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Tales, muse and secrets

Who stole my words?

my obsession for you,

muse not love,

come and intoxicate me,

let’s undress the naked minds,

sip expensive scotch together,

play the maddest game,

BDSM of hymn, composition and prose,

words wield power,

sheer magic of writing,

writing is sex,

sex are stories of love,

chapters to bare and reveal it all,

I shan’t be scared of tell tales,

for every poetry tells secrets and stories.

On World Poetry Day, I attempt a new style combining poetry and sex. Hope you will like it.



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The love of it

O’ friend or lover,

tell me who are thou to me?

why are we like that?

plain strangers,

filling emotional void,

there are days we long for each other,

insatiable hunger,

running like steam onto our minds,

hearts long for,

we may not admit and declare our feelings,

absolute joy speaking to you,

are we lovers?

searching for this intimate lip game to play,

maybe not,

kissing in such times,

a dint of madness,

we seek and find ourselves,

not love,

but the tragedy of it,

the chasm in our worlds,

emotions we deal with,

it’s just what we make of,

love we choose to believe,

fulfilling a need,

it ain’t sex,

what we looking for,

just plain helplessness to feel wanted,



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Fragrance and arousal

Scent of your skin,

piercing my nostril,

sensual touch,

soft and tender fragrance,

running your gentle and flawless fingers,

cupped on my face,

feels like lust,

orgasm doesn’t need a climax,

dipping and licking into honeyish sensation,

gentle kissing and biting,

lips melting,

stroking your fluttering hair,

exploring every inch,

passionate drip,

feels like vaccine,

waxing the lone souls,

searing intensity,

intimate game played,

in past and present,

distant dreams,

smearing each other’s skin,

it’s no sex,

finding the placid in the cold stares,

show me your emotions,

not just the naked body,

untying your bra,

guiding me in caressing,

biting into your nipple,

i feel nothing,

for we are emotional and lifeless souls,

just craving and longing,

arousal died slowly that night.





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Hot on Wheels: Chapter 8

The cab screeched in front of the gate at Hari Om apartments in South Bombay. It was unusually dark everywhere. The lights went off and the building wore a haunted look. They slid past the metal gate. The bored guard was slouching and slumbering on the plastic chair didn’t give a damn who entered and exit the building. He plainly told them it was a complete black out.

Geet and Hardik silently trudged the stairs towards the 12th floor as they gasped for breath. The light flashing on the mobile phone guided them towards the apartment as they stopped in front of the door, spotting the ceramic flower pot. Both lifted the flower pot with force, sieving through, moving it angularly left and right, before the key smothered in mud landed on the floor. The door opened after twisting like a coke cap.

Geet trotted quickly inside to close the door on Hardik’s face. He banged the door. There was silence inside the house and she didn’t reply to his plea for seconds and minutes. “What are you up and would you open the door.” His phone beeped, “You gatecrashed. It’s your punishment. Sit in the dark for some time.”

The light miraculously came after one hour. Hardik felt weak and depleted of energy, spreading his long legs plonked on the stairs. A noise distracted him. The tired man dashed and pushed his shoulder, flinging inside just in time as the door flapped and shut behind him. The speck clean ceramic floor in the hall shone with a pair of earring lying on the floor. 

He picked it and traipsed inside, “Geet, what game are you playing?” A pink envelope was splayed on the floor. He slid it open with the lip gloss scribbled in red, “Somebody…somebody waiting for U with the night’s secret!” and walked to the kitchen, greeted by shiny red socks on the floor. The eyes squinted at the scented envelope, “Pick it up.”

There was no movement. He waded inside the room and wall graffiti stared at him, “The end is near. Enter the labyrinth.” A chill flew like an electric wave down his spine and Hardik almost tripped on a white skirt and blouse, picking them up one by one, wading inside another room with fluorescent black bra scattered on the floor. He walked past the sliding door jutted across the balcony, giving an aerial view of South Bombay.

Red handkerchief fluttered on the metal rail. He inched close towards the balcony and pressed his body to the wall, head bent towards the ground, wondering whether she jumped. He felt dizzy when a dim, red light shone brightly on his face. Red handkerchief wrapped on his palm and holding bra, earring, female underwear and socks in all colors adorned on the neck as if he was wearing a tie, unaware of a huge room hidden from the inside and spotted from the balcony.

He felt a windy storm stroking his back and quivered, sending a chill running with spasm down his spine. He trotted inside and frantic heartbeat led him into the spacious room, fading light flashed on the spacious bed, curled hair cut and splayed on the white mattress. A thin and toned bare back turned with hands on the wall as if posing for the paparazzi. 

Hardik was frantic, admiring the curled hair falling slightly on the neck. She simpered naked in a seductive movement and slowly turned her face towards him. He couldn’t muster the courage to look into the famished eyes. She flicked her leg on the male chest and pushing him on the bed. She leaned on him and stroking his hair and face smeared on his cheek and moving her lip gently on his mouth. “Don’t say anything. The night is glittering with bridled sensuality, not just me and you.” He couldn’t speak and voice choked at this hidden side of Geet. She laughed, “It’s not just you who needs everything. I desire everything about the male body.”

Red lacquered fingers scratching his chest with force, tearing his shirt button. Faces and lips cupped, smearing his cheek and nose, she twirled her leg on his stomach. The shocked man couldn’t budge. Her voice growled and bewitching into his ears, “You are jailed now. Look around.” Pierced voice and witch-like sensation sent chill, she moved her naked body slowly. He tossed his head around, seeing colourful display of sex toys in white, pink, red and yellow displayed on the wooden table.

He felt a pair of hands opening his belt and unbuttoning his denim. “Not feeling anything,” she teased. “Count one, two and three, breathe. You are in for surgery. Just lie. Relax. Breathe in and out. Her hand slowly massaged into his thing, fingers ran deep inside and smeared ointment, a, pressing hard on the top. He squelched with pain and passion, muttering with difficulty, “I never knew this side of you.”

She moved up and rolled her tongue licking on his chest with speed, slipping beneath. It felt ecstatic. She moaned and caressing him inside. Hardik wanted it to end and biting his lip, suppressing pain. Geet was a wounded tigress. Both were lying naked. She was bold, exploring zone where no woman not even herself has ever gone with a man, breaking away from shame and shackles.

“Love sucks,” she moved her lip. What’s sex without fun and off-limits on our date? Cheerz to our time and my time.” Her boob brushed his chest, accompanying the trembling fingers exploring and holding, pressing into her nipples. She was in the driver’s seat. He was the servant. They changed position. He bit and sucked into her nipples.

“I could have sex with anyone and you everyone,” she laughed. She pulled him off the bed and placed his hands on her bosom, turning into circle and jettisoning towards the wall. She pulled herself, with gravitational force. He went ahead and pressed on her, moving lips sucking into her ears and hands holding her waist, caressing her boobs with intensity. She moaned with pleasure. He bent down, licked her back, slow caress and massage running deep from top to toe. I want more. 

Geet repeated one, two, and thrice. She pulled him to the bed and caressing the edge of the zones, running her fingers deep inside him. She lay strewn like flowers on the bed, opening her legs, spoke in a calm demeanor and voice stirred, losing her breath, “Finger me. Don’t stop.”

“What,?” he asked. He couldn’t wait to get inside her. “Baby, you have competition. Who is better your fingers or the sex toys?” He bent and licked her vagina, running his tongue inside gently and reaching intensity. Fingers traced a circled line around, repeating the movement with palm pressing around the flesh. Geet moved and tossed her head in a circle. She was already in love with him and knew he was the one. She breathed and moaned. 

 He licked her and pressed his fingers inside. “Don’t stop…please I beg of you.” She moved her flawless skin, hugging him and winked thinking, “The last time to trouble him today.” The corner of her eyes saw something shining and she felt something was under the mattress. It was the duplicate key.
She moved away from him. “I challenge you for the last time.” Plain and period. Geet’s face was blank and expressionless. “Prove what do you have in you.” He was flabbergasted and bemused, slowing returning to his normal state, losing the mojo of arousal and feeling his inside melting cold. The moment was lost.

Her eyes pointed at the window, “Jump. Take the lift when you come back,” flinging the house key on his face. He felt weak in his knee, “Are you fucking mad or what? Is this a prank! Are you fucking asking me to jump from the window? Babe, it’s on the 12th floor. You will be jailed for murder. Tu cheez hai kya.”

“I want to test whether you can fuck and hold me inside. What if I tell that we’re in love? Should I repeat, JUMP. Remember no jumping, no mad sex. I promise it will be not just desert but honeyed heaven. Baba! Kuch nahin hoga. Just see.” He could see the sun radiating in the water inside the swimming pool.

“Still it’s a big risk baba. Not one but running 12 floors jettisoned in the air. It’s no child’s play,” he protested.

“Jump gandu,” she sat naked and rolled a joint.
Hardik pulled his jeans. She snatched it away from him. “You are Hard Dick, live to your name and let it hang in the air. He was trembling, standing on the edge of the window’s sill. She thought he looked like superman in his blue underwear. “Ready! One two three,” she nudged him. The entire male body was shaking with legs and body engulfed by fear. She moved both palms with force.

 He jumped. The body oscillated into somersault movement, traversing windows and blocks with the speed of light, splashing into the huge swimming pool.
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Drip of madness

Beer leftover cans crushed,

guzzled liquid,

blood spit strewn,

ah! reddish pan pasand,

fleck of memory staining motionless brains,

palms and fingers,

passing the weed,

empty stomach craving at nightfall,

dimes and coins tinkling heartbeats,

vada pav and cutting chai,

quenching hunger,

empty pack of condom,

naked skin caressing,

curled into each other,

debris floor,

worn like a garbage truck,

disheveled room,

dirt is routine,

souls torn at arrow’s drip,

heads spinning in a maelstrom,

flavored sex is real,

cutting through nerves,

evaporating stench,

at nightfall,

spirits breaking into tiny speck of light,

a mirage lost,

in the illusionary room,

ghosts dancing in maddening order,

behind invisible curtains.




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Goddess of lust

Blurred eyes,

my pendulum swing,

intoxication is madness,

a sensuous voice,

tossing by my side,

you are my vodka shots,

scent of fragrance,

lighting flame in our bodies,

flick n chill,

snipper’s intensity,

gotta kill me with your eyes,

sword piercing the heart,

a bullet never kills,

waning in dust,

waking up inebriated,

high on invisible enigma,

nymph of imagination,

sexless love,

goddess of lust,

are you an imagination?

maketh the mind losing sanity,

i ain’t cheap booze,

passing out in a sip.









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Fiction: The Kitty Party

The women in Mumbai’s costly apartment inhabited by the cream gossiped about politics, expertly flipping the cards and flinging credit cards on the table, promising to make bank transfer. Cash will strictly not infect the party. Some guffawed about the affair Chandni’s husband is having with Mrs hot shot Maggi in the society and the one playing damsel in distressing is not left behind. Nobody spills the grain on who Mrs Hot Shot Maggi is sleeping with and the code words about the unidentified lover sneaking inside the house for a round of rumpy-pumpy.

Some prodding and faking it with a loud moan! No! The lovers’ names cannot be revealed and too dangerous to spill the beans in today’s times. How are they having sex and smooching with masks on?, Bimla the naughty aunty and wearing nau lakh ka haar asks. She is ignored. Everyone is wearing a mask and sneaking on the balcony one by one for a smoke as trays of whiskey, Vodka, and wine glasses flow on the table.

The women who know no confinement and living to the adage neighbors are family. Women hating each other and gossiping about each other sex life outside the wedlock, toyboys sneaking in whose private room, snigger at the too middle-class saree, jewellery and car of the nouveau riche and new tenant in the brand new Rs100 crore apartment. Peace is made. Boredom kills. Today, Mehta Memsaab is the host and entertaining frenemies.

Inside a spacious room and a glass sliding door jutting on a sprawling balcony, condoms sprawled on the floor and mattresses. Boys and girls in half-naked postures were making inside and the loud TV anchor shouting to scare the shit out of folks turned prisoners choking the ooh and aah, intense moaning and rumpy-pumpy sex. The noise pollution every sane Indian has learned to abhor on India television came as the savior. A distance celebrating two apartments, one occupied by the kitty party wallah, fidgeting with playing cards, credit cards, naughty jokes and tales and the other occupied by kids translating their naughty gossip into action.

The kitty women eyeing the body language of their opponents turned friends, in Baba Ramdev avatar before flicking cards on the table. Eyes hovered and roving into the cards held by each other was often met by cursory glances, swear words, “Whatta fuck?” where squabbles were avoided in time by the peacemaker before a volley of accusations could hit home on the unsavory private lives hidden beneath the white sheet.

Pesky lady put the finger right in front of her lip and stares menacingly, “Listen! I can hear something!” Everybody stopped in their track and sat still, all ears towards the wall. No signal! Poor thing was berated. “We don’t want suspense. Chuck out your wild mind. Arre! Have a drink and play, na. It’s just that Arnab shouting and some naughty shaughty condom ad on TV.” Play and gossip resumed, smoke billowing and tinkling of glasses.

The Mumbai road was empty. Everyone sat safe in their homes and to be far from the virus scare zooming like an invisible snake biting. Lathi charging the unruly crowd plodding on the road to brave the deadly and the sorry state of migrant laborers losing lives, struggling with breathing and running away to their homes broke the heart. The rich busily put credit cards and wealth at stake over pack of cards. The hungry will die and the virus will kill. 

A rummy game flouting rules and paper cards fidgeted expertly on the table, amidst riotous laughter. The opposite apartment turned into an orgy with teenage couples splaying naked and immature voices whispering, “Curfew times for us means getting locked inside.” The moaning, smoke billowing and alcohol drops halted.

Guffawing hit a dead end. A knock on the wooden door. A moment of silence brushed aside with concatenating laughter. Fistful bangs on the door and it finally slides open. Mrs Mehta’s mouth was wide open at the sight of dozen cops, men and women sidling inside. The women protested, “We are not doing anything illegal and confined inside. Who gave you permission to barge inside?” The dusky lady cop calmly told the protesting ladies, “Easy women! Ah! I see it’s a kitty party with smoking and alcohol. We may inquire on the illegal alcohol when the city is closed. So, shut the fuck and each one of you stand in a line with names and society’s address.”

The women were startled and sheepishly told their names. The cops told them, “We got news for you. Young boys and girls carrying the same surnames like you women have been caught red-handed for indulging in sexual orgy and in naked positions. Coincidence?”



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Screw the love!

Love is imaginary,

bartered on the market,

sex in exchange for emotions,

a classic adage,

women give sex to have love,

men give love to have sex,

move over lust, emotions, and sins!

love may be fake,

emotions may be real,

not in my book,

romance is restricted to candy floss romance,

relationships ain’t perfect.

lies told to ourselves,

my love is me,

your love is yours,

the world’s love,

alien to us,

screw the love.





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Alcohol tale and restless young nights!

Peg swirling and lashing the tongue,

passionate smooch is imagination,

fag is lust,

scotch is an aphrodisiac,

where reckless love is lost,

adventure not sin,

unbridled sensuality,

rebel is a streak,

seeping in the soul,

tripping on alcohol,

twirling among the clouds,

when the nights were restlessly young,

vagabond wading past deserted streets,

walking a mysterious alley,

déjà vu,

reincarnation is life in reverse,

past becomes present,

high forever,

unshackle the sexual experiment,

getting drunk is liberation,

screw the society,

spill the liquid.




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Sensuous desires and passion play

Scent of your flowery skirt,

fragrance of sensuous lip,

kiss stained neck,

striding on naked soles,

gently unlacing bra and shedding inhibitions,

luscious skin,

icy and transparent body,

rolling lip,

inviting my eyes,

knocked off my perch,

sensation of fainting,

as you invite me inside you,

caresssing fingers,

pinching my palm,

arousing unquenched desires,

lips intertwined,

passionate embrace,

caressing your flawless back,

female fingers running on my chest,

pressing unto each other,

panting heavily,

the intensity shall never end,

hitting an anti-climax,

exuding hard sensation inside,

licking the inside,

saliva held on the cusp of the mouth,

foreplay reaching a high.