A Second Helping of Passion

They sat there, next to each other, trying to watch a show they both would like. It was a rainy night and they were more than happy to be snug and dry and away from the pouring rains, and the noisy traffic jam way down below.

The rain created a moody, lazy climate, the perfect environment for some passionate lovemaking,and they did. They had succumbed to their desires, their passion, their cranial needs, letting their wildness and passion mingle with each other, as they devoured each other, exploring every inch of each other’s body, kissing, licking, sucking, caressing, squeezing, biting, and tasting each other. Not letting even an inch go unexplored, not letting an inch go untasted , not letting even an inch stay dry. Their body heat keeping them warm, their body now covered with sweet sweat.

They made the most of their wildness, their passion, but now they were clothed and seated there trying to decide what to watch. It wasn’t like that their passion had cooled down, it was just simmering below the surface. It wasn’t like they were spent force, they just as much liked to enjoy the calm between those wild moments.

Even though they sat next to each other, he couldn’t resist running his hands through his hair, rubbing shoulders. Like lovers who couldn’t keep their hand off each other. But they weren’t lovers. They really didn’t know what they were, cause they never thought of labelling what they had. They were two souls that connected well, that were able to bond well, and were now connected sexually too. Though at times he did wonder what they were, secretly hoping for something deeper.

He pulled him closer, and he obliged, sitting between his legs. Although he tried hard to concentrate on what was going on the screen, he felt drawn to him, a magnetic pull, a moth to the flame. He couldn’t keep himself from touching him, from playing with his hair, from kissing his neck. He didn’t want to stop, but he felt he needed to control himself.

It didn’t help that he reacted to his every touch, his every kiss, closing his eyes and taking deep breaths as he could feel his lips on his skin.

He pulled him and took him on his lap, letting him continue to kiss his neck, and all over shoulder. His every touch, his every lick, his every caress was turning him on, slowly reigniting that passion that was still very much crackling in the embers.

He removed his tee, giving him access to a wider canvas than his neck, once again letting it be explored and tasted and kisses and caressed.

He, on his part, unbuttoned his shirt, and buried his face in his chest, squeezing and kissing it and fondling like, that’s if his firm chest could be fondled. 

He bit and sucked on his nipples, like a man greedily devouring food after a fast. He sucked on his nipples like he was hoping it would miraculously lactate with sweet nectar. The more he heard him mourn and curse, the more he got turned on, the more wild he got.

He liked the feeling that he brought to his nipples, but he also felt the searing pain with each bite, with each nibble. At the same time he felt the pleasure, the need, the desire to continue. Even though he knew it would leave him feeling sore and bruised, he didn’t mind it. And even though he put a fight, his body wanted him to give in and give into his mouth. And so he alternatively moaned and cursed, taking in every moment.

As he tugged hair back, when he couldn’t take the pleasure and the pain, slowly kissing his face, and then his neck, his chest , his nipples, and moving slowly down, freeing his manhood, taking it deep within, trying not to gag, sucking, kissing, making it wet, tasting the sweet and salty nectar of his vim. The more he moaned they more he tried to suck him deeper, stopping to see his expression, which was to immaculate, a beautiful sight.

And so it went on for a few minutes, their passionate and wild expression of their desires, their kinks. This was no love making, they didn’t want to call it that or even use the L for what they had between them. They wanted to concentrate on nurturing their bond and their careers, rather than jumping on to the relationship bandwagon. Neither did they want to call this a hookup, no matter how it may seem to the world outside. It wasn’t random, and it wasn’t fleeting. They did share a bond, a liking for each other, but they had no intention of jumping the gun and taking it into a territory that would make it awkward for them.

So they hugged and kissed and let their passion burn bright, and when it came time to say good night, they hugged each other tight, letting their vibes flow through each other, mingle with each other, promising to meet again soon, but this time in a non sexual situation.

Wicked Game

It’s a wicked game we play when we make someone feel this way. It’s a wicked thing we do, when we make someone dream of you. In a world that’s constantly swiping left or right, it’s a wicked game we play.

In a world that’s either looking for a soulmate, or just a date, or just to fuck and forget, something long-term, or just a short-term casual fun, it’s a wicked game we play when we let someone believe in you.

And though we have our own agenda, our purpose, our own reason, we still play these wicked games building hope for those who believe it’s true.

We play these games by saying the words that a ear is yearning to hear, that a lonely soul’s thirsting to hear. We may not always mean it but still we say it, cause that’s the thing we do. We build hope, we build dreams, hoping and dreaming that what we are led to believe will come true, only to see them shatter into a thousand pieces. It’s a wicked game we play when we let someone hope about you.

In a world that’s enamoured by photographs and social media, by skin and toned bodies, it’s these pictures that seduces us, the pictures that draws in. But what happens when you meet but you hoped for isn’t met? It’s a game that we play to loose. It’s a wicked game of heartbreak, ending with someone being just another like on an app, just another match, just a number in your phone’s memory that’s soon going to be ghosted, that’s soon going to be forgotten.

It’s a game where we let our desires get the better of us. A game where we let our overthinking mind race ahead of us, where we let our lonely heart make us a gullible soul, easy to preyed on, a willing victim of our own choosing, turning us blind to red flags and detours, and filling our head with hope. It’s a wicked game make someone hope for you.

And even though we may know what’s in store, we gullibly let ourselves become pawns of these wicked games, players of these games.

It’s a wicked game we play when we make someone feel this way. It’s a wicked thing we do, when we make someone dream of you. In a world that’s constantly swiping left or right, it’s a wicked game we play.

Life… a Treasure

There’s so many things in life that’s worth treasuring more than money or gold, though I will confess that we can absolutely do with some money and/or gold.

Life is full of little moments and people and things that’s worth treasuring. Life itself  is a treasure. It’s the one that you have been blessed with, unique and beautiful, different from that of others, no matter how much feel it’s the same, no matter how much you try to compare it with that of others. No matter what you feel about life it’s worth treasuring. 

Every little moment is an opportunity to grow and be better, to make memories to cherish, to treasure for when days are  low and gloomy, memories that will brighten up any dullness, banish any darkness that clouds your heart, your mind. Moments once gone will never come back. Moments that you can never go back to, chances and opportunities that you may miss, that you may never get again. 

Every little moment comes together to build the life you live, the life you experience, the life you treasure.

Life is full of memories that you will hold close to your heart. Memories that act like a soothing balm that eases the pain when you are hurting bad. Memories like a piping hot chocolate on a cold winter’s day, or a cup of Chai on a rainy day, or a bowl of warm soup  when you have a cold, that warms your heart and soothes your soul.

Life is full of people who will come and go, who will affect you, who will change you, who will  meld meld and mould you, aiding you to become who you are , for better or worst. People who will be there for maybe just a fleeting moment but can still affect a change. 

There are those who will stay with you for quite a while, helping you to grow. 

Everyone who comes into to your life, comes in it for a reason, we may never understand that reason, until long after they’re  gone. 

You will come across all sort of people, the good, the bad, the ugly, the happy, the sad, and even douchebags. Some who you would rather forget. But then who you hold dear to you will continue to remain with you forever, long after they are gone, cause they are etched on the walls of your heart, your mind, an imprint, an image, a treasure. 

You never know when it would be the last moment with them, so you cherish every moment with them, you treasure them.

Life is full of memories, moments, experiences, people, that may seem to bring  you down , but can  also uplift you. Life is full of things that you will hold close to you, that you will treasure.

Life is a treasure chest that you hold close to you, hold dear to you, for all eternity.

Running in the Park in the Rains

There’s something magical about running in the rains. You actually don’t mind it pouring, when you are out there running. Any other time it could be a pain, but not when you are  out there running. The rains are a welcome relief, a soothing balm to tired joints, natural coolant that keeps your body from overheating.

You ran through the heat and humidity. You sweated a bucketload of sweat, sometimes even causing your mother to wonder whether that’s sweat or did you pee in your pants. Though your mileage were low and the weather relentless, you continued to brave it through the heat and humidity. And now that the rains are here, you can slowly and steadily build on your distance while still making the most of the rains.

The rain has a way of making everything so magical and beautiful and romantic. The smell of rain on wet mud is simply intoxicating, filling your senses with this beautiful scent that’s oh so divine.

The moment you step into the park you are greeted by all this sound. It’s like every creature in the two mile radius thinks they’re Elvis. What would have been a cacophony of sounds is actually a symphony when it all comes together, nature’s very own orchestra.

Everything looks brighter and cleaner. The rains seemed to have washed away all the dirt and grime, leaving everything so clean and a little less dirty. Yes there’s the muck and the millions of puddles, but then that’s ok, it can be easily be overlooked, or overstepped, or just hopped across!

The trees too have shaken off all the dust and grime that they accumulated all the year round. They are all green and bright and fresh and light. It’s like a weight has been lifted off them and now they are light and bright and standing all glistening and glowing and green.

It fills your heart with joy to see the water in the stream, which had dried up for the summer. You know that as the season progresses, this would no longer be a little stream, but a flowing river, filled with water and morons, that also includes me.

The rain leaves the park all Misty, making it oh so dreamy, oh so mysterious. You wonder what secrets the park would hide behind that mist, would the furry one be lurking somewhere not too far.

And so you continue to run, with a spring in your step and joy in your heart, letting the rain fall on you, wan all of you, washing away all the sweat and grime, taking away all the weariness of your tired bones, cooling you, healing you, washing away the tears, giving you a cover to hide it from the world. 

You ensure that no puddle remains unvisited, no puddle remains unsplashed. You just run through it, instead of finding your way across it, never minding your shoes and socks is getting all wet, occasionally jumping right into it to create a splash, not bothering about the side eye you get from others, it’s the child in you that’s always going to want to make the most of a rainy day.

So you run, not bothering that it’s pouring, or that you are soaked to the bone (you would have been all wet anyway, from all the sweat), you just run, and let the rain wash away not just the dirt on your body, but also the pain in your soul, ultimately finding a way to soothe your soul. So you run for the joy in your heart, for the pain and anxiety, you don’t stop, you just run, and you just let the rain do its magic. 

What more could you ask from life when you get to run in the park in the rains!!