Exhausted and barely able to stand, she leans against the counter. Her teeth minty fresh, she changes into her pajamas and loosens her now long hair out of its clasp. Brushes it down a few times, and shuffles over to the bed. Sinking under the covers, she reaches for the jar of cream. Eyes closing, she changes her mind, and shifts onto her side. Tucking the comforter under her chin, she closes her eyes.

She feels the bed shift under his weight. Making room, she turns over. He places his hand over her waist and snuggles in close. Each slip into the other’s curves, a practiced routine. Sleep forcing way into her mind, she resists as he slips his hand under her shirt.

No. Am tired. Not tonight.

I just want to feel you. Go back to sleep.” He whispers laying small nibbles at her neck.

No, really. Just let’s sleep.” Pushing his hand back firmly. “It’s been a long day. Am sore all over.

“Oh? How about a massage?

That was a rare offer. She’d have normally jumped at it, but tonight she wasn’t so sure. All she wanted was to sleep. She was up at 5.30 and had been running since. Through a foggy mind, she saw what would happen next. Without waiting for her murmur, he slips her shirt off.

She flips over, defeated.

His palms start at her shoulders and move down her blades, along her back. She sighs resignedly. His touch was softer than hers. Blessed with delicate and long boned fingers, she always had to push him to press down just a bit harder. She wasn’t made of crystal, she’d remind him. He’d smile and try. She’d smile and give up.

Tonight, it was different. She felt his hands move further. Past the softness of her sides, the curve of her back, the firm bones that widened her hips, his choppy breath following close behind. Rocking her senses into a slumber.

“Your back’s the span of my palm. You’ve lost weight!?”


A warmth grows in heat matching the breath. A familiar rhythm. Fingers locked in curls. Sweat pooling at her neck. A moan drenched in desire laced with longing.

She murmurs his name.

His fingers pull at her hair. His weight crushes her below with intensity. Arching her neck, she winces. Her eyes fly open.

Through clenched teeth he asks:

“”Who is he?”

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24 replies on “stupor”
  1. says: rads

    Praveen, Stitha: Thanks. But wait, there’s a sequel? :p

    Niyaz: 🙂

    Pavan: lol, Hope not! Though the basis of KANK was believable, the execution sucked, imho.

    gds: Hey! Nice seeing ya. lol 🙂

    Jira: You are doing me a favor blogrolling, thank you 🙂

    Nandita: Girl. I was just thinking of you last week. Don’t be so silent 🙂

    Prestid: Thank you 🙂

    sajni: lol@first. Thanks 🙂

  2. says: Saagar

    His eyes were fiery red, his fist was clenched, he could hardly control his temper, he raised his voice again and yelled “Who is he, God damn it, tell me who is he” She figured it was over, in a way she was relieved it was over, she doesnt have to lie anymore, she doesnt have to hide things anymore, she was ready for every thing, she was ready for his weirdest reaction, she slowly said, “Honey it is your other personality, I hate to tell you this but you have Multiple Personality Disorder, and it is the name of your other personality..”

  3. says: maxdavinci

    oooooo naaan veg!

    7yr olds like me aren’t permitted to read adult stuff like this! Looks like my net nanny filter isn’t wrkin prolly. gotta tell daddy!

    till then more like this plz!

  4. I have been reflecting on this topic and thought the world might be waiting with bated breath for just this comment. And then, perhaps not. The Narens of this world have to be prepared to take losses in the affection department on account of serious deficiency in sex appeal. What competition can we offer the likes of Salman Khan or Hrithik Roshan? Or even that six foot model who lives on the second floor? Still, the merest hint that your collaborator in the chromosomal exchange project might be imagining some other participant in the biological process than the one actually expending the energy is sufficient to, how can I put this delicately, attenuate the rigidity with which the process is carried out.

    This is definitely irrational. It is a known fact that the active participant of the collaboration is thinking of Mrs. Pitt or Mrs. Bacchhan(jr) or Ms. Anderson-Lee or anyone, infact, other than the current collaborator. Indeed, Mr. Bachhan (Jr.) is probably thinking of Mrs. Khan (prospective) while millions are actually envying him. But should Mrs. Bachhan (jr) dare to think of Mr. Khan (the shirtless one) and utter his name while the collaborative process is on, the firm would probably face liquidation.

    This rankles. I apologise for the lack of coherence but I’ve been meeting bureaucrats all week and it kind of alters one’s thought processess

  5. says: rads

    Naren: Thanks 🙂
    LOL@your 2nd comment. The execution of it is remarkable. 🙂
    So you think the world is skewed huh? Biased in fact. Well, Men just got sucked into admitting it openly. Therein lies the difference with rest of the factors remaining equal 😛

    AMAd: I guess! 🙂

    Max: Guy surviving of salads all days is suddenly liking meat eh? 😛
    Check the rest of the fables if you want more.

    Priya: 🙂

    Saagar: hehe, nice alternate ending 😉

    Baph: Thank you 🙂

  6. says: terri

    Is this why mother said I should name my children after the gods? A “Rama, Rama!” or a “Krishna, Krishna!” uttered in the heat of the moment cannot be misconstrued.

  7. says: nikhil

    That was erotic and dark.
    You’ve described what happens in every bedroom. Save the last line. 🙂

    This is your best so far. I like it.

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