I want to write a story. About lust. I know you don’t belong to me. I know you know where your home is and it is not in me. I, I am the temporary refuge. And as you finally drop your filters, perhaps with whiskey kicking in and rest your head nonchalantly on my chest, telling me more about your depression, I know I am just a refuge for you.

Relax. You are my refuge as well.

You make me want to not care. About who I am and where I stand in life. About what you are and which way your life is headed. Of the incessantly nagging question that demands an explanation. What do I mean to you? What do you mean to me?

But to explain it is to disrespect ourselves. The truth is going to hurt. You are my gateway to channelize everything that’s pent up deep within me. You are my profound sexual exhaustion that clears the pavement for deep, overpowering slumber. I don’t think I am more than sleeping pills to you either.

And yet here we lay, wide awake, skin to skin, sin to sin.

I hardly go beyond the first meeting, and here I am spending another night with you…in your bed…making love lust!

So what does it mean? Don’t! Don’t tell me.

I like this not-knowing, I like this uncertainty. I like having you hanging somewhere around the periphery. I want to have sex with you. I want you to use my body in whatever way you deem fit to cure your depression. I want you unfiltered, uncouth, unabashed, unstoppable! I don’t crave for an intellectual conversation with you. I don’t wish to discuss my political stands because you know they’d go against you. I think even your conventions go against you and that is perhaps why you are so torn apart.

And I love that! I love seeing you tethering apart to shreds in my embrace.

You have him in your life and I know I don’t stand a chance. But as I let go, the thoughts of love, the pursuit of love, the very question and the idea of love, I enjoy something I haven’t enjoyed in a long while. I enjoy a human body.

I enjoy my own body. And I enjoy your body. God! I have been so guarded for whatever reason. Did I tell you I hardly get naked with others? But with you, things are different. I know exactly the way you seized my body...all hungry and savage. And when you did that dear fuck bud, you made me come alive. More alive than what I have felt in a long while.

Who am I after all? A Tinder #SwipeRight, a consenting adult human body. But did I ever tell you the joy in that? And yes, deep, profound, fulfilling joy!

You see, I have been taking myself so seriously, thinking how the world would progress if I don’t pull it together somehow. I have given up on far too many people without really giving it a shot. I was afraid, so afraid of myself, of my desires, of what horrors may lie ahead if i succumb to the temptation, that I never really tried.

But…When I meet you, I intentionally want to come undone. You make me come undone. And it is every bit lustful. My hands crave to touch the side of your cheek, my tongue wants to run amok over your nipples, my lips wish to be wrapped around your manhood.
And there is more!

You know there is more to me the way only you would know. And I know you wouldn’t believe me when I say it is only you who knows how my body really reacts. It is only you who knows what I really desire. The wanton with which I approach you each time would make you think of me as a harlot set wild and free on the streets, but let me tell you something oh fellow harlot, it is just you.

I want you! But in a way I don’t want you as well

Give me your body. Give me you sullen eyes and your pink lips and your soft hair and your skin and your spots. Give me all you have got, but don’t give me a promise. I don’t need it. There is a sense of freedom and power I feel knowing that tomorrow what we have may not even exist. Refuge is only temporary, right? That is why I attack you hungrily, if in case you hadn’t noticed. Because, I know fully well there might not be another time.

I don’t wish to fall in love with you. EVER! That shit is nasty. It ruins things. What we have can’t be ruined. Because we don’t really have anything so to speak, right? Not something that can be a muse for the poets or the writers anyway. We are two perverts who no one would care to write about.

And hence, I want to write a story. Of lust. Of you and me.

Tonight is all I get and I don’t want to sleep. Neither do you. And this is a choice we have made each night that we have been together. So let’s just stay up. Let ourselves be conquered by our desires. Let’s give in. Let us make lust better than lovers make love. In the world full of pretences and half-hearted promises, you are the one real thing in my life.

Roll over! It is my turn now!