The moment I saw my reflection in the mirror running hands all over that snug fit of a red dress, I began fantasizing the course that night would eventually and inevitably take: an aimless stroll on the beach, lascivious eyes moving with every step on the sand, salivating mouths of men too stunned to speak. The people I had come with would be way too drunk to care, and I way too emboldened to be mindful about my ways, spirits sloshing in my blood.
It was the end of a year. My friends and I had decided to be by the beach, nestled in a room overlooking the sea. One night of endless drinking led to another and our bodies merged, jumping and shouting to an endless blend of known and unheard of music. My reflection was now alive, moving and filling the spaces in that borrowed red dress; lips slathered with an even darker shade. Ruby red, I was reminded throughout the evening. Golden hoop earrings, also borrowed, dangled from my earlobes, swaying to their own rhythm as our sweaty bodies slid against the strangers’ in that overcrowded club. A faint tuft of hair had crept out in the space between the lumpy mounds on my chest, a patchy beard had sprouted along my jawline. Before heading out, I had shaved it all off.
A few minutes after midnight, the madness came to an end and the crowd was asked, repeatedly, to leave. Before we could be forcibly dragged out, we found ourselves wobbling through miniscule mounds of sand, making our way through broken glass, empty plastic bottles and coarse rocks. Three vacant beach-chairs called out to us, luminescent in the midnight sky sprinkled with moonlight. Water from the sea, mixed with the sand from the beach had formed indiscernible patterns on their surfaces. A thick coat of white paint had formed another layer on their planks, peeling off in places. We accepted this invitation greedily, stretching out our sore limbs on the wet, muddy wood.
The midnight breeze immediately lulled us into sleep, but it wasn’t long after that I found myself staring into the endlessness above. Lifting myself from the chair, I wondered which direction to head to. I looked at my phone. 1 A.M. To my right, beyond the sleeping bodies, the beach ran to distant lights, its sandy shore glimmering in parts from the lights of the huts that ran with it. I decided to walk.
The dress which was almost blood red indoors, had turned a deep black in the midnight sky. I pulled it down from the waist just enough to bare the outline of my bulbous chest peeking through the deep neckline. Crossing my arms tightly around my waist, I began walking. A group of men had sat themselves on the sand not very far from the water. They were sipping from beer bottles, talking amongst themselves, singing, throwing their voices as far as they could travel, into the sea, up into the sky. As I prepared to walk past them, I expected to be stared at or, at least, noticed. Nothing. The men remained engaged amongst themselves, ignoring my presence as if an innocuous ghost had walked past. I scowled and moved ahead.
Beams of light spilled onto the brittle sand, forming hazy pillars in shadows. A few men lurked in the dark, away from each other. I was immediately nervous. I touched the smooth skin between the tapering neckline and continued walking, the tips of my cold fingers mimicking my racing heart. A few stares. I was oddly satisfied. I might have even smiled to myself, face down. There was a spring in my step and I was in the dark again.
Turning towards the sea, I filled my ears with the sound of the waves and my eyes with the seamless blend of sea and sky. I stepped closer to the water, its wet layers slapping my feet as my toes and heels broke their ranks. From what seemed like nowhere, a man apparated by my side and silently looked into the water. For a while, he just stood there, as if to lend this midnight co-watching of the sea experience a matter-of-fact flavour.
Aap kahan se hain, he eventually asked.
I turned my face towards him, his eyes still at the water. He had the face of a middle-aged man, lined with worry. He held his hands at the back, as if to keep them from trembling. Before I could answer, he hurriedly spilled his details.
Myself Atul Srivastava from Pune.
Main Lucknow se hun, I said.
Oh achha. Family ke saath?
Nahi, with friends.
A few minutes of silence. He shifted closer, still staring into the water. I could hear his breath as clearly as the crashing waves. Without waiting for him to break the silence, I resumed.
Are you here with family?
Yes.
Just then, he turned his face towards me. There was a hint of a smile which lasted a few seconds. Without saying a word, he stared blankly, taking what stood before him all in. A few minutes passed before he opened his mouth.
Achha main chalta hun, accha laga aapse milke.
As absurdly as he had appeared, so did he vanish. My eyes followed his disappearing figure making its way into an arched gateway, one of many that lined the beach.
I stood rooted to my spot for a while. Had it suddenly become all too real for him? To talk to another man in the middle of the night under the moonlit sky, staring into the sea? I turned my back to the water and retraced my steps. The men who hadn’t lifted their eyes earlier had disappeared too. The white beach-chairs were vacant but for one at the far end of the row where a man sat, fidgeting with his phone, having trouble finding a comfortable position in the chair. I slumped on the chair next to him, proceeding to lie down in a few minutes.
I don’t remember how much time had passed before I opened my eyes to realize that one of the earrings was missing from my right ear. I searched the chair in the dark. Lighting up my phone-torch, I looked under the chair and in the sand nearby but in vain. The man on the chair fidgeted even more and let out an irritated groan.
Can you shut that light, he screamed.
I’m just trying to find something, I said. What an asshole, I murmured.
After my fingers had dug into and sifted through every grain of sand, I gave up. I tried lying down but suddenly felt the discomfort of a wet, muddy chair. The man next to me seemed equally restless, if not more. I could hear his body shifting endlessly, at times his palms forcefully striking the white planks of the chair. I don’t know what took hold of me when I turned towards him.
Do you need help with something?
In a state of uncalled-for wonder, he looked at me as if he had chanced upon a ghost.
Can you please mind your own business?
Whatever, I grumbled under my breath and looked the other way. My disgruntlement must have been too loud.
There’s no need to go ‘ugh’; you can leave if you want to, he blurted.
My patience had reached its brim, but not yet run its full course. I picked myself up and looked at him. He too was standing. But for a pair of beach shorts, his body was bared to the midnight sky. Tiny flecks of hair dotted his lean body, and his long unkempt hair blew in the wind. His beard was angled to his jawline, the only visibly manicured patch of hair on his body. He began walking towards me. I tiptoed back, partially cursing my stars and partially myself for having landed in front of a stranger threateningly walking towards me. I tripped over a jagged piece of rock and fell into the sand. My palms, the folds of the dress and my shoes were one with the beach.
It was at that moment his phone beeped. He gave it one long look, another at my fallen figure and screamed. Howled, rather. He wasn’t looking at me anymore. I wasn’t sure what or who he was even looking at. I was too stunned to be inquisitive, too afraid to speak. He had dropped his knees to the sand, the howling having given way to something manic. Perplexed, afraid and exhausted in equal measure, I got up and ran. I ran till I was near my room, till I could feel my heart in my mouth, till I was sure I couldn’t hear him tearing himself apart over something I had no knowledge of.
By the time I had calmed myself down by generously rubbing my cold and grainy palms all over my face and neck, I realized the nakedness of both my ears. The other earring was missing too, probably buried in the sand with its sibling, witnessing the still-unfolding madness of the stranger on the beach.
~
Wait outside the main gate of the resort, I’ll be there in five minutes, read his text.
It had been fifteen. I had walked the narrow cobbled path between the main gate and the road countless times, questioning my decision to be at this deserted spot at 3 A.M., looking at my phone screen and waiting for the distance between him and me on the screen to slim down to the smallest possible number. It had remained unchanged for the past fifteen minutes. The road was bathed in a mix of yellow, orange and white from the streetlights and nothing disturbed that scenery but for a slight breeze.
I had almost made my mind to head back, when I heard the slow rumble of a vehicle. I moved ahead, but what I now saw as a black motorbike sped past me. Disappointed, I turned my back to the road and started walking towards the entrance gate of the resort. I must have taken only two or three steps when I heard the sound from the motorbike suddenly slow down and speed up again. In a few seconds, a voice over the noise of the engine that slowly came to a halt.
Is that you?
Turning back, I saw a man covered with a windcheater on top and thin, almost paper-like shorts below. His face was topped with a flimsy helmet that barely fit his head, its two sides loosely held by a limp strap. He was seated on the motorbike, his hands on its handles. I moved closer to see his face in the glow of the streetlights. It was him.
Yeah, that’s me. What took you so long?
He turned the engine off, put his bike on its stand and leaned against it.
Sorry, man. My friend called me when I was on my way. He and his girlfriend had had a big fight and he was crying to me. Poor guy.
His mouth moved in a way that betrayed any emotion from his eyes. He had taken off his helmet and his head was covered with hair cropped to his scalp. His ears were big and his nose sharp and the skin on his neck moved at an alarming speed when he spoke.
No worries. Shall we go? Do you know a spot? I asked.
He smiled. This time, both his eyes and mouth moved. I know exactly where I want to fuck you, he declared.
Flushed, I sat behind him and his motorbike sped past the tall coconut trees lining the narrow roads, the wind at once slapping my face and entering the dress that I was still wearing. I inched closer to him and held him by the waist. He slid back and led my right hand around his waist, then left. Hold tight, he screamed over the speeding wind.
We had left the metaled road and were now on a muddy lane, rocks protruding erratically from the earth. After a few minutes of uncontrollable lurching, his bike halted near a tree and we got down. He led the way. The trees had formed a canopy over that rough lane and at a distance a clearing was visible, beyond which tiny, yellow spots twinkled from a row of distant houses. He had stopped walking and pointed to a spot to his right. When I made my way to him, I saw the road ended there. We were at one edge of the clearing. He had moved to the spot, leaning against the bark of a tree.
As I moved closer to his figure, I saw his shorts had made their way down to his ankles, only his muddy shoes visible under the crumpled fabric. He seemed to have been way too prepared for the occasion as nothing separated his now-crumpled shorts and his semi-erection. As I was inches away from him, he pulled me close and rubbed against the coarse fabric of the dress. He had soon pulled down the thin red straps from my shoulders, the dress cascading down the length of my shaven chest and my not-so-shaven legs. His lips made their way down my now-bare shoulder blades, arms and the tips of my fingers. His face was near my crotch before he pulled himself up again. I moved my lips closer to his, but he jerked them away, his face towards the clearing.
I don’t do that.
In an act of consolation, he led my hands to inside his buttoned shirt. They gradually made their way down, the buttons unfastening under the movement. His skin was smooth and his nipples were stiff. His taut chest was now dotted with tiny protrusions. The windcheater lay abandoned on the mud below and the shirt too found its way there in a while. We were now completely wrapped in each other’s arms.
When he had pulled out and thrown the drooping condom to one side of the lane, I swiped the sweat off my chest with a paper napkin he somehow found in his shorts which were now tightly wrapped around his waist. Soon, we were on his bike, the ride back seemed smoother than before. The cobbled pathway outside the resort was no longer deserted. A security guard was now in a makeshift cabin, eyes wide shut, lips parted just enough to let out a whirring breath.
As I disembarked from his bike and he turned the engine off, I asked if he wanted to come in for tea/coffee/drink/water.
No, man. I gotta go home. My girlfriend’s pregnant and she’s been texting me non-stop.
I looked at his nonplussed face, his hands fidgeting with his windcheater which had been unzipped to his chest, lips puckered to let out a whistling tune. I waved an absurd goodbye and started making my way to the entrance gate when I suddenly stopped, turned and retraced my steps.
Sorry, I almost forgot.
Retrieving my wallet from a tiny pocket in the dress, I dipped my fingers in it and handed him an agreed-upon amount of cash.
Thank you.
Grinning, he pocketed the cash and revved up his bike. Before the blaring noise had occupied every corner of our last moment together, he screamed with his teeth still showing.
Thanks, man. Have a happy new year.
***
(This is an attempt at fiction; rather a mix of fiction and exaggerated fact!)
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