Things that make little sense (but are damn prevalent)

1. Religion:
Something that was created as a give and take relationship between the rulers and the subjects. The rulers proposed god as a fail-safe alternative to conscience, something to keep their subjects in check when their conscience fails. The subjects in return get something to blame when their life doesn't go the way they want it to.
The trade-off would have been fair enough, provided 'Religion' did its job as intended. But it doesn't, considering the number of crimes committed in the name of religion. The anthropomorphic structure of god 'idols,' is a screaming reminder that god is a creation of human mind rather than other way round. If only we weren't deaf enough to ignore it.

2. Astrology:
Not much different from religion, but in a sense more idiotic. While religion's existence can be defended on the basis of abuser-abused relationship, astrology exists for no other reason than that people are naive enough to fall for anything.
I won't even contend how much effect a lonely rock floating in empty space has on our lives. The sham of astrology doesn't perplex me very much. People accept and discard lies all the time to maintain their sanity. What perplexes me is the audacity and confidence with which astrologers dole out their predictions despite knowing that it has as much probability of being true, as it has of being false.
We have 12 months in a year. Assuming that an equal number of people are born every month, that makes 500 million people sharing the same month of birth. A daily horoscope smugly assumes that this entire bracket of people share same luck. Never mind that at any given time, as many people in this bracket are dying of cancer as those conquering castles.

3. Marriage:
Marriage and credit cards are not very different. Both buy short term happiness (stemming from the short lived whirlpool of feel-good chemicals), at the cost of long-term dissatisfaction. Marriage generally serves as an escape route when life hits a logical dead-end.
Typically marriage is a by-product of a quarter life crisis, when life has ossified into a routine, friends have largely been replaced by office acquaintances, an ever expanding spare tyre has appeared where your waist used to be. With every passing day, life seems to lose more of its meaning. In short, either your options for dopamine hits have been drastically reduced, or you have developed dopamine tolerance for things that used to cheer you up, so they don't seem as fun as they used to be.
So what do you do? Swallow the red pill, get married, have a temporary dopamine hit, develop tolerance and come back to square one (but with a heavy baggage that can't be shed easily), or Swallow the blue pill, dive into deep end of hedonism pool, surround yourself with several dopamine sources, never getting too cozy with any single source. From a rational perspective, it isn't much of a choice, but neither is credit card, but you buy it too, just because happiness that is comfortably within your reach blinds you to the other options.

Ideological differences aside, marriage makes even lesser sense economically (at-least from the standpoint of men). Men buy something when it is broken and can't be fixed. They prefer functionality over aesthetics, experiences over 'things'. Give them money to burn, and they would burn it on humping hookers, eating something exotic, traveling far and wide.
Marriage wrings this tendency off men. They end up spending money on things and people that used to be immaterial or unimportant (like furniture and relatives). Expensive suits are bought to hide growing unattractiveness, status is bought to hide a growing mental vacuity (again temporary patches for a deeper problem).

4. Child-rearing:
An extension of marriage, a stepping stone that helps you graduate to mid-life crisis from quarter life crisis. Children are like ever ringing death knells, constant reminders that you are redundant and replaceable. Rearing them made a sense when your survival was uncertain, when progeny required little investment and doubled up as caretakers and cheap labour since early age. Not in a world where medicare is ubiquitous, and rearing children is costlier than ever affair. In most cases, children are a fallout of a dead end in marriage, a desperate attempt to kick a marriage out of monotony by people who don't have enough experience in judging rewards against efforts (which was why they married in first place). Once the kid is out of the box, they spend two thankless decades of their lives in rearing their child into a presentable and independent human being. Once the child attains these traits, it leaves the nest, and shows its face with ever increasing rarity and making its presence known through a phone call every now and then. A wasted investment. The whole activity is not very different from nurturing a pet that will eventually die, but atleast pets require much less care.
   

Forever Young

"Why do you exhaust yourself to unconsciousness?" My 11 year old niece asked me, once I reached the swing she was swinging after an all out sprint.
"It's because I want to stay young forever." I boasted, while giving her swing a gentle push. Even at 30, I had managed to look like I was in early 20s, thanks to working out like a horse day in and day out.
"Forever young, huhh..." my niece cogitated on this statement for a while, and then added, "Like me?"
"No, I don't think so." I hesitated a bit, trying to choose my words carefully.
"I think you will grow old and boring like your mother." I said after deliberating for a while.
From her swing, she turned her neck to look me in the eyes. That odd angle ensured that I was not entirely in her line of sight. Still I could see that she was displeased. Her ears had turned fiery red, her smile faltered, and she swallowed a big dollop of saliva, as if trying to digest what I had said. I should have chosen my words even more carefully
"You know Mamu, you are a mean asshole." She commented, knowing that unlike my sister, I hardly tried to inculcate any good manners into her.
"See, you are already whining like an old lady." I spoke authoritatively.
"Being whiny and old are not implicit." She retorted. The child was definitely intellegent for her age. Had I been her age, I would have gone crying to my mother.
"Yes, but they overlap a great deal." If you can't convince them, confuse them.
"You see, when your mother gave birth to you, she in a sense, passed on the baton of youth to you." I waited to see if she was on the brink of tears.
She wasn't, so I continued, "Now that you hold the baton of youth, she will grow old, although she won't realize it until another decade or two. Till then you are going to occupy her mind a great deal, so that thought would hardly cross her mind." She nodded, trying to suppress her grin by biting her tongue. Either the idea of making her mother's life miserable appealed to her, or my words were making no sense to her. I thought it was latter.
"Then?" She asked prodding me to continue.
"Then it will be your turn, you will get married, have kids, pass on the baton and grow old."
"You are just too extrovert not to." I added before she could chip in a defence.

Before we could fight the argument out, my sister entered the playground, coming towards us. It was time for supper, and she was very particular about her daughters' meals. Sensing that my swing time was about to be nipped off. I hurriedly stopped the swing, got her out, occupied it myself and ordered her to push. I only enjoyed swinging when I wasn't using my legs. Using all her might, my niece pushed.
"Push harder, what for does your mother feed you all that fat, when you can't push for a penny's worth?" I egged her on.
She did, not before punching me in the small of my back.
"Girlie punch." I declared.

My sister reached the swing, and niece ran to her, happy to get rid of me. Despite her age, my niece asked my sister to pick her up. We had been in the playground just for an hour, but my niece acted as if she was meeting her mother after several lifetimes. My sister, usually averse to picking heavy things, nevertheless resigned to this demand. Lapping her up, she started walking towards our parent's home, where we siblings gathered every other year. From the slowing swing, I could see that my niece was whispering something in her ears. I didn't need to be very bright to guess what it was. Children draw blood when their parents are around. Or make them do it.

Listening to what my niece had to say, my sister stopped in her tracks, turned around and walked back. When I was within an earshot she shifted her gaze from me to her daughter and declared, " Honey, don't take whatever your uncle says very seriously. He's just jealous that the bloodline will continue long after he dies, and this makes him feel old."

Age, along with traces of grey hair, had conferred on my sister, an ability to see things for what they were. Her words echoed in my ears long after she was gone and I was left sitting on that stationary swing. It took me a while before I could pick up my pieces and go home.

Rollercoaster

Pour in some cola for yourself, preferably in those midget cups that are used to serve the guests. Put three spoonfuls of sugar in it; that makes just about 45g in 100ml, chances are that it is too sweet for your taste (unless you have grown a paunch and developed insulin resistance). In a minute or two, the hormones in your body will press the Red-emergency button. Your heart will beat so fast, you fear it will break open your rib cage. If you are perceptive enough, you will feel the tremors in your limbs. Yet your brain fools you into feeling a sense of well-being. That's a rush of serotonin in your bloodstream.
Let half an hour pass. That's what it takes for stomach to pass on sugary food to liver. Sugar is like a V.I.P., no organ will keep it waiting for too long. Considering the amount of sugar you have chugged, liver is going to secrete a bucketload of insulin. Insulin signals the cells to soak sugar from blood. Stronger the insulin spike, more rapidly the sugar is absorbed. In your case, so fast that sugar level drops precipitously. You feel so sapped out of energy, that the world seems to be a house of card at mercy of a rabid dog. The same feeling when you drive home at 5 p.m. after that 4p.m. coffee. Drowsy, weak, nauseated. Sugar crashed. When the dust of excitement settles, reality shows its face. And it's not pretty.

The Crash.
It was a day off from work-out, and the day I had decided to screw a hooker. Most of my MBA admission results were to be out by 10th may, I thought if I screwed them up, a hooker will help me drown the sorrow, and if I didn't, what a better way to celebrate. Another reason was that I was edging away from my goal of a slut every 6 months, and was desperate to correct this anomaly.

A friend (X), an uninitiated one, tagged along after I went overboard with how great the brothel was, and how good the hookers were. In the office hours, I negotiated with Meenakshi (Pimp) to arrange two girls, preferably chinkis (In my experience even if they take their job for drudgery, they never let it show). By evening, Meenakshi told me that she could arrange only one girl and that too, not a chink. When I enquired whether the girl would be a worthwhile fuck, she told me not to worry. In her words, "All our models are top class." I took her words at face value, since my last visit to her brothel turned out better than expected.

However things had changed since my last visit. Sanjay and Meenakshi (the pimp couple) had relocated to a better locality (but as confusing as earlier), a place that no longer resembled a slum. After an auto dropped us near Malviya Nagar cremation ground (probably this was the reason no one wanted a slum around), Meenakshi guided us through the serpentine streets to a civilized locality. Once we reached her place, she received us in a hall and told us to wait there. She went to the room where the girl was cooped up, probably discussing her wages. The hall was minimalistic. It seemed to be put together in a hurry, as if the occupants were not planning to stay there for long. The only frame that adorned the wall was a photograph of Sanjay, displaying his flabby arm through a sleevelss vest, wearing goggles that were too large for his face. He was either stoned, or incredibly happy when he posed for the picure. In a corner, beside the refrigirator, the occupants had assembled a mini-temple, and strewn it with all possible idols they got their hands on. Morality and religiosity rarely imply one another.

Meenakshi had concluded her discussion with the hooker, and waved us in. We walked into the room, anticipating the looks of her 'Top class model.' Our thought bubble didn't take long to burst. The top class model turned out to be a cross between a cow and human. She was chubby but not in a cute way. She had short culy hair, hair that had forgotten to grow in an orderly way, spreading outwards rather than downwards, splitting at their extremities. Her small nose and small lips gave her pudgy face a look of utter despondency. Her right eye was swollen black. Poor light would have hidden this scar well on her dusky skin, but Meenakshi, in her zeal to display her 'top model' had switched on another light, and this scar stood out. Her double chin did a good job in hiding away her neck. She was wearing a tight colourful top, that made it difficult to comprehend where the breasts ended and where the belly began. Overall, she was someone, I wouldn't have cast a second glance on, let alone fuck.

X and I moved back to the hall. He declared that he would not screw that cow under any circumstances, and stormed towards the door, thinking that I too shared his opinion. I wished I had. But the addict I was, I had gone there with high hopes and a raging boner. I deliberated on the situation for a moment, then went on to haggle with Meenakshi, told her that this screw was in no way worth Rs 2000. I tried to bargain my way to Rs 1600, but she was relentless. I ended up paying the entire amount. X looked at me cursedly and declared that he would wait outside.

The money exchanged hands, and I made my way to the room. From hall, Meenakshi yelled to the hooker, "Achhi service dena (Treat the client well)." That was the last thing I needed, a hooker that needed to be told how to treat client. Anyway, I fucked the cow. There was nothing special to it. With the lights turned off, I didn't have to look at her. That made my job easier (I still fancy that I should have been paid for it, not her). It was only when I came, that the disgust settled in, and this disgust knew no subtlety. I practically pushed the hooker from above me, ran to the bathroom. I washed my hands thoroughly, put my head under running water and gargled thrice with cold water. All the while, the bathroom door was open and the cow was staring at me, mulling why I chose to fuck her in the first place if I were to make such a show out of it. But her face was as impassive as it was during sex, so I think she was used to such kind of humiliation.

I was glad to step outside the brothel. The weather was a bit sultry, but mercifully traffic was sparse, and it wasn't altogether very dusty. A few minutes passed when X asked me the obvious, "How could you?"
I was silent for a while. Then I spat and replied, "I was desperate." All the way, X mocked me for being an asshole. As if I needed someone to remind me of it. Every few metres I would spit some more, perhaps trying to strip away the reality from my experience. As it generally happens when you are disgusted with yourself, you try to pin your mind on a pleasent memory. But your wretched mind flashes ten more memories where you acted even a bigger asshole. Same was happening to me, life was flashing before my eyes like a series of screwups. All failures magnified, all achievements dwarfed.

I justified that this was not the first time I disgusted myself and this won't be the last. Afterall, I liked to be a slave to my addictions. It was not unlikely that I would succumb to an STD someday. But was the hooker I screwed tonight really worth dying for?? This question and the face of the cow haunted me for a while before sleep rescued me. Of all the whores I have been with, I don't remember the face of anyone. They become obscure the moment I am done with them. But not this one. A week has passed and it is still etched on my mind like an obnoxious scar, the one that will take some time to heal. I wish it won't, atleast it will remind me where and where not to put my cock.

P.S. : The crash didn't bother me for long. The next day was Saturday, that meant bouldering session. The generally secluded bouldering spot was occupied by a girl who challenged me to handstand pushups (There's another story to it, but I am not bothering myself with it). Although I had won, but seeing a girl perform 10 clean handstand pushups did a good job in dissipating the memory of last night.

Such a long foreplay...

Why do we do the things we do?
Appearing thoughtful, I will say that we have nothing better to do, that we are the stray fingers that keep on picking one string or another till we find our rhythm in life. Prod me more, I will tell you the biggest secret of life: serotonin won't let you commit suicide, and dopamine gives you something to live for. 

I just had my lunch on that hot monday afternoon. Up until a month ago, I used to go sleep in company's library after the lunch, sweetly dozing off company's money; not anymore. A group of loud middle-aged fools had conquered the library for their tea break, leaving me lurching for another way to kill time in office. So I took to wandering outside company's premises after my lunch breaks. Most walks were uneventful. Some of the days, I would discover pig carcasses, first by the smell, then by the look of rotting flesh. The sight always attracted me; even the smell that I couldn't bear for more than a minute, was something I looked forward to. Another time, I had seen 4 donkeys fighting. Yes! four. There was no particular enmity, no she-donkey around. Yet the four donkeys would muster all the speed their tied legs allowed them, and collide with each other head first. Sometimes they would bite each other's neck. I think heat makes animals behave in a funny way.

But that Monday afternoon, there were no pigs; no donkeys either. I was on my third round (I walk between two poles some 50 metres apart), when I saw the lady in black. She came out of the 'Wizcraft' building, a skinny figure, pale as a full moon, arms crossed, stern expression. Had I been closer, I would have seen that she was trembling. The pole appeared, and I turned around for my next round, oblivious of the direction she was heading for, nor caring. Next pole came, and I turned around, she was sitting midway to the two poles, as I walked towards her, our eyes met, she smiled. About what, I don't know. Perhaps I smiled back. I am not too sure. I thought of saying something to her, but no words came to my mind as I walked past her. I did become conscious of my walk although; my stooped shoulders backed up, my chest puffed out, and the hump in my neck straighterned as I clasped my hands behind my back. Twenty metres ahead mighty pole reappeared, and I turned back. This time she was looking away from me.

"Isn't it too hot to wear all black?" I said when I reached near her. She was wearing black trousers, and a black sweater, that too in April.
This was the first time I had accosted a girl, or atleast accosted without any justifiable reason. Remind me, why do we do the things we do? Because those are the best things to be done in those circumstances.
"It was too cold inside." She said with a placid smile on her thin lips, a kind of smile that can turn into frown effortlessly.
"And I wanted my daily fix of vitamin D too, it's good for your skin." She added.
"You know, it keeps dandruff away too." I blurted a fact I had learnt some time ago, without realizing that it is kind of dumb to share your hair problems with people you have met barely 10 seconds ago.
Up close, her skin was not just pale, it was transluscent. I had my eyes fixed on her feet, so full of veins; her deep red nail-paint complementing her white skin.
"You work around here?" I asked.
"Yes, in wizcraft, as curriculum designer."
I nodded.
"What about you?" She asked after a brief pause, a brief pause that was long enough to breed second thoughts about starting this conversation.
"Yes, I am the IT Security guy with Ranbaxy," I told a half lie. The truth was that for the past three months, I was just a token presence in the company. It made no difference even if I came to company or not. But I had to come; manga loaded faster on company's internet connection.
"I have no idea what that means." She said.
"That makes two of us." I thought. Funny as it might have sounded, I didn't want to appear a lazy bum in front of her.
"I keep the company free from viruses and spams." I boasted.
"Hmmmm." She nodded, her eyes betraying some doubts, perhaps pondering if a skinny fuck like me was really cut out for that task.
"What does your company do?" I asked, genuinely curious, since this company had one of the best logos I had seen, but I never knew what the company was upto.
"It is an event management company. We help companies enhance their brand value through creative content and social media."
Sensing that I was not impressed, she added that her company supplied content to Kingdom of dreams, refeerring to an odd theatre in Gurgoan, that spent too much on advertisements.
This time it was my turn to look skeptical. I am generally weary of things that have social/media/events in them; they conjure an image of 'Consume us or die' in front of me.
"Have you been to Kingdom of dreams?" She asked.
"Nope."
"You should, they have great food, nautanki is even better" She said.
Coming from her lips, nautanki seemed to be an expletive, in a good way; like it does when uttered by seemingly innocent girl.
"O.K., I will, when I get a chance." I lied.
The banter continued back and forth, I came to know that she came back to India just a year back, was a Masters in Psychology from Stanford, a fact that should have made her a bit aloof (the Psychologist part, the way they need to distance themselves from their patients), but was exactly opposite. That made me a bit leary about her credentials as a psychologist, those seemed to be more ornamental than professional now.
Temperature was soaring now. I didn't know about her, but I had definitely topped up my Vitamin D reserve for a week.
Sensing my uneasiness, she suggested that we should go and sit somewhere else.
"Where?"  I asked.
Let's go to my car.
We went.
Parked between two unattended Ranbaxy buses, right under a Neem tree, was a blue Nissan Sunny. She wasn't lying when she said her family had some serious money. The doors unlocked as she pressed a button on her car key. We took our respective seats; she behind the wheel, I beside her. She adjusted her seat to give herself more legspace. The car was sitting in shade, and there was a reflective sheet on the windshield; but the interiors were still hot. She turned on the ignition and switched on the A.C. With the ignition on the stereo system started thumping too; Sonic Youth's 'Superstar' echoed from the speakers. By the time it had ended, she had already reclined her seat, and lit a cigarette.
"Mind if I smoke?" She enquired.
"Not a bit." I said.
After a pause, Beck's 'Lost Cause' started playing. I upped the volume a bit.
"You seem to have a thing for sad songs." I asked, while helping myself with some water from the cupholder in her car.
"Yes, they remind me of the fences I should have mended long ago."
"And are now too rusted even to touch." She added wryly.

Oh! So she was a past baggage girl, a depleting tribe these days.
"You know what I miss the most about my days in the US?"
Privacy, I thought.
"The ocean."
"The ocean was always freezing. And huge. But on some days, when I had enough rum in my bloodstream. I wouldn't give a damn, I would step right into it. The first wave would erase my past. Next one, my future. There was just present; and it stretched as far as the horizon of the ocean. Swimming some hundred metres and back would last more than eternity. In that eternity, my extermities would start to numb, my heart would gasp for air. Every wave would feel like a punch in the ribs. Taking out more air than I could possibly inhale."
She said while puffing out rings of smoke.

"But I would feel invincible. No, not invincible, immortal." The moist gleam in her eyes, as she looked at me spoke of the happier times in her life. The ones she would be reminiscing about on her deathbed.

"I have got a photograph on my cellphone, let me show you. This is one of my favourite shots of the ocean." She said, as she opened the window, and got rid of the cigarette.
The deluge of memories had made her hands a bit shaky. Her phone dropped on the floor, under her car seat, as soon as she took it out.
"Can you pick it up please? I am not supposed to bend, I have got a bad back." She requested.
"Sure."
I bent towards her, my hands were groping on the floor. It was an awkward position. My lips were almost touching her thighs, her legs were flanking my groping arm and my eyes were at the level of her navel.
In a swift movement, her legs had trapped my scouting arm, and her hands pressed my head into the soft flesh of her belly, almost smothering me.
"Ocean was not the only thing I miss, I also miss someone, who was all ears to my bullshit."

Why do we do the things we do?
Because we are junkies, living from one dopamine fix to next.

As the saxophone melody of 'The road to the west' filled the car, her hands started ruffling my hair. She brought her lips to my neck, and licked. Sensing my calmness, she loosened her grip. I stayed put, digging my teeth into her flesh.
"Hmm. A biter, aren't you."

As I raised my head, our eyes met. The gleam in her eye was gone; replaced by something cold and clinical.
Didn't matter.
As soon as our lips met, I pressed the recliner of her seat, and adjusted my left knee that was digging in the gearbox.
She broke the kiss, and my hug.
"I am going to let you fuck me. Just one rule. Don't come on seatcover or on floor. Grab some tissues from the dashboard." She said while making way to the back seat. The windows were opaque enough to let us be carefree.
I obeyed. Grabbed two tissues from the dashboard, and stuffed them in my back pocket.
She got rid of her trousers. And panties. Quick as a cat.
"Come on quickly, I don't have much time. I need to get back to office soon." She reprimanded me.
I made way to the backseat from reclined driver's seat, and kissed her once more before she could remind me of our offices. They could burn in hell for all I cared.
I tried to undo her pullover, but she stopped me.
"Do whatever you want with my titts, but leave the clothes on." Even with the opacity of the windows, she didn't want to take any chances. If the troube came, she wanted to get her shit together as soon as possible.
I nodded. My left hand that held her bare waist, moved under her top and fondled her left tit. My face was dug in her right tit. I wanted to taste her flesh, but all I got was the taste of scented fabric. My right hand, that was pivotted under her lower back, made its way down, and pressed her cunt. She squirmed on the seat, tightening her leg hold on my hand. It felt good to be in control for a change. As my fingers went deeper, her hands pressed my upper back tightly.
"I like men with muscular backs." She commented.
"And I like horny girls." I thought but didn't bother to return the compliment.

On the stereo, the track switched to Led Zeppelin's 'Going to California.'

Her legs were wrapped around my hips, my bulge was grinding into her car seat. I wanted to get rid of my pants, but waited. As my legs found the traction of the car door, my bulge pressed deeper into the seat. I bit her right nipple through the fabric. A small moan escaped her.
"No biting." She said without much conviction in her voice.
Still I obeyed and let it go, but my fingers squeezed her left tit with vengance.
I made another attempt to remove her top. I thought that she would be too engrossed to care now, but she evaded my attempts even with her eyes closed.
Disappointed, I thought to make the best of what was available and proceeded downwards.
Down below, she was hairless to the point that I suspected that she had plucked each hair out. I started from her inner thighs, showering kisses so wet that my spit trickled down to her cunt even before I began licking her there. She was neither disgusted, nor she objected. Her legs tightened around my head like a vise grip, feet pointed till they were able to hook the door handle near the roof. Her back, that she claimed to be in a bad shape arched to accomodate as much of my tongue as possible. Such was the arch in her back, that I didn't even need to support her with my hands.
So what do idle hands do? Devil's work ofcourse.
They made their way back inside her top and started playing with her titts.
After a while, my tongue was tired of being stretched to its maximum length. I quit the tongue twirl, and tapped on her thigh to let go of my head. She did, commenting that my throat and face was all red, and that I should have told her if the grip was too tight.
"If I were dying, you would have known." I replied, while undoing my trousers.
Just before I was going to place them on the front seat, she took the tissues out from the back pocket.
"I will hold these for you. Please don't spoil my car." She smiled mischieviously. I too laughed, I couldn't help it. Even in a situation like this, she was aware of the propriety. The rules were sacred to her.
My first push was a bit too strong. Next one too. She banged her head on the door twice.
"Ever heard of the word 'Rhythm' asshole?" She asked, truly annoyed.
"Yes, but I am not too good at it." I conceded.
"Well, try then." She ordered.
As a precaution, I placed my right hand behind her head to cushion it, and mellowed my strokes down. My left hand tried its luck at her ass-hole.
"Don't touch me there, I feel disgusted." She yelled. I drew my hand back quickly and apologized.
"I think I should come on top, or else I will go to sleep." She said, the last part intentionally louder.

Hole's 'Gold dust woman' mocked me on her stereo.

I had to admit that she was much better than me when on top. Her left leg was partly bent on car's floor, her right one squatted beside my waist. I held her from her waist and tried to resonate with her humps, not even bothering to squeeze the titts now. To tell the truth, it was she who was doing most work. I was relaxed, my eyes were drooping, mind progressing to a zen like state where everything ceases to matter except the knot in your dick. She too was apparently reaching the same state. She bent down towards me, her hands swayed my head between her breasts, her teeth dug into my head trying hard not to give voice to her moans. Harder and harder. I hugged her tightly, my head pressing even further into her chest. The knot in my dick was too big to hold now. I thought I should warn her, but being smothered was way too pleasent. I couldn't control now and emptied myself inside her. The stickiness between her legs had made her strokes even more fluid. She went on for another minute before her teeth eased pressure on my head.

With erratic breath and a wry smile she declared "Men are such assholes when it comes to self control."
Then while cleaning herself, added an afterthought, "Atleast you didn't mess my car up."

I too, dressed myself up. It was time to leave. We both agreed that we were reasonably presentable for office standards, and most of the tell-tale signs were already taken care of.
She would come out of the car some 5 minutes after me. I thought I should say something, some meaningful parting words. All I uttered was the standard, "It was nice to meet you."

She looked at me as if I had just slapped her.
Seeing the expression on her face, I chuckled. She too took the comment tongue in cheek, patted my back, and declared 'Same here.'

Closing the door of her car, I could hear 'Somebody I used to know' playing on her stereo. We both knew that this was the last time we were to see each other, and we both looked away. I made my way back to office, where no one even knew I was gone for so long.

I still visited my walking spot same as before, with a faint glimmer that she might turn up, yet convincing myself that it would be best if she didn't. A junkie, who's addicted to a drug loses independence first and self-respect later. The one who's addicted to the 'high' has it easy. He doesn't bow his head to same junk everytime. So go away lady in black, hope you find your ocean again. Or an anchor. As for me, dopamine fixes aren't hard to come by, infact there's one waiting for me on my laptop right now....