandwidth in terms of how they can invite women into their bed. Which is a good thing when I put it like this. Why was I confused earlier then? Right, because any woman with malicious intent can easily, easily ruin a man. For what, who knows? But this law gives them the power, yes? I don’t know, please let me know. This law asks men to maintain what are conventionally called “higher” morals, albeit in a roundabout way. Should a man be ruined because of his weakness for the flesh? Not fondness, mind you, but a weakness. I am no man to judge. But the new laws give every jilted woman lover with a few pieces of electronic or physical evidence to utterly destroy a man. Is that fair? I don’t think so.

What happens, if say an extremely social-conscious aunty gets tipsy at a party and decides to finally get it on with the new hunk in the neighbourhood and she’s caught coming out of the house next morning and cries I was drunk, I couldn’t take an informed decision, he took advantage of me. I don’t know.

What happens to checking women out? There are several rather lovely ladies at my organization. What happens if one of them decides a male colleague (or me for that matter) has been “behaving inappropriately by way of intimidatory eye contact”? Long ago, The Ranee told me women have the radar. I laughed and agreed. Now, I can only hope that the radar is bang-on accurate too, or else who knows, I may be screwed next.

(Before I forget, can anyone send me/link me to a copy of ‘The New Rape Law’? I’d really like to be aware, thanks.) (That sounded better in my head.) (Writing about it without reading is stupid, yes? But I wanted to write down my feelings now, as what a normal guy on the street who lusts after women would.)

Hmm, writing this down has helped a bit. If males are feeling under siege, maybe this gives us an idea of what the average woman goes through on a nearly daily basis. Maybe this will help us fight more for a normal women’s rights, just so that an average man’s rights are kept safe too. Its time we got careful.

(P.S.: This is what happens when I get idle weekends. Tcha. I’ll make sure I come up with something inane soon.)

(P.P.S. I really should’ve read the entire female POV article before I wrote my shit. She puts it much better than I could. Basically, En Garde men. Now I just feel stupid. So publishing without editing.)

Lays

I seem to keep coming back, like a mild, not-very-unpleasant rash, don’t I?

I miss the attention, to be honest.

But that’s really not why I’m here today. Or maybe I am, how does it matter?

No, why I’m here is because yesterday, I was speaking to this amazingly sexy, sexual lady with whom I’d unabashedly agree for intercourse if we were in the same city. Now that was yesterday evening pre-conversation. Post-conversation, I ended up hoping that doesn’t happen for the next decade (?) or so. Why? Because during the conversation, I found out that if currently I were to somehow make it into her bed, I’d be classified as a ‘Bad Lay’ as defined by the amount of time I can last within her. And a ‘Good Lay’ would be someone who can last INSIDE her, thrusting, for 30+ minutes. I’m sorry, but right now, there’s just no way I can do that. Oh, and there was a ‘Moderate Lay’ in between too, in case you were wondering.

I’ve always, ALWAYS wanted to know this: how long must a fuck last to be called, you know, average? While I’d never underestimate the power of a common man, I’m not partial to overestimation either. I’m not talking God-level fucks. I’m not talking fucks to drive the woman insane with cum shooting out of her ears. I’m talking a normal fuck, just to make her orgasm. And please, spare me the spiel about lasting long enough to please the woman, as long as she orgasms who cares etc. etc. I know the party line, people. I am still me.

So, how long do you last?

And of course, ladies, I would never forget you.

This is juvenile, yes? Even as I write this, I’m aware of the sheer juvenility (is that a word?) of it. And yet, I cannot be able to let it go. And since the internet is kind of a free place (as of now) (for me) to let out this juvenility, I proceed. Not that I expect much of a response. The last two polls didn’t exactly set the world on fire, did they?

We shall speak more in the comments, and of course, via emails, if anyone is so inclined.

Stay beautiful, people.

 

P.S.: Its now that its gone that I realize the utter liberation that anonymity gives you. There’s a low single-digit number of people that know me for both who I am here and who I am IRL, and before posting I still gave it a thought, will they laugh at me? Will it be embarrassing? It is what it is…

P.P.S.: I read somewhere, ‘Love like you’re 80, Fuck like you’re 18′. I wouldn’t advise that. If I fucked like I was 18, I might not even have been within the parameters of this poll, if you know what I’m saying. Fuck like you’re 25-27 would be good enough, no?

Don’t Angry Me

No.

Jesus fucking Christ, No.

I cannot deal with this shit again.

Can’t leave me in peace, can you?

Fuck you, Lhendup G. Bhutia, if that’s even a real name.

I didn’t want to come back, but you wouldn’t give me a choice, would you?

You had to go ahead and publish shit in a magazine I like without the least bit of background check, didn’t you?

Fine, let me do this shit all over again.

First, what caused this? Answer: This – Measuring the Indian Penis, a ‘feature’ in the latest issue of OPEN magazine, which was predictably followed by a smorgasbord of shit called “India Rising? Not so much” in Firstpost, which is so bad I’m not even going to link to it.

People, haven’t we been through this before? Did I not conclusively conclude that the Indian penis is definitely NOT an average of 4 inches? Sigh. Lhendup, please read. Someone, please point it out to Mr. Lhendup, who also seems to be the sole surviving relative of Mr. Phunsukh Wangdu.

I’m not being entirely fair. The meat of the article is quite interesting, i.e. the part excluding the first two paragraphs and the last three. This ‘meaty’ part is where he describes the sole(?) study undertaken in India to study penile lengths. Its quite nicely done. Go and read. I also found it extremely amusing that that Govt. of India is so hot-and-bothered about “frequent reports of condom slippage”. Right, because that’s among the Top 5% of problems faced by our country. Yes, I know, health implications, AIDS, population control, but really? Condom slippage is a problem? Did anyone at the Union Ministry of Health actually try putting on one or even *shudder* try out a few in practice? If condom slippage is a problem, you study the girth, not the length, right? Now, I’m no scientist and please prove me wrong, but it seems kinda obvious, doesn’t it? Also, the scientists completed the report and submitted it to the government, which (according to the article) did zilch about it. Taxpayers money at work people! (Also, in my totally unscientific opinion, the main problem is not condom slippage, but rather condom tears, the causes and solutions of which are completely, utterly different. You know what, let me give you the solution, with me being so magnanimous and all. It starts with ‘More’ and ends with ‘Foreplay’. You’re welcome.)

Also, did you know that the government regulates the size of the condoms made in India? Point 8 of Section R of The Drugs and Cosmetics Act, 1940 has this glorious requirement:

8. Dimensions. – (1) the length when unrolled (excluding teat) shall be not less than. -
(i) 170mm
(ii) 180 mm
(2) The width of a condom which laid flat and measured at any point within 85 mm from
the open end shall be,
(i) 49 ± 2mm for 170mm length
(iii) 52 ± 2mm for 180mm length.

I love India. They’ve even provided variety, look! Does this mean I can produce a 170 mm condom with a 100 cm teat? Questions, questions…

Again, I veer off the topic. Lhendup speaks to a few people in the project and its quite charming and I (having previously done research on the subject at the University of Google) was quite fascinated by this part.

No, what irked me was this part:

A well-known British scientist, Richard Lynn, recently published a study that lists and compares the average erect penis lengths of men in 113 countries. His findings, which appeared in the journal Personality and Individual Differences, range from the large sizes of the Congolese (which at an average 7.1 inches rank No 1) to the lengths of South and North Koreans, which average a little more than half that figure (at 3.8 inches, the smallest). Indians were part of the study too, but, with an average of just 4 inches, rank just above Koreans and Cambodians (3.9 inches), sharing the 110th spot with Thais (also 4 inches).

The source of Lynn’s data on Indian penis lengths is a little-known study called ‘Study on proper length and breadth specification for condoms based on anthropometric measurement’, which began with grand ambitions more than a decade ago and then slid into obscurity.

What Mr. Lhendup has done, is basically take material from some British newspapers, which first reported this study, and reprint them as gospel truth. And that too, without including the most critical part of those reports (IMHO) where other scientists say, “Cool study bro, too bad its on shit data.” Lhendup, for the sake of our penises, couldn’t you have included that?

Or what about the study itself? Its been published in a prestigious scientific journal, so of course it must be absolutely, positively correct, right? WRONG! If you had bothered to read the actual study and exhibited a bit of curiosity and maybe an hour of googling, maybe I wouldn’t have had to get all hot and bothered.

Here, knock yourselves out.

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(You can get the pdf here.)

Now, Lynn’s study attempts to provide some kind of proof for a theory of race differences called r-K life history, which, after reading up on, seemed slightly racist to me, but hey, what do I know? Now in the introduction itself, Lynn has reported another great penis-measurer Rushton who has come up with these numbers in his 1987 report:

Orientals, 4 to 5.5 in. in length and 1.25 in. in diameter;
Caucasians, 5.5 to 6 in. in length and 1.5 in. in diameter;
Blacks, 6.25 to 8 in. in length and 2 in. in diameter.

That’s pretty damning, isn’t it? A clear-cut measurement? WRONG! Rushton has (according to this blog post) taken his ‘facts’ from a book “A French Army Surgeon” published in 1898 and which also happens to be the No. 1 reference in Lynn’s paper. That’s what we’re going on, people. A single, solitary Frenchman’s view of the world’s penises.

The book’s actual name is “Untrodden fields of anthropology : observations on the esoteric manners and customs of semi-civilized peoples”. That should probably give you a clue mister. Probably. Oh, and you can download that book here.

Let us move on, what other sources does Lynn have? Oh, one of the greatest scientific treatises of our time, the collection of stories, ‘One Thousand and One Nights’. What? What do you mean, its not a science journal? Fuck you. My penis longest. Wait, there’s photographic evidence too? Taken as recently as 1929, you say? I should probably admit defeat then, shouldn’t I?

Now from what I have researched (googled), it seems this Rushton penis-measuring was not taken kindly by other scientists because (a) they wanted to measure penises themselves and (b) it was a pile of horseshit. So Lynn feels for his man-crush Rushton and comes up with new evidence to tell us IN YOUR FACE SUCKERS. I <3 RUSHTON. What’s that, you ask?

First, is a work by Dr. Donald Templer, a self-published book which unfortunately I haven’t been able to find, which reviews (not measures) a number of studies on penis length (flaccid and stretched, strangely not erect). So basically, Templer has reviewed a few sources (25, as per this other fascinating study) and come up with his numbers. Two things about this. One, Both Templer and Lynn are members of American Renaissance, which sure as hell looks to me to be a racist organization, which kind of leads me to doubt his sources and two, if you believe the flaccid penis has any correlation with the eventual size of the erect penis, well, why don’t you come snuggle up to me naked so that I can test my virtue?

Lynn’s second source is this link: http://www.targetmap.com/viewer.aspx?reportId=3073. No, seriously. That’s his source. Haven’t we seen that somewhere before? Oh yes, when we fucked its basis here. (Linkbait). I shouldn’t have to do this again.

And third. Its this webpage here: http://www.everyoneweb.com/worldpenissize/. Do you really want to know what that page is? It is just a tabular listing of the data of the second source. In fact, it is actually the source of the data in the map above. Circlejerk, anyone? And what are its sources? Go through them. You’ll find gems like: “The relation between sexual orientation and penile size”, “The Relationship Among Height, Penile Length, and Foot Size”, “Of fingers, toes and penises”, “Male teenagers copulate earlier in the USA”, “Penile length in the flaccid and erect states: guidelines for penile augmentation”,  “Phallus in Wonderland”, “Why does so much ancient Greek art feature males with small genitalia?”, “Size does matter (to gays)” and my joint-favourites: “Research says erect gay penises are bigger” and “The size of things to come”. The last one’s a doozy.

Basically, the study is shite. And this humongous pile of crap was actually published in a scientific journal. Astounding.

That all this is reported and given so much publicity without a second thought, is evidence that our baser instincts take precedence over all others. (I’m rambling, bear with me.)

Now the second part of my beef with the OPEN article. The last three paragraphs simply regurgitate the conclusions/findings of the study. Brother, in the flow of the article you write this, in this order:

1. Average Indian penis size according to Lynn = 4 inches

2. Average Indian penis size according to the only doctor of the study which formed the basis of Lynn’s report who was willing to go on record = 4.7 inches (sample size: 200 people)

3. Average Indian (Keralian) penis size according to an independent study = 5.08 inches (sample size: 93 people)

While reviewing this article, did you not think there was anything fishy about this? I mean, COME ON. Kerala people have 5-inch penises. We’re short, dark and stocky. If we go around with 5-inch cocks, can you imagine what the Jats and Kashmiris are lugging around? Our average can only go up right? We can blame Mumbai’s low average on Bangladeshi immigrants. They’re shorter than us anyway.

Here, read this: The Penile Economics of Ethnicity. It gives a far less belligerent and far more nuanced rebuttal of Rushton’s and Lynn’s theories than what I could attempt. Long story short (and I’m sensationalizing here), there exists actual hard data to suggest that Indian penises might actually be longer than American ones. Go suck on that RushLynn.

LGBt, I get you, bro. You saw that article, thought ‘Hey, how did anyone actually come up with that number?’, then saw the source and BOOM!, you dug up the (fascinating) story of how that study came to be in the first place and that’s why you’re a journalist and you get these stories. Its just that, couldn’t you have been a bit more sensitive towards my penis? He has feelings too.

Why?

People have their peeves. This is mine. Yes, it’s childish and downright insecure to go up in arms whenever someone flashes around these numbers. But you know what bugs me? Deep down, most Indian guys have accepted that their penises (penii?) are smaller than their western or african counterparts. No. They’re not. I can’t go around dropping my trousers everytime someone suggests that Indian men (indirectly: me) have a small penis. Which we (and indirectly: I) do not. Can you imagine the brouhaha if someone came up with a study that says Indian women have spacious vaginas? Come to think of it, a French guy did. Oh wait, that book wouldn’t be “Untrodden fields of anthropology : observations on the esoteric manners and customs of semi-civilized peoples”, would it? Oh yes, it would. That never caught on. Indian men, small penis, did.

Has any other organ been so ridiculed as the penis? Vaginas are untouchable, as the ‘Clean & Dry’ and ’18 Again’ makers found out. This reverse-discrimination has to be stopped. (Fuck, I just realized I sound like a brainless internet zombie ranter. I’ll stop here.)

All I have to say is: Rise up, fellow countrymen.

Ta.

But I’ve held this post inside me for more than a month now and I have finally succumbed to the temptation of putting it out here.

Attention: This post is to officially declare the end of ‘The Era of Emmanuelle’ as the Hottest Woman in The Sindian World and to congratulate her on a truly spectacular run.  Thank you for the memories, Ms. Chriqui.

Further, this post also anoints her successor, Ms. Nazanin Boniadi as the New Hottest Woman in The Sindian World. This post would also like to humbly submit that Ms. Boniadi should appoint a new agent because (a) she does not seem to be in nearly as many movies/roles as she should be and more importantly (b) she does not seem to be in nearly as many movies/roles that require her to lose her clothes as she should be.

And yes, I do have a thing for women of Middle Eastern descent with distinct accents, preferably English… Why do you ask?

No long-drawn out gyaan here. Enjoy…

Oh, and Ta.

I’m done.

The ‘Sindian Tadka’ persona rests tonight.

There will be no more tweets, no more stories, no more pictures of naked ladies and nude men.

It has been a good journey, a pleasure. More than two years now. I never thought this would last this long.

I’ve enjoyed this a lot, made friends. At least, I like to think of some of you as friends. I hope you do too. If you want, you can stay in touch. Look around, you’ll know how.

At first I thought I’d talk about all you people who I’ve interacted with in some form or another, but there are too many of you; just know that I remember. But I simply cannot leave without mentioning our little ‘gang’: Me, The Ranee, Enjundia and LonelyEyes and for a brief while, IndianErotica. We had fun. We tried… something. I hope people remember us. I know you won’t. Everything goes on.

Funny, I thought I’d have more to say when this day came; turns out I don’t. I hope all of you had fun. I know I did.

“Let us not unman each other; part at once; all farewells should be sudden, when forever.”

Another New Year…

I am being lazy. Again. I have a post half-done, which I will finish by the end of this month, but its been 15 days into the New Year and I didn’t want this blog to be slumming around in the year gone past.

So, I thought, why not take the lazy way out? Here it is, ladies and gentlemen, Sindian Tadka’s top-five most popular (judged on basis of number of visitors) posts in the year gone by! Without counting the home page (obviously). Some of you may have read all of them, some of you may not wish to, and for the others, come in, have a look!

In descending order,

5. May I, Ma’am? – Part one of my three-part ‘Letters to Penney’ series. I so thoroughly enjoyed doing this, although nowhere near what I would enjoy doing Penney. Nostalgia’s a bitch. (January 2011)

4. Cock-A-Hoop – You want to know what the actual average length of an Indian penis is? Go see. This post was even shared on Facebook by somebody. Want to tell me who? (March 2011)

3. No Nudity Wasted – The finale of the Penney series. The Ranee posted a reply to it, which is as high a compliment as I had hoped to get. (February 2011)

2. Of Booblessness – My rapidly-cooling rant against the trend of Bollywood Boobs getting smaller, a sentiment shared by a lot of people, as I would come to know. (September 2011)

1. Twenty Opposites – My love for the world to see. One sinful afternoon with @mentalexotica. Really, what else could compare? (July 2011)

And there you have it, my most popular posts of 2011. I have wisely decided not to reveal the actual numbers so you don’t end up on the floor, laughing your guts out.

Permit a man his indulgences, yes?

May your year give you cause for satisfaction at the end of it.

Daydreaming…

I was nearly asleep when the BlackBerry vibrated in my palm. I awoke with a snort and I could hear the gentle derisive giggling of my colleague Rajesh next to me. Of course, only he could have stayed awake through a 138-slide post-lunch ‘strategy’ presentation, the bastard. I looked around and found far more comforting and knowing glances. Amit pointed out our sales manager Prashant in the third row, who was fast asleep and whose breathing could pretty soon be classified as snoring. I smiled at him. I didn’t get it; wasn’t our CEO, till a couple of years ago, one of us in the audience? Do they forget all that up there once they’re on the stage? I hoped I’d gotten some sleep, but as I stared at my watch disbelievingly, I discovered to my horror that we were only 25 minutes into the presentation. Even assuming a paltry minute per slide, I had a long, long way to go…

It took me a minute to remember what had gotten me out of my slumber in the first place. Took out my BB from its holster (the best thing about a BB, if you ask me, and that’s saying something) to see I had a BBM from Rihaa. This was intriguing, for mid-afternoon wasn’t the time she usually pinged.

‘You there?’, it said.

I sat upright in my seat. Sleep, suddenly, was the farthest thing from my mind. BBMs from Rihaa were few and far between and every single time had led to stuff far, far more interesting.

‘Yeah, how’re you?’, I replied.

‘I’m bored, just had a bath and naked on my bed. Care to join?’

For a second, I stared at the screen like an idiot before the smile spread on my face. I knew what Rihaa had in mind, I just did. She had an incredible sex drive, which is how we’d gotten into each other in the first place. The woman was unbelievable.

I glanced up at the boss and then around the room and then almost felt bad for the guy. The entire room was either sleeping or playing angry birds or drooling with jackassed faux-concentration (Rajesh). Surely, the guy deserved better. Just not now, and definitely not from me.  Keeping hot, sex-crazed, naked, wet (in more ways than one) women waiting was something I never, ever did. Sorry Boss, maybe next time.

‘Of course I’ll join.’, I texted back, ‘What are you wearing?’

(Yeah, it was lame. I don’t usually sext. So sue me.)

‘LOL. Just out of my bath, lying on my bed. What do you think?’

‘That white fluffy bathrobe of yours? I love that one.’

“Uh-huh, only its open.’

‘I see you now, on your bed. Right in the middle of it. Open bathrobe, an inviting look. Wow, you look sexy you know, with your wet hair, and flushing pink breasts.’ (This was nice. And I was getting hard. I hadn’t thought sexting would be all that great, but whaddaya know? It was working.)

‘I see you too. In this bed, along with me. On top of me. You’ve got that wild look in your eyes.’

‘Its you, you know that. You always make me horny. I can’t even bear to stand in the same room as you.’ (That was true. We’d both been at a party one time and I spent the evening maniacally running away from her.)

‘Don’t tease. I’m wet enough as it is.’

‘You know its true. Are you touching yourself?’

‘Do you want me to?’

I think this was the point where I started drooling. I was hard, erect and with nowhere to go. I couldn’t possibly leave the room in the middle of the presentation, then again, neither could I leave with a big boner sticking out of my pants. I had an hour alone, in public, with Rihaa.

‘Of course, but I have some work to do there before you start on it.’

‘Go on…’

‘I want to slide my hands under your soft, creamy butt, lift your hips up to mouth and…’

‘And?’

‘And have my favorite meal of the day.’

‘Don’t stop. I want to pull your head ever so deep.’

‘I smell you all around me. Musk and wet pussy. I feel your thighs tighten around my head as I begin.’

‘Please let me feel your tongue.’

‘I lick the lips of your pussy, running my tongue along the edges.’

‘MMMMMMMmmmmmmmmm’

(I think she’s disregarded my request to not begin playing with her pussy at this point, but I digress.)

‘I’m making my way upwards, towards where I know your clit hides, using my tongue to get it out of its shell.’

‘oh fuck me’

‘So soon? No way. My tongue inside your pussy, my mouth against your vagina, your clit and you cant even move from your bed. My head between your thighs, my hands under your buttocks, licking away furiously, all your wetness inside my mouth and you can’t move.’

‘Oh fuck it, come up and kiss me so I can taste my pussy on you…”

‘Uh-huh. I’m going to start on your lips and move down your neck… Licking all the way to your breasts.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop now. I want you in me, you ass…’

‘I think you can touch yourself now.’

‘hahahaha, what makes you think I’m not already?’

(I was right, you see.)

‘My cock can feel the wetness of your pussy, and I’m not even close to inside you…’

‘Go on, fuck me now…’

‘Roll over now. You know I like that.’

‘Oh baby, just fuck my wet pussy.’

‘I want to stand behind you, guiding my cock, into your wet throbbing pussy.’ ‘Wow, its flooded in here.’ ‘So wet I can hardly feel my cock, pounding your pussy as I grab you by the waist, feel your butt on my thigh, as I move in and out.’

‘Fuck, don’t stop…’

‘I can hear the sounds of my cock moving in and out, hard cock against wet pussy, I grab your hair and pull you back.’

‘Fuck me.’ ‘Baby I’m ready to explode.’

‘I’m deep inside you, I don’t think I’ve gone in so much before.’ I don’t think I can last much longer baby…’ ‘You’re so good babe…’

<short break>

‘Hmmmmmmmmmmmmm…..’

‘Ahh…’

‘Wow.’ ‘Thanks.’

‘Any time.’

‘What are you upto anyway?’

‘In a meeting. I frankly have no idea why.’

‘You’re a doll. I owe you one.’

‘Heh. Of course you do. I plan to collect soon too.’

‘Oh, is it? And how soon?’

‘Soon.’

‘I think I’ll go freshen up once again. I’m wet and sticky all over.’

‘Yeah, you do that. I think we’re coming to a close here as well. I’m going to need some time to cool down before I can get up from my chair.’

‘Love’

‘Bye.’

I looked up. Nothing had really changed in the 40-45 mins. I suspect Boss had skipped over some slides when he understood he pretty much had an audience of one. Prashant was actually snoring, God bless his pretty soul. I smiled at the boss and he ruefully smiled back. Brownie points to me for not falling asleep, I guess.We concluded soon after.

‘Hey bastard, first time I see you didn’t actually sleep in a presentation.’, Rajesh’s unique brand of complimenting was out in full force, I saw.

‘Yeah, because I was fucking your wife in my daydreams madarchod.’, I replied. I wasn’t kidding around, I needed to get to a restroom and jack off, quick.

‘Yeah, like you have a chance with her, bhe…..’. I didn’t quite get that because I slammed the restroom door on his face, but I think I know what he was getting at.

I got out five minutes later to see him strolling around the corridor, talking on the phone. I was just about to go upto him and shout obscenities into his phone (juvenile, I know, but I swear to God the fucker brings it out in me), when he turned around and saw me. He put his finger on his lips and silently mouthed, “On the phone with Rihaa…”. His wife.

Moron.

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