Thursday, June 27, 2013

Iniquitous Instincts

This Great White Hunter was on safari in Africa. He was amazed, traveling through the jungle that he heard drums all the time. He mentioned this to his native guide, who told him "B'wana, when drums stop, it's very bad..."
So he's walking through the jungle with his guide and bearers the next day, and the drums stop. All the bearers start muttering and the guide says "when drums stop, it's very bad!"
So the Great White Hunter says, "why is it so bad when the drums stop?"

"Because, Bwana, then the Bass solo starts!"

Walter's joke. (reference not found)

 So like i hadn't touched a girl in like almost three months now. And been so horny that it's not even funny anymore. And other day i hugged this lovely colleague of mine as she just had a breakup and stuff. And her skin was so smooth that it gave me tingles all over. Not a boner, tingles. Like i hug her all the time but she wasn't single then and i wasn't so, you know, horny i guess.

So Borges said that when a man desires a woman he has to be with her to get her out of his mind. To overcome the obsession. I think that is the easy part. At least it has been for me. But the difficult part is the afterwards. I mean, the mess and the cleaning up. It's terrible. So for a while the endless cleavage meant nothing. No woman was pretty enough or smart enough. It was hell. The beast was rendered impotent. Each time i flirted with a girl, i was half hoping that this shouldn't go any further than this evening. The bass solo had started. And it was a long bass solo.

But then nothing remains the same. We evolve. We modify our needs. Dostoevesky says that 'Man grows used to everything, the scoundrel' and Tolstoy opines that 'there are no conditions to which a man can't get accustomed to.' I have become sort of notorious at work that i don't even hang out with men. My excuse is that they talk politics and are no fun to look at. But i really didn't have a single date for a really long while.

But then i did. And she came to my place. She is a tall slim redhead. Tender as hell. And i loved her tiny neck and her she-fuzz free smooth back. My hands looked huge against her face. And i told her that i am a very shy guy and she laughed at me. And i have been shy lately. And then i kissed her. Her lips were full as the metaphorical peaches. And her breath was mint, probably it was the gum, but i loved it anyway.

We didn't talk much and made out endlessly. No matter how beautiful each woman is, and how she flirts, loves, caresses or cums in her own peculiar little way, once you have been with enough, the subtleties are gone. The fingers don't differentiate the curves along which they are running, the rooms are not intimate anymore, dark corners don't keep secrets anymore and everything just seethes down. The voice of a particular woman no longer belongs to her. Everything just fuzzifies itself into a emotionless chasm of good time. And you get over anything or anyone you want to.

The next day late at night, there was a pleasant summer breeze blowing and I was sitting in a garden out of the city drinking and smoking with friends. I knew that my father or his fathers hadn't been to this place. They hadn't walked on these roads. Yet i felt that they somehow they were connected to this place and these roads. I felt they understood me. After all it is their madness that i carry in my blood. They must have choked with the same grief somewhere in a time long gone in a city where i am yet to acquaint pain. I have to bear their name and another name has to live through me.

I shook my head. I drank to my survival instincts which i have started to resent just a tiny bit. But of course one has to serve the purpose one is supposed to. Awesome guitar solo commences.


  1. but is there ever an urge strong enough, that particular voice you grow fond of that doesn't let you move on?

  2. lol never. I'm on tonight and my hips don't lie. And stuff.
    time for guitar solo, girl.