The urgency
that presented itself dripped of only one conclusion - his lover trying hard to
not stop abruptly, but to live every sexual stage with a greater velocity, so
that the effect is silent and unquestionable, like he would not come to know of
the ungrowing and the history of him inside him.
Rahul
remembered the exact second they started. Not always did he keep a count (to pick up the best one on an anniversary
or a birthday to excite and worst as weapons for the arguments and fights).
These days he had to himself such less of Prateek and this just added to the
memory cushion of his relation, making it less comfortable. He had seen the
times of greater passions and undying conquests and yes he could tell the
difference.
One done,
the other longing and hurt. One finished quickly, the other just rousing from a
slumber realizing he had been touched. It lived the fragile life of a moth. The
sweat of labor, generated in the last hour of the sexual brawling would
generally make them inseparable and they would embrace for hours.
“One’s own
space,” to them was just a concept theoretical in nature. Why would one want to
be separated from one's lover? Other than the usual liabilities of work, for
which they would have to be away in different places, they would forever be
spotted together. The films, the food courts, occasional dosage of theatre when
drama in life dipped low, the dirty beach and the parties, would always whisper
about their uncomfortable presence, for Rahul was a little effeminate for a
man, his gait and gestures, the Prateek forever caressing him in a sort of
encouragement. They were not the kinds who would like to be left alone in love
in a setting. They hated being without each other and without people. People
were their oxygen and they thrived on them. Sometimes it was the hard criticism
they received on the displays of their affection, the other times the jealously
they stirred among other insecure men- single or compromising. It made them
feel good when people wished to be like them- to walk like them, to hug like
them, embrace like them and no one had seen but assumed, to even make love like
them.
Lovemaking
was already over but today they didn't embrace after, like they usually did. In
fact it seemed like a race to the edge of the bed, the finishing line on either
sides. No words were expressed. Eyes kept to each its own, trying hard to not
meet the other's. For if it did match there will be the questions, the
complaints, the guilt and the shame and god forbid those tears. No Prateek
couldn’t take his tears. They would make him helpless; he would at times let
him win arguments and disagreements just with a dramatic “tear from one eye
running down the side of his cheek.” Rahul actually knew about this power he
enjoyed and at times even misused it. Not like a criminal explaining murder,
but like a child faking tiredness to get to the mother's lap. Prateek felt
guilt surging in him and the other hoped he did. There was so much to be articulated,
but to shut up seemed a good resolution then.
Silence so
understated was not so transparent after all at the moment. Here and there it
left clues of disdain and discord- the proximity of the couple to the edge of
the bed and the distance between them, the quilt stretched from the centre to
its threshold for they were far away. Things had suddenly duplicated in the
room - two water bottle, two ashtrays and two books. Silence; it was becoming
more and more visual and unbearable; a guilty Prateek spoke aloud-
"You
want to smoke? ”
"Yes
please, in the lower drawer. Pass me the lighter as well."
"You
know, if you want to..."
“If I could
what I wished I would not be here”
“Are you
angry?”
“ How does
that matter? Would it change things?”
“Why are you
so angry and cold?”
“I’m not or
probably I have been transformed to this since a couple of months now. Maybe
you stopped noticing.” Rahul suggested.
“Fine, if
you say there is no issue to talk about, then I believe you.”
"Pass
me my boxers."
With the boxer
deported to the other side, the ownership and boundaries were clearly
demarcated now, possessions like the eyes- to each his own. Rahul did not want
to address the issue of careless lovemaking right now. If Prateek had insisted
more he might have probably said a point or two, but would have eventually
given up and forgiven him- for today and for the past so many days, of his
ignorance, his selfishness and his every move that had strained him. Rahul
loved him more than his books and his stationary, somewhere ranking at par with
his family, and that was the truth. He had to fake anger at times, to retain
his self-respect and his stand. But it was very short lived but believable. It
wouldn’t have taken much for him to get back into the game but Prateek never
asked.
Now the
cigarettes were lit. The smoke generally added to the intoxication of the
atmosphere. Prateek loved the way Rahul held his cigarette with straight back,
stiff necked; one arm folded the other supported at the elbow, while the wrist
seemed to pivot the hand flexibly, almost like an anxious spoilt ballerina
dancer, relieving his self before an act. The nature of the smoke puffs
and trails from the cigarette tell a lot. The content lovers that they were
some months back, would be tried by the end of the sessions (always in plural). Supporting
themselves with a terrain of pillows they would lazily light up cigarettes and
hold still, the room, the air and even the silence. The smoke from the tip of
the burning stick would daintily drift up in the most French fashion in a
straight line and fade into nothingness. Even the mouths would be left open for
the smoke to escape. Nothing would be forced, everything effortless. A perfect
setting where Rahul would manage to make a ring or two out of smoke. Nothing
would move in the room, for they were content and tired and anything that
stirred in the moment was deafening.
Today the
smoke did the wild swirling dance before melting. There was silence in the room
but no peace. The puffs were deep and the exhaling stronger. No shapes and
ribbons, just a hazy obscure drill of smoke befitting their clouded hearts. The
heavy panting, the cough and the impressionist backdrop; guilt arose in Prateek
again -
"I’m
sorry. If you want to say anything you can," said he in the most
non-committed conduct.
"I want
to have a muffin," Rahul dodged.
"I
meant more on what happened right now," as if it weren’t lucid enough.
"If you
didn't notice, things barely happened for me," in finality.
"There
we go" he dared not to say it aloud.
Prateek
didn't feel particularly good about being thought a sloppy lover, incapable. If
there were a choice to stretch the love workout for long he would have. It
tired him today- more physically than mentally. Nothing changed visually. Rahul
was still his slender, delicate lover with mortal marks on his body and a mole
above his lip. Still as beautiful as the first time he saw him, technically.
Inside, he was saturated with him. He did love him, but failed to be excited by
him now. Also this he could always get on demand any time. The sadistic disapproval
and the chase to turn it into an approval was something Prateek missed. The
sense of achievement everytime he got someone into bed was something that he
would not get in this relation, or any for that matter, and he craved for it.
"I'm
just a person, and sex is enjoyed impulsive, not robotic," Prateek tried
to half convince himself.
His mind was
diverted and the reasons ran deep and low, and more than being just bored with
his partner, it was a problem of plenty today. This distraction came in the
form of this tangible other boy. He, who impregnated him with a fond erotic memory,
was something that Rahul now failed to provide him. This beautiful colleague he
had been eyeing since days. He managed to play a similar game of love with him
this afternoon. It was fresh, pickled in pure lust. He felt he actually blacked
out in sweet pain today.
There was a
break at work, a public wash room and too much desire to steer. A heaven driven
coincidence and these two boys found each other in the washroom at the same
time. A little peek-a-boo and a faint smile, smeared with a literature full of
lust led quickly the incidents voluntarily, and they settled in one of the
cubicles. What happened then was pure art, yielding and moving. It simmered of
hot passion and eclectic imagery. Not even once did Prateek think of his
partner who might have been thinking about him at that instant. He enjoyed
the best sex of the past few months and it didn’t last long- the rush of it and
the fragility.
Suddenly a
rash on his own triceps caught his attention and the same wooing smile of the
washroom appeared again. In an instant Prateek went through the full course of
the sinful indulgence of the late noon in his mind in his bedroom. Like the
moon in all its imperfections shines in the night sky, his smile brazenly lit
up the room of mourning.
He caught
the eye of Rahul catching the view of his scared arm, slowly flowing up to meet
his eyes.
"That
doesn’t seem to be a mark of my doing. Mine are less red out of concern and
more defined out of perfection." this Prateek thought he could read in Rahul’s
eyes.
He then saw
him light another cigarette and pull deep puffs, exhale slowly and drift off to
sleep, as if some heavy burden lifted from Rahul’s head and on to his.
The morning will define the incident now, and Prateek
wished the night carries on incessantly.
