I sit cross legged on the rooftop of some guesthouse that I’m staying in, by the littered, but swimmable beach (standards slide sometimes) in Northern Tamil Nadu. It’s 11PM and it’s a night of the full moon. Clouds laze pass the bright wet cork, creating a nebulous glow. White light illuminates my face as I type on my iPad. Hours ago I say goodbye to some dude that I felt so strongly for, but wasn’t really reciprocated, so I write to get this shit on paper.
A lot things have happened on rooftops while I’ve been away. Playing guitar with a new best friend on a rooftop in Nepal, painting a new hostel a beautiful shade of light blue in Morocco, hauling the mattress up and watching Broke Back Mountain with a Belgian guy (in Nepal too), hooking up on the hostel rooftop in Manila, and now, documenting the newly realised sadness that being with someone who is probably straight has in the South of India.
We meet on a beach on the east coast of India. I cycled from my hotel in the heavy Tamil Nadu heat, and couldn’t wait to jump in the water. I lock my bike, pass vendors selling Barbecued crab, and keep my shoes on as I walk in to the beach. I’ve gotten used to the fact that the majority of people at the beach are fully clothed, men wearing long pants and shirts, women too, or in Saris. I leave my shit on the beach strip off to my boxer briefs, feel by bare feet momentarily scorched by the hot sand, and jumped in the crisp, cool water. There was a strong sweeping undercurrent and the waves were thrashing, the forces of Mother Nature at its finest.
He’s already in the water when I dive in. When your in the water it becomes more apparent that you are experiencing a similar set of circumstances to your fellow human beings. Dealing with the effects of the wind and the waves. It’s the sea creating empathy. He grins at me, and I smile back and do the Indian side wobble that I think I’ve perfected, but perhaps use too often. Then a wave crashes in to my face while my eyes still open.
I’m enveloped in water, letting worries slide like water off a ducks back. I manage to catch a few waves. He glances a few more times but don’t exchange more than this. I walk out of the ocean, but poisition myself on darker wet sand. I’m quickly exhausted, and breathing heavily. Physically exerting yourself increases the tidal volume of air in your lungs, put simply more new gas is exchanged in your lungs. So I lit a cigarette even though I know it’s shit for your health. Well looking back if I didn’t, we may have not actually met or maybe we would’ve who even knows?
He walks out of the ocean, in seemingly no rush, and I can’t help but like ogle. I remember seeing his massive package in his dark blue Jockey briefs bouncing around. His body was wet with the sea, his biceps were tight, and his pecs a little defined, and he had sexy snail trail. He had short curly hair, with the sides and back buzzed. “Fuck,” I thought. He comes towards me and gestures for a cigarette. I ask where he’s from, and he didn’t look South Indian. He says he’s from the north and found himself a job working at some resort.
We talk for a bit, and he says he’s pretty new to the area, and just finished his first week at work. I tell him about my plan to cycle to Goa. I try not to look at his package too much but it’s hard. Looking back now, he probably would’ve noticed. He asks if I smoke ganja, thinking he’ll sell some. He says come to the beach tonight at 11 and we’ll smoke then.
I leave my place at 10:30PM, and wait a bit and he turns up. He comes wearing a bob Marley singlet and some long shorts, and we walk to the beach. It’s quiet now. He rolls us a joint using the leaf of a beedi. We sit on the beach then spend 30 minutes trying to find a matchbox. We eventually find one. He kind of grabs and adjusts his package a bit and I end up sucking his cock for some time until I realised he probably wasn’t going to cum. I asked whether he wanted to go back to mine, and I try cycling with him on the rear rack to but my pannier bags are not agreeable and fuck up and get caught in the spokes and he just goes back to his.
A couple of days later we go to the beach again we strip down to our and jocks we jumped into the waves. This is how a lot of men swim in the south of India, just in undies, either that or with jeans and a singlet (not joking) and button up shirt. This time he sits in my rear rack and I cycle us back to my place. I play music from my phone while he drums on my back, as we cycle down the seaside.
I realise an additional 65kg on the rear rack probably increases the time it takes to cycle by half. We’re back at mine, sit in incredible air con and he asks if I want to suck his cock I say sure. He cums a fuckload, and when I asked when he last came he says maybe a week. I know if I hadn’t cum in at least two weeks I’d be bragging about it with the guy I’m with, hinting at the sexual energy that I’ve built, and my stellar strength of mind. I realised though this dude works 6 days a week, and with odd hours. So he probably actually just didn’t have time to wank. Later on I was curious, thinking that this dude does not reciprocate, or even want his nipples played with. I ask him how many guys has he been with and he says “your the first”. I believe him.
There’s this odd satisfaction that I think I was meant to feel about having had sexual contact with a guy who thus far only had sex with girls. But in reality it was just sucking cock, no reciprocation, but part of me was so satisfied with me satisfying his dude. Seeing his facial expressions, and how he’d respond to my stimulus. I was still getting pleasure right?
Traveling down the coast, my next stop was another coastal town that is kind of a tourist trap. It’s his day off and he comes off the bus with a baggie he bought from Marina Beach in Chennai. We swim at the beach, we smoke a big J, and listen to Australian hip hop in my dark guesthouse room, the tired fan whirring overhead. He complained of a back problem so I give him a massage. He was face down on the bed, and I was there, in the moment feeling areas in which he was tense and manipulating his muscles to relax.
I change my pressure in response to his non verbals. I give him a proper massage then try massaging near his ass, inner thighs and perineum and when I do he tenses. I’m certain that regardless of sexual orientation guys can still enjoy this shit. He doesn’t want any of it, so I stop trying to expand his erogenous zone, and we head out in a half daze, instead, to find food. It felt like we walked for 2 hours, first to the beach where we took a million photos, then next trying to decide where to eat amongst all these touristy, expensive restaurants. I wanted ice cream and we ate expensive gelato because that was the closest place to eat something cold and all I wanted to do was just to sit down. Something in the cold bought me back to my senses.
We go back to the guesthouse and meet the girl staying next to me, a rotund Japanese girl next door who within two sentences tells us she is a dental hygienist. She’s drinking a kingfisher. He seems to be enarmoured by her and we have a chat with her, he goes on about how much he likes slinky eyes and “healthy” bodies.
We smoke again, and nothing really seems to be happening. Before he goes, he pulls his shorts down and gets his cock out, like he knows that I’d suck him off. Half of me really didn’t want to, the other half was like salivating. I really wasn’t much of a cocksucker until I met this dude. I give him a blowjob that really in the end didn’t give me much pleasure at all. He cums, and I eat the dates that I bought for fast energy while cycling to wash my mouth out. It leaves a sickly residue in my mouth. He says he needs to go as he has work tomorrow at 7, fair enough it’s like 9 anyway and I just want to sleep.
We waited and drank sugary tea, while waiting for his bus to go. Then he misses one bus and we spend like an hour waiting not really talking, I should’ve just left. His bus turns up and and I give him a half hug and some weird form of handshake. The last thing he said to me was “Send me those photos on whatsapp”. Nothing about having a safe journey or thanks or anything. And that was it, he was off. I felt kinda like this dude just used me.
So after writing this I’ve come to the conclusion that:
- Sex with ‘straight’ men tends to be one sided, with one receiving and little giving. This may suit some, but for me lacks any intimacy. This can happen on a physical and emotional level.
- Some men have sex with other men just because they can’t have sex with a woman, and a man is the next best thing. It’s not you necessarily that is turning this person on, it’s purely the physical stimulus you provide. This may suit some who though who is turned on by this.
- I am sometimes reeled in by dudes that I find incredibly attractive, my mind wasn’t balanced when I met this dude it was just super horny.
PS: I use the term straight loosely.
The full moon is still out, but I’ve moved back to my room, because the mosquitoes were biting my feet like crazy. I’m lying down in the same spot where I massaged this dude earlier in the day. I feel somehow better after writing this shit down, and impressed that I actually wrote everything down in one go. And I realised the ability to write is always there, sometimes hiding in your capacity to be honest. It’s the wee minutes of the of new day, and for now, sleep awaits me.