The summer is beginning to make its impact. The scorching heat of the day had almost sapped the energy and as the night sets in, the heat takes a toll; it turns into a silken seducer. The shower is doing the magic; the trickling water carves the mood to dance.
The guiding rules of sensuality initiate my desires and I accept the consenting embrace and then, we owe each other an erotic explanation to enact in playful mood. While enacting we are not alone, the credible love facilitates the love making. The orchestrating love with sensuality maintains the longevity and that’s when we say; 'Oh! It’s so fulfilling.' Thereafter too, we hear the chimes of heart. It is not ritual, we hold each other and she places her head on my chest and I caress her back and that’s how the love longs.
This is not a freaking explanation of love making and if anyone wishes to write off this as my fantasy, then surely, I owe an explanation to them. Let me explain-With all honesty I cannot cosmetically color my emotions to conceal and to me that’s not a love. Any two consummating bodies in the absence of love is just a macabre display of arrogating lust, it comes as an itch and it goes; rather it never lasts. My love is not transgressing into the life, where love making is only taken as ritual. Many a time drifting temptations failed me but at the cost of my diminution only in my own eyes. It is so painful to live with fake emotions. We just cannot pretend. Love making is not a transient exploration and if it is so then it is only subservient to itching desires.
To supplement my views, I wish to quote a dialog from a movie and it’s like this: heroine says that, “I just want to see how it feels to make love to someone I am not in love with.” At this the heroine was asked, “How does it feel?” She replies, “Sort of Empty.”