Archive for the ‘Beautiful Women’ Category


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?

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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.

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And there I was, making my way home after yet another pleasant day at the office, in the cool innards of the AC bus, standing in its narrow aisle, on the left hand side where there are no “handle-type-things-you-hold-while-standing-in-the-bus” things, precariously subjecting my sadly-undeveloped biceps (and highly evolved armpits) to scrutiny from the lady (and her male friend) sitting cozily next to me (and showing no intentions of getting down, or going down, from the bus or on anyone), when I saw this:

I was angered. Angry. Not apoplectic, but that flash of anger when simmering disappointments are united by a singular event. The sort of anger that erupts and then lays down over that layer of disappointment and mates to form a bastardized blog post that will change absolutely nothing.

What’s the problem you ask? Lok at the fucking actress. That’s Genelia “Ex-Boobilicious” D’Souza, hereafter referred to as G’EB’D, whose movie “Jaane Tu Ya Jaane Na” made a lasting impact on me in that I realized that Amisha Patel, if she’d been thinner could have been far more awesome than she is. Or was. I digress. I loved her in that movie, her boobs, her cute chubbiness (applies to Amisha, Ex-Genelia and The Takia), and the fact that she wasn’t stick-fucking-thin.

And now? She’s reed thin, her arms seem thinner than mine, her face homogenized so much that I had trouble differentiating her from Shenaz Treasurywala (not a compliment, believe me)  and more fuckin’ importantly, WHERE DID HER FUCKING BOOBS GO? I groaned. I actually groaned. Yet another one lost to the myth of flat abs and toned bodies. She’d slimmed down considerably and for WHAT? She’s down half-a-bra size for sure. Maybe she isn’t. Maybe that’s not the point. Maybe I’m exaggerating. I don’t fucking care.

I have so many issues with this.

G’EB’D had a great figure. GREAT. She was FRESH. Beautiful woman walking on the street looking fucking hot figure. Her thighs were just right, her curls/bangs/hair was fuckin’ A, she had a killer smile and an ass with potential. And BOOBS. Fucking grade-A boobs. Non-model boobs served up on a generous platter of skin. And some mother-fucker in a gym in Lokhandwala or an agent who couldn’t climb a flight of stairs to fuck Irina if she was asking for it, probably tells her, “Baby, aaj kal full fitness ka style hai. Apne ko flat stomach aur lean look rakhneka. Kya hai na, aaj kal ye sab toned bodies ka style chalrela hai na, toh apun kahe ko peeche rehneka?”

Bhenchod rehne ka. Ayesha Takia ko dekha Wanted mein? She looked like an overgrown blue whale but it didn’t fucking matter because she has, had and probably will always have the BOOBS.

Or maybe the film ‘asked’ for this kind of look. Don’t make me puke. Or maybe she decided she wanted to go this way. Now you’re just making me sad.

Let’s face it, you’re not much of an actor. Or actress. Why would you actively try to reduce what is effectively one of the few assets you have? And (this is important) you were beautiful enough as it is. Why, why, why the weight loss?

I am against this standardization of looks. Who to blame? Kareena Kapoor for her size-zero obsession? She was probably one of the few heroines in BWood who looked better with her clothes on than without. I suspect ‘Hungama’ ‘Hulchul’ had something to do with her weight obsession. Anyone with half-a-functioning eye could have seen how uncomfortably fat she’d gotten.

Or Katrina? She was always on the chubbier side. How did it fucking matter? Then she went all Sheela ki Jawani on us. Fuck, bitches please. Realize Malaika is one of a kind. Don’t go around imitating her for chrissakes. The new generation of starts are effectively out Malaika-ing Malaika. Damn you Chaiyya Chaiyya.

Coming back to G’EB’D, that GAP t-shirt. Do you realize how much you would have rocked the scene if you know, you only had your original set of boobs?

[John, WTF is up with those girls doing Bharatnatyam in the background? Seriously, WTF?]

Which leads me to the sex scene. Or song. Whatever, I don’t care.

First, you looked nervous enough ON SCREEN to lead me to believe that the scene entails you losing your virginity in the shower. Bad move, director, bad move. First standard mein you give baccha 12th ka paper toh she will fucking pass or what?

Second, the bed scene. I don’t blame you. Its the template on which every fucking mainstream Bwood sex scene is built. Lay the girl down gently. Kiss, real or implied. Some ‘deep’ staring into the eyes. A bit of foreplay (mostly neck, stomach if Hashmi is involved). Penetration (always implied). Want to really rock the boat? Show the girl on top (for a bit, sometimes for the climax). Hey assholes, heard of oral sex? Or fuck it, even SEX?

[In this context, I MUST MUST MUST recommend the oral sex scene from Chhatrak. Paoli Dam, I doff my hat to you. My penis sends its regards too.]

I am ranting. I usually don’t. In fact, I’ve considerably calmed since I started writing.

Guess the South Indian in me really rears up sometimes eh?

Sigh. Et tu, Genelia?

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Yes, Hina Rabbani Khar, she of the perfect jawline, incredible features, glowering sultry looks, fashionable sunglasses, Birkin bags and perfectly coiffured salwar-suits, came and went. This isn’t about her.

This is about another Pakistani lady whom I happened to see via my other new love, Coke Studio. Her name is Meesha Shafi, and she’s the most sensual being I’ve seen for some time now, angular face, flaming lips, sapling-like arms, thin waist and all. Naturally, the question arises, Why?

I’m going to ask you to read this, before you go clicking on the link I’ve given below. Its one of my more-liked songs on CS, “Alif Allah” sung by Arif Lohar, accompanied by Meesha. When we see Meesha first, she’s just warming up, singing “ae we allah waaliyaan di jugni ji  (indeed, this is the Godly Ones’ Spirit-being)”, a humming, so to speak with minimal movements of her body, testing the waters of where the song would go. We also see a close-up of her face, eyes shut, immersing herself, getting the grooves right, synchronizing with the instruments, not letting it all out, holding some things back in.

And so on,

“ae we nabi paak di jugni ji (indeed, this is the Holy Prophet’s Spirit-being);

ae we maula ali waali jugni ji (indeed, this is the Spirit-being devoted to Ali, the Friend of God)

ae we mere peer di jugni ji (indeed, this is my Pir’s Spirit-being)

ae we sar-sabaz di jugni ji (indeed, this is the long-living Pir’s Spirit-being)”

All lines repeated twice, and by the end of the chorus, she’s into the song. She’s tested the waters, found it cold enough for her liking and now she’s wading in. The shoulders start rocking, back and forth and sideways, and the movements proceed to her legs, which don’t move but instead transmit it back to her shoulders which rock even more. All this, almost imperceptibly, through her waist and her bosom which is hidden and yet not. I’d wager she knows belly dancing. Or has studied it for a part somewhere, but she knows the basics. The trick in the movements of the waist lies in the legs, and in not moving them, which she executes to perfection here.

Moving on, at “dum gutkoon”, when the camera moves in for a close-up of her face, blood flows, and you know where. I am sure she never intended it to be a blowjob-face, but there’s nothing else I can think of for those few precious seconds.

The song is moving along nicely now, both singers have gotten into the groove completely and along with the orchestra, are making wonderful music. For the next couple of minutes, its a wonderful interplay between Arif and Meesha. Meesha moves, sideways and back and forth and with her eyes closed, singing, moving her lips. Now, I’m going to ask you to imagine. Meesha keeps her left hand on the microphone all the time and with her right hand, counts the beats or whatever it is that she does. Imagine the mic to be your cock and her fingers tapping on your balls. For the next few minutes, as she moves ever so closer, and then away and back to the front again, her mouth so tantalizingly close to your dick, it is as perfect an imaginary blowjob that I’d ever like to receive. Also, she never stops moving her body, you see, adding an element of urgency to the act.

At the 4:00 minute mark is one of my favorite parts of the song. Meesha breaks into a dazzling smile at Arif (there’s one more at 6:30), and this part is pivotal. Arif is a jolly good singer, but for me he’s just an add-on. His performance, for me, is like that of the clowns at a circus before the lion-tamer comes in to close the show. Except that here its a lioness and she’s not into the taming bit. Maybe, to put it a tad more generously and accurately, Arif’s the Santa Claus who’s given me the present of Meesha.

Just after that there’s a segment which, if you’re not into the whole blowjob thing yet, leaves you no option but to enter into it. Her actions are so exaggerated, so in your face (or on your cock, if you’d prefer) that its pretty hard for me to see this part without actually, you know, getting hard. But that’s just me, of course. Especially the places where she goes “Koiiii…”. And at 4:39, there’s a cocky smile which makes my heart skip a beat, every single time.

The best thing about the song (and when I say the song, I mean the song as well as Meesha’s performance in it, which for me are two separate yet interconnected things) is how well it flows and similarity to really good sex. Begins slowly, with the foreplay, gets into a good gear where everyone’s having fun and really enjoying it,  some girls looking on wanting to be in the middle of the action, a man who knows his craft, a woman who’s slutty yet sexy (and really flexible), lots of movement, slight changes in tempo for some spice, and to establish a base for the final push ahead, and then the final frantic rush, faster, faster and climax. Phew.

(Psst, go to this link, and see the BTS video of Alif Allah to catch a glimpse of Meesha in the most adorable glasses.)

However, for an unadulterated dose of Meesha’s sensuality,one must look further to the other song that she performed with CS, “Chori Chori”. This one has everything, the grind, the mic-holding (or cock-holding), the exaggerated red lipstick, the crooning voice and an overcast cloud of sexual tension. Enjoy!

One of the best pictures of Meesha I’ve found is this:

The almost-closed eyes, the half-smile, the sense of completion that comes from the pic, everything reminds me of post-coital bliss. Aahh, the joys of a great imagination, I tell you…

I hope you enjoyed listening and watching her as much as I did, in the way that I do. She is a complete sensual experience in herself.

I must end with the oft-asked question: Are there no non-beautiful women in Pakistan?

Look at that damn ridiculous necklace!


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In sleep, at night, you don’t let me close my eyes / Awake, I am asleep.

Give me back my dreams at least / A break from the omnipresence of you.

I miss you even when you’re there / Right in front of me talking, laughing, being.

And I miss you when you’re not / Invisible atoms on a flashy screen.

This shouldn’t be happening to me / I thought I was beyond.

You pulled me back / And now there’s no escape.

The worst part is / I wish to be your slave.

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M.E. is a Goddess. Like any goddess, she loves. Sometimes, even me. This is what came out of one of the best Saturday afternoons I’ve ever spent. Her offering to love is here: Twenty Opposite Things – a banter of falling-in-love memos

You’d do well to read that. Go.

How is your love? Do tell…


Sometimes, you have a crush. Sometimes, you lust. Sometimes, you fall in love. And sometimes, if you’re lucky, you just want to be her slave.

How do you know?


You want to kiss her lips at the exact moment you want to lick her feet.


You want to lock her up, so that no one but you may enjoy her company and yet you want to show her off to the world.


You crave listening to her voice, but pray that you never speak because you would be too tongue-tied.


Your asshole puckers while your cock stiffens. You do not know if you want to take or be taken.


You want to be her addiction, for she already is yours and you want to de-addict and you don’t want to and you can’t and you won’t.


You pray for the sun and the warmth and a never-ending summer so she wears pretty dresses and you pray for the winter and the chill and the everlasting cold so she stays close forever.


You want her to feel the rain on her skin and her face and trickle down her breasts but can’t bear the thought of even the elements touching her.


You want to cook for her, all her favorites, every time and you want her to cook for you, and feed you and spoil you.


You want her to be strong and hard and not care about what you or anyone else thinks, yet you want her to be vulnerable and broken so that you can take care of her and pick up the pieces.


You want to sing for her, and play for her and write for her and yet you can’t because you don’t want these feelings known to anyone, not even her.


You want every man and every woman to be her lover and you want no man, no woman to even look at her, not even you.


You want her to tease you and play with you and never come in your grasp, yet all you crave is a single act of acknowledgement.


You want to get away from the world together and never look back and you want to stay and provide for everything she could ever want.


She makes you think and she makes you weep and she makes you uncomfortable and all you want is more, and more.


You want her, crave her, physically, more than you thought possible, yet even touching her seems sacrilege.


You want to love her and control her, yet there’s nothing more you want than to do than surrender to her completely, totally and utterly.


You want her to love you for your convictions and your morals and you want to break every single one of them for her.


You want nothing, other than for her to know how deeply you want her to take over your life, to follow her every command, to simply submit to her power and never leave and yet, you never tell her.


You want to be her lover yet you want to be her love.


You want her to own you and all you want is for her to never have to do anything with you.

Then, you know.

P.S.: Thank you, @mentalexotica, for being the compellingly mysterious and utterly beautiful woman that you are and for saying what you do. We would all be poorer without you.

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You remember I did a post on Irina Sheik? No? Well, here you go. Go check, and come back. If you read the fine print, you’ll notice that I’d said that Irina was just the most beautiful woman in the world, not the hottest and that I’d be doing a post ‘soon’ on whoever that might be.

Well, wait no more, for here I fulfill my promise and hereby award the title of “Hottest Woman in the Sindian World” to…

So demure, so mind-blowingly pretty. Who is she, you ask? BLASPHEMY! She’s the very, very pretty and (I’m assuming) talented Ms. Emmanuelle Chriqui. As attested by her IMDB profile, she has acted in a few movies and is also on some TV show, which is supposed to be entertaining, or so I’m told. I first came across this beauty when I was watching the god-awful ‘You Don’t Mess With The Zohan’, a movie whose sole redeeming point is that she has a part in it.

As far as I’m concerned, her two main qualities are: 1. Looking pretty and 2. Wearing clothes that constantly threaten to expose her nipples. Go ahead, do that google search. Or let me simplify even that for you. Click here. See? Most of her clothes threaten to display her diamond-cutters, and sometimes they do taste victory, much to my delight. (Victories archived here and here)

The problem with her (and Irina) is that they are too beautiful for me to even begin to describe. And a particular problem with Emmanuelle (Yeah, I’m on first-name basis with her. In my mind. Your point?) is that her off-the-scale hotness does not exactly set the still photos on fire. To be convinced, you have to see her walking, talking, moving. Go ahead, you won’t be disappointed.

One of the best things about her is that she wears some ridiculous outfits with even more ridiculous hairstyles. You’ve clicked that link, right? Some of those are downright whacko. And yet, she manages to simultaneously expose a lot and still look dignified. And hot.And pretty. And hot.

In posts like these, there’s not much work for me to do except trying not to spoil it all for you. But before I leave, I’ll leave you with a couple of my favorite pics of her. (And the obligatory gallery and video of course)

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So that’s three titles now. Wonder who’ll come along to knock them off their perch.

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