Aasha Ganga - Ganges of the Sy

This story is set in India, and I've tried to incorporate Indian style of writing, which involves rich imagery. If it hasn't worked out well, it's the shortcomings of my writing, rather than the style itself. It's almost a true story, and hope you enjoy it. Rate and comment.

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The rhythmic rumble of thunder rolls into my dorm room bringing with it a thick wet soil perfume. Outside the window, the gray of the sky is thickening, the atmosphere heavy with moisture. The South West Monsoon had hit the southern coast of Kerala, and the strong seasonal moisture laden winds were doing their best to intensify an already grim evening. The weather usually gets terrible in these southern parts of India during this time of the year. The college authorities being well aware of this, scheduled the semester break before the monsoon actually hit the state, which by convention would be in about three days.

The backdrop of the scene was the lonely, eerie Nilgiri, which when translated from the local tongue, mean The Blue Hills. These hills are a stretch of unexplored forest covered land, in whose crisscrossed maze of trees, cliffs and falls, ancient clouds seem to have gotten lost and have never found their way out. The forests are almost completely un-inhabited, except on the fringes where considerable civilization had been set up over the years. This college was set up in one such small town, and fifty odd years hence, I find myself sprawled on the floor of one of its dorm rooms.

The half opened window lets in a small gust of wind, sprinkling some fresh droplets on to my bed. I sit on the floor resting my back against the bed. It had been a tiring few days. My final year of college would be coming to an end soon. The past few days I had spent cleaning up my room and my emotions. I'd been a mess for a while now. Apart from making decisions about my future, I still wasn't over the thought of parting with all my safe comfort zones that I'd built and those non-comfort zones that had built me.

I had been having a rough couple of nights, and the lack of sleep did not help at the moment. It's become a usual thing now, these rough nights. They usually leave me exhausted and mentally vulnerable. It started a year ago, and the nights then were unbearable. They would leave me emotionally sick, felt like a void sucking out my thin sanity. Now, I've gone through this long enough that the remainder of the night is just a well rehearsed formality. There's the detached me that grapples with layers of transient feelings. So I usually just close my eyes and contemplate. Then comes the self therapy, followed by finding the wrong distraction, and then porn, and then the right distraction. Then despair. And then at half past 4, sleep.

I close my eyes and allow myself to wander into my thoughts. This is usually the time I indulge in some mental pleasures. Playing games with age old wounds, ripping off the band aid and sticking it back just before the pain kicks in. God bless masochism. I notice how some of my most guarded, heavily fortified emotions spill off from weathered cracks of my sub conscious during these times and sometimes when I don't stick the band aid back quick enough, they flood into my memory. These borderline nightmares transform into melancholia when I wake up from this indulgence. It then transforms into something that feels like foreshadow of nostalgia. Like me warning myself of losing something, or someone, before I actually lose something, or someone.

The latest nightmare had a shadow, and the shadow, a face. Midnight black hair and brownish-black eyes. Black eyes, with a perennial white gleam to them, like they were a universe in themselves that housed unborn stars. As much as I'd like to believe that the face was that of a just another crush, which would eventually get lost in the folds of memory, it would be a poorly concealed lie. The other crushes, well, they'd just be a one night stand in my head and one awkward conversation outside it. But, he stayed. In my head. He stayed right from those anxiety ridden days, where he and his slim frame galloped around me, and continued doing so all through the past two years. It might seem like fairy tale material and stuff but in reality he'd just turned into an unhealthy obsession.

I'm not completely sure how it had turned into one. It started as a slight crush a year ago after a football night when I'd first met him. I had "met him" before, but football is unlike any other introduction. His tall frame and perfect hair that he always spiked upwards did not really strike me at first. It was only about forty minutes into the game, he ran pressing the defense up the field and fell down exhausted. I went to check in on him and stood dumbstruck at his masculine beauty. The part of me that was still aware of reality stretched out a hand, for him to pull himself. He did. And thereby hangs a tale.

It was a moment to remember. It wasn't just the cute guy standing amidst dark mountains on a small football turf, but the way my fears zoned out for a moment, like they decided to take a break. I guess that was it. That was it, cause I felt like I saw the alternate self of mine in him. The person who didn't screw up in love, and then didn't go into a spiral of mental trauma. And at this point, I'm left to conclude that all we ever seek is parts of our own selves that have by design of fate (flaw in the law of nature I call it), have eluded us. And that the parts that happen to be in people like him makes me want to make out wildly with them. *Sigh*. Well, from then on, I've made awkward forced conversations, absent-mindedly hit like on random Instagram photos (Of course I was hunting for that shirtless picture that I found out he posted), pushed my glace down his t-shirt when he bent down to pick up the ball, and well two years have passed, and the feeling, still although hidden behind all the other things that I've learnt to hide, was threatening to burst through. Living on the edge here, any push and I might just fall into something that have greater depth of feelings.

The thoughts had drifted into the evening and I felt blood now rushing into all parts of my body. Nightfall now almost imminent, with the moon making a rare appearance, peeking through the thick cloud cover. My hand reaches into my shorts and feels my dick responding to my emotional rush. I need a release before these emotions took over another night. I rip open my band aid little more this time, allowing pent up pain and pleasure to pour into me. Pent up fantasies that I had pushed into the background to be saved from touch, and more importantly memory. I pull my shorts off me and give my dick a little jerk.

I take a deep breath and let fantasy take over me. Fantasy of him walking into my room, on a night like this. He would enter, wearing a football jersey on his torso, and comfort on his sleeve. His frame, lean and flawless. Moonlight illuminating his body as his face is covered in darkness. He would look me in the eyes, and I'd look away, burying my knees in the folds of my blanket.

Fantasy of how he'd pull me close, and kiss me. His scent numbing me. Of the pain, of loss, of losing him. Goosebumps, as my hands trace the trail left by his shirt as it is lifted over his chest, and off his shoulder. He would grab my waist as he buries his face down my neck, and then my chest. Fantasy of slipping my trembling hand into his waistband, and then slowing down. Tracing the flesh with my fingertips till I found his cock. To taste his love, as his hands grip on to the back of my neck. Of how his entire frame would hover over me, as he enters me. The warmth of flesh kindling passions, fueled by the chill of the night, as the intensity of emotions turns embers to flames inside me. His thick cock probing inside me, leaking pre-cum into my channels.

Fantasy of him leaning over me, to kiss me, as his skin rests on mine. His thrusts get harder, as his breathing gets heavy. My hands now tightly around him, as I let out a punctuated sigh. I can feel my climax as I run my fingers down his back. He lifts his head, and I see straight into his eyes. Eyes that disarm me, as my breath is caught in the moment, the twinkle in his eyes could very well be a part of the moon's reflection. I let out a voiceless scream as I let go of my will, and come all over my stomach, feeling him empty his juices deep inside me.

I feel my hand covered in cum, as I open my eyes. I feel emotionally drenched. I reach out for my shorts to wipe myself off. The melancholia that usually accompanies such moments grips me. I pull the blanket off my bed and curl into it on the floor. I take all the broken pieces of myself and tuck it into my chest in my blanket. I might probably never tell him how much I feel, or how much he means to me, but hey, I will be getting a good night sleep today.