Hello there, I’ve had requests to write about sex, drugs, and rock and roll from readers who are pining away for some hot stuff. And I’ve decided I must not disappoint my readers.
Well the snag however is that I don’t do drugs. I hate that I’m-losing-all-control-and-seeing-whiskers-on-the-bottle kind of a high or even watching graphics play on in front of my eyes to the beat of Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds. I don’t do drugs. Unless you count Spasmo-proxyvon, though it’s more mot juste to say that Spasmo does me in, so much so that I’ve coined the verb spasmoed to mean floating and loving the world and saying, “hello there, ah yes, yes, it’s all wonderful,” and falling asleep.
As to rock and roll, well what I know about rock and roll is what every lover of rock and roll knows and may be a little less considering as I am so hopeless with names. To cite an instance, I love the voice of the lead when he says “So slide over here and give me a moment; your moves are so raw…” in Need you Tonite and I know of course that he belonged to INXS when alive; but I’ll be blowed if I know his name.
And so that leaves us with sex. I’ve always maintained that doing it is tons better than anything else, which is true of course. Which is also why I’m not a huge fan of watching porn. It doesn’t do me. Because really, it doesn’t do me. Reading erotica on the other hand, is something I can enjoy given the right stimulation. (I’m not deliberately being clever with words; it’s just coming that way. There, I’ve done it again.) With reading, you use your imagination and construct the scene and well, that’s a bit of a turn on.
But of course you don’t want to broaden your mind with my sexual titillations.
So here’s a debate that’s been raging in my head since yesterday. It’s resolved most satisfactorily in mine, actually. But let me tell you about it.
To tell you the story, we have many young people where we work and since we are far removed from civilization, social life that’s exclusive of work life is rather a myth. And in true Rati’s dictum style, (though my colleagues don’t know Rati and care little for her dictum) we end up doing what we get – our colleagues.
And a little bit of that love spills over and you find couples holding hands, gazing lovingly at each other under the low-strung umbrellas in Coffee Day, (And this was a shocker to someone on the bulletin board) even clasping each other by their waists and walking around campus.
Apparently, and here is where everyone blustered rather much, some have even begun necking on the way home in the company bus when they are not riding on the same bicycle. Ooo la la. And the French would approve.
And everyone’s shocked and making clucking noises which is all fine, really, because how on earth would anyone want to display one’s sex life to dead fishes of the sort we have at my place of work! You might do some of the more promising ones, yes, but, the general populace is best avoided like one’s cousins. I mean, you have to have more sense than to get frisky in front of colleagues. It just won’t do. But that is just my view. And I realized with a pang yesterday that I’m rather uncomfortable with PDA myself. Ouch, that still hurts. Perhaps I’ve growed up or narrowed down, I don’t know what.
So anyway, that got me thinking a bit and I was wondering where would lovers go if the world disapproves of a little honest PDA? Hotel rooms are all fine and nice when you want to get laid and generally break beds, but you don’t want to do that all the time.
Like this one gent was writing in response to all this hulla balloo, Bangalore is full of beautiful places where you can do your business. Certainly, you can, my friend, but at what time? If I’m at work from say 8 in the morning to 9 in the night, what good is it to me, if the entire world is outside my workplace?
So then say, I want a reassuring touch here, and a loving caress there, and what luck, my lover shares my cabin space, how do I resist? I can’t jolly well book a hotel room for a few stolen kisses, now, can I? And parks are full of policemen…
Yes, it reminded me of Pablo Neruda and about what a fuss there is about lovers when really the man and his woman have no option but to full tilt, and climax on the bicycle.
Poor fellows, indeed, there really is no place for lovers.