Indian Gay Erotica: Godhuli: 1

Indian Gay Erotica: Godhuli: 1

Indian Gay Erotica: Rana wondered to himself. Or rather, simply resumed a long train of a thought process he had been working up since he found all this time to spend the days all by himself. Does he, as a human being, need to belong to a sense of a civilization? Is it a default state of being as a whole for the entire human race?

If not so, then why do the lone wolves always have to work so hard to stake a claim upon this land which they are anyway entitled to by simply being born upon it? Why do they have to constantly remind the system that just because they refuse to be a part of the system, that does not make their existence, invisible or indispensable?

Rana’s train of thought was gradually interrupted as his attention unwillingly woke up to Heera and Moti barking in a far off distance. He got up from his usual seat at the raised foundational threshold of the small self-built home, to stare far into the fields to locate what’s going on. The yield this year looked promising as waving tones of ochre brown swam through the wheat fields.

His expansive farm was located in a strange space. This was probably officially the last stretch of what they call the plains. Right ahead of his farm on the other end were jungles that grow dense pretty quickly as they move into a hillier topography. And due to a lazy rolling slope in the land he could see his entire farm when he stood right outside the door of his house.

He could see some movement at the far end of the farm, focusing upon which he could tell that, that’s where the dogs were barking. It’s usually some wild creature from the jungle that wanders into the farm which these two co-alphas decide to toy around with, just so that they can get Rana to come and engage with them while letting the creature go (and also perhaps, notice their efficiency at guarding the farm).

Rana pondered for a second if he should make a run out of it as he had anyway missed his morning kasrat. He sighed and hopped on his cycle instead, permitting himself to be lazy for a day.

On the way he grabbed his giant torch and the lathi, and tucked his favorite khupri on his back under his waistband. He realized that the sun had already set only until he was half way down the farm.

The late spring cacophony of the birds stippled all over the sky, returning to the trees, the same direction he was riding towards; pulled his entire mind to the current situation, which was otherwise lost in some sub-conscious indignation over some fundamental dissonance between reality and ideality.

Anxiety over what was he to find upon reaching the destination had just entered his mind. Wolves weren’t common here, but they did enter the farm once. It was a twilight similar to today. That was perhaps the only memory which made chores like this into a fast fleeting burden of isolation.

By the time he reached the spot it was pretty much dark. Everything was a silhouette around with the warm violet of the sky in the background. Moti barked at the approaching stranger, and then returned to his find once he realized it was Rana, while Heera galloped back towards him half whimpering, half growling.

Rana dropped his cycle on the ground and turned on the light. Something was there within a patch of wheat stalks. It was still with absolutely no movement. For a moment, Rana groaned in his mind wondering if these two bastards managed to give another one of those poor creatures a heart attack and he would have to clean up the casualty.

As he parted through the stalks and reached closer, for a second he thought it was a calf on the ground, until a chilling thought dawned upon his realization. It was the back of a human. There was person on the ground, naked and unconscious. Rana never really believed in God. Or at least, the versions that everyone else wanted him to believe in.

He just believed that there was a power somewhere up in the sky, who has designed this game that he is supposed to play, the game as they call it, life. In those fractions of a second, he earnestly prayed to that whatever idea of a God he resorted to in his most desperate and most grateful moments; praying that its not a victim of some kind of grave violation.

These obscure lands have been notorious playgrounds of the twisted and the deranged from far, far away.

With the flashlight flooding bright right on the body of the person, Rana went around trying to construct a gumption of what was going on and also perhaps, pacing out the revelations of any nasty surprises, his worst case scenarios could throw up at him.

For the longest time Rana just couldn’t figure it out. It was a person. Man or woman, he couldn’t tell as the body was somewhat curled up. As if, they were really cold before they passed out (or died?). They were also bald which made him feel like this was probably a man (or an old man?) (or a young boy?).

But upon a closer look he realized that they had no hair. Absolutely not a single hair on their entire body. Not even eyebrows or lashes. And he couldn’t tell if they had breast, as from what little he could make out, if those were breast, then they were really tiny breasts.

The body wasn’t slim or heavy. But somewhere between slender and curvaceous. Big hips, petite torso. Tender fingers. So perhaps a woman?

The moment he became self aware of his sexual admiration of the beauty of the body in front of him, he at once felt small and frustrated with this need to know a person’s gender before knowing how to proceed. He called out at the body a couple of times, with no response.

So he squatted near the head and reached out to grab the shoulder and shake them. But the moment he placed his palm on their skin, he could feel it was covered in something sticky and slimy all over, something which he realized he had assumed was sweat this whole while.

He pulled back his palm as honey like strands of slime extended into arches that dropped towards the ground until they disappeared. The surrealism of the entire scenario suspended all secondary analyses in Rana’s brain as he was lost in the sublime of his need to understand.

He shook the person a couple of times and checked for pulse. The person was alive, but heavily passed out. He held their shoulder and gently pushed the body back on its back.

The moment the body landed on its back, with a sudden deep breath, the person deliriously swam back into a brief semi- consciousness. With eyes hardly able to open, they clasped on to Rana’s wrist on the arm he used to push them on their back.

For a brief moment both of their eyes met, until the person slipped back into unconsciousness and their grasp on his wrist loosened out. For a couple of more moments, Rana kept staring at their face, until he turned his head to check the body that was now sprawled out in front of him.

The person was a man (or a boy?) with a body which was hardly masculine, save for the small flaccid penis tucked between their scrotum.

The slime mixed with the soil, straws, some grains and whatnot— had turned into a gritty mess grinding along his forearms as he lifted the person’s body, to fling him upon his right shoulder.

He had spent a few minutes to figure out if he could devise a way to take the person back home on the cycle, but every idea sounded like it would probably physically hurt the unconscious stranger in the process as it would be unstable for one person to handle two inanimate objects that can’t balance upright on their own.

So he decided to walk it and carry the stranger upon his shoulders. So much for missing kasrat for a day. The body was pretty cold, even though it had been a hot, dry day. The crotch, which was pressed right upon Rana’s shoulder, was the only part of the body still radiating heat.

At one point during the long walk, Rana felt that the right side of his body had heated up so much, that he had to manouver the body into shifting the stranger on to the other shoulder, and catch the cool breeze flowing from the woods behind them.

Although he gripped him by his thighs against his chest, the slime which was all over his own body and soaked into his ganji now, and kept sliding the body off either toward the back or the front. And he would move up his arms on the buttocks and the body up over his shoulder to balance the weight of the body centrally.

The smooth softness of the buttock tingled some heat in his own groin. Like how a soft skinned lamb feels to touch before its about to be dinner. While grabbing the buttock, Rana’s tip of his fingers would slide into the crack between the butt cheeks, the warmest crevice of the body.

Hearing the stranger’s sporadically semi-conscious whimpers behind him, he would push his mind away from the blood rushing to his cock, as he would slide back his hand lower upon the thighs, earnestly trying to distract himself with calculations of what was he supposed to do once he reached back home.

Rana laid the person on the cement floor of his threshold outside the door, and himself collapsed next to the body, heaving heavily trying to catch a breath, drenched in sweat and exhaustion all over.

Heera hopped on over and started licking Rana’s face as he tried to push the dog away. Moti continued his investigation of the intruder, sniffing him up all over with some particular fascination for his groin. Rana pulled himself up on his feet, dragged his feet over to the well behind the house, pulled off the sticky mess of a ganji and poured a bucket of water over himself, rubbing off the grime and dirt stuck to the drying slime.

He drank half a bucket of water himself. With a bowl of water, Rana walked back to the threshold where the stranger was still splayed across the floor like he left him there. He again tried to cup his face in his giant palms, shaking him, hoping the consciousness would return.

The lack of evoking any response was beginning to frustrate Rana, or perhaps it was the growing anxiety over the uncertain absurdity of the entire dusk. He splashed the water from the bowl on to the stranger’s face, to which he briefly woke up, breathing heavily and whimpering in panic, almost crying like an infant who just woke up hungry.

Rana moved closer to his face, hoping he could focus and return to his senses and say something, say anything, that would inform his many queries. He was shivering and shuddering like he was hit by an epileptic fit, so Rana held him down right by his shoulders trying to stabilize him.

The moment he tried to control his body, the stranger started crying helplessly and almost as a reflex Rana pulled this hapless little stranger close to his chest to calm him down (and also, to muffle down the loud cries). The stranger wrapped his arms tight around Rana’s torso, digging his face into his chest and cried and cried, until he slowly passed out again.

Rana laid his body back on the floor and stared in blankness again. He decided to take the stranger inside, clean him up a bit and try to feed some food and water to him. Hopefully by morning, he will find some answers.

……..

I wasn’t sure if it is puzzlement or bafflement that clouds my mind. How on earth would I remember a Hollywood movie, when I can’t even, for the life of me, remember my own name. All of my memory is a pile of jigsaw pieces waiting to be pieced together to make some sense of what is happening.

While the futility of that exercise does not escape me as most of the pieces are already missing. The only pieces of relevance, are fragments of memory since last evening. Naked on the ground perimetered by long stalks of wheat. The dogs barking and charging at me as I curled up into a ball, mustering up the courage to get up and run.

A giant shadow of a man lifting me up on his shoulders and bringing me here. The warm, taut and fuzzy chest I dug my face into crying helplessly locked in a tight hug within the giant arms of the giant man. Being wiped clean by a wet cloth and realizing for some reason, I was sticky all over.

I am still not sure what to make of this tiny detail of a memory, I remember from when the man was cleaning up my body, as he spread my legs apart, to scrub my crotch and perineum, he spent a few moments staring into my hole, parting the neighboring butt cheeks with his index finger and his thumb.

I’m not sure if I should feel offended by it. And I’m not sure, why in all my repetitive efforts to remember, that was the only memory my mind would lure me to remember again and again.

I don’t know exactly when I gained consciousness for good, but I remember faint light of dawn seeping in through the tears and holes in the sheet (or a saree?) propped up on the windows as a makeshift curtain. I was in a shack, made of wooden beams, and straws, and bricks and clay.

The floor was a recently brushed, smooth surface of dry clay. I was lying on a thin kantha which I guess was never usually there. And there was this big man, sleeping on an old discolored gadda two feet away from me. This was the man who found me and took me in. This was my savior.

I don’t know what is about to happen. But until I find out, the idea that I have been saved, brings a strange sense of peace to me. I don’t know what is he going to do to me. But for some reason, the memory of being wrapped within his arms crying hopelessly as he engulfed me tight, assures me of a strange confidence of safety.

What I wonder, is what does he want from me. Of everything he has done for me since last evening, one thing he hasn’t done, is cover me up. I’ve been lying buck naked this whole time with not a single piece of cloth to cover myself up with. The idea that I should cover up myself, springs from a morality of a past life I hold no recollection of. And somehow I hold no desire to reinstate those emotions of shame anymore.

My mind is a slate wiped clean. Something tells me, that even if for logical reasons, I should remember how I landed up here, I wouldn’t really mind if I never find out. I can stay in this moment forever. With my savior. Who I wonder why, loves to leave me here lying naked.

I can tell that everytime he engages with me, he keeps stealing glances away from our eye contact, to observe every detail on my body. He keeps looking at my nipples, or my crotch. Even when I have my back towards him, I know he is tracing the shape of my ass. I know he wants to see my hole again.

His gaze burns upon every part of my skin, as I keep trying to move my legs to conceal my crotch that keeps awakening from its dormant flaccidity upon being watched.

Acting naive and unnoticed, as I quietly turn to my sides in my efforts of concealment, I keep revealing my ass to him, pushing my anus to relax, just so that the thin line of shadow between the cheeks expands into a thicker crevice of darkness, teasing him and inviting him in.

This freudian attraction for my savior (how the fuck do I remember Freud of all the unnecessary details), keeps distracting me from my conversations with him. Or rather efforts at communication. The moment he realized I was awake since the morning, he’s been wracking his head trying to ask me questions.

Irony is, I don’t understand his language. Maybe he’s speaking in Hindi, or some similar language. I feel like I know this language, but I just can’t speak it or understand it. I keep responding in English which he only knows a few words of. He keeps repeating the word, “Name” to get a name out of me.

If I tell him I don’t remember, he doesn’t understand. If I simply tell him, “No”, he gets offended at why wouldn’t I give him a name. He seems to be an otherwise patient being, but he’s impatient about incomprehension. He lost his temper and shoved off a plate of chapati and some dal he had brought and kept in front of me, before he began his interrogation.

I freaked out and broke into tears because of the suddenness of it, and also a faint fear of pissing him off. He was a big man. Really tall, big frame of body and muscled seemingly from hard days of labour in the fields.

Clad in a thin translucent off white lungi, he had a thick jungle of hair over his chest, and linear patterns of hair coating his arms and legs. A square, rugged face, with a square jaw. Curly hair, that was probably oiled recently. Short beard and a thick moustache hanging over his upper lip.

Although he at first I assumed he had dark complexion, but as I realized it seemed more a result of prolonged tan than his actual complexion. While the giant man, looked like a sturdy beast who could instill a sense of protection, the beast was also capable of destroying everything around by sheer force of an anger that glowed in a far off depth like a sleeping lava waiting to rise up. So pissing him off was the last thing I wanted to do.

Seeing me cry, he held my shoulders consoling them with his large palms, until I stopped. He cleaned up the food from the floor, and brought me another helping from the kitchen.

When I refused to eat, with my head lowered toward the floor, suddenly realizing the fucked up situation I was in and quietly chastising myself for being carried away in my sexual desires, which I don’t seem to be able to put a lid on; he tore a piece of the chapati and scooped up some dal and held it in front of my mouth.

I looked at him, and as he smiled I parted my lips, into which he inserted the nibble. As I slowly chewed on it, he ran his other palm, caressing my hairless scalp, saying “kha le”. He probably meant, “eat” as he slid the plate closer toward me. As I started eating, he stood up and stared at me for a while and stepped outside and sat himself down on the threshold.

As I finished eating, he stood up and went around the house to the back for a while, and then returned inside. He picked up my empty plate and said something to me, which I figured he was directing me to do something; as he went into the kitchen.

Upon returning from the kitchen, he repeated his words, this time with hand movements, indicating that he wanted me to get up and follow him outside. I walked out barefoot and bare bodied. The sun washed over my skin, piercing harder upon my more tender parts.

He pulled down two gamchhas from a wire tied between two wooden pillars, but he didn’t hand either of them to me, instead just flung them upon his shoulder. I followed him to the back of the house in a ceiling-less three walled space next to a handpump and a well.

It seemed like a bath area, with cemented floor, slick and shiny and bottle green colored moulding on the lower half of the walls. There were two iron buckets filled with water and old plastic mugs with their handles missing. He wanted me to take a bath.

He pointed towards the bucket of water allocated for me, and moved on to his own bucket. With his back towards me, he untied his lungi and flung it upon one of the walls. As he bent down to fill up a couple of mugs of water which he poured over himself in quick succession; for a moment I was distracted from the task I was commanded to fulfill.

The upper half of his back, designed by contours of musculature, had little to no hair. The hair grew downwards from his waist and grew thick and dense on his buttocks, turning into a thick line between his cheeks in a fuzzy gradient. His ass wasn’t round and it wasn’t square, but somewhere right in between. It looked tight muscled, with symmetric depression on the sides.

As he picked up the soap, he turned his head up at me, and realized I had been staring at him. He stood up straight and turned towards me. Shame was something I had already given up on, so I continued to absorb the intimate details of this giant savior. His wet chest hair all moved in a downward pattern, stuck to the skin and darkened by water.

The hair grew denser below his navel, and gradually expanded into a thick black triangular surface on his pelvis. His flaccid penis hung almost as long as the vertical length of my palm and my middle finger, propped over two perfect spheres hanging long in his scrotal sack. I could tell his cock had a giant head as the foreskin briefly bunched up at the tip, bulged into a big ball and continued onto the shaft.

I could tell that the foreskin was gradually shifting and expanding, as the shaft slowly started hanging lower and lower, and grew thicker in its girth. Until it grew into a long and thick rod, slightly curved upwards, it rose up jutting out parallel to the ground, the foreskin had now pulled up behind and fit snugly behind the neck of the bright pink fleshy head.

As he stood there, most of the water over his body had dropped off by now. The few remaining drops that clung on to him, lazily trailed their way down along the hair on his skin. The one drop that had clung on to the tip of his penis, the brief line where it opens; finally grew big enough to part with its host and drop off towards the ground leaving behind a long honey like strand.

It took me a fraction of a second to snap back to reality and realize that I had been staring at his body this whole time while he stood still noticing me without any movement, except for his erection.

I looked at his face, and realized, he had been observing me, lost in the sight of the enticing morphosis of his organ. The confusion in his eyes that had greeted me all morning had been suspended to make way for a blank calmness in his face, which was comforting and intimidating at the same time.

In a quiet, heavy voice, he said something to me and raised his hand and opened his fist, to reveal the soap he had been holding this whole time. He wanted to bathe me.

As I nodded affirmatively, he reached over to my bucket, pulled out a mug of water, poured it over my head and positioned himself diagonally behind me. With another mug of water, he poured it over me and squatted down near my leg. His cock was still erect as the tip of it lightly grazed down the back of my thigh and rested itself on my calf.

As he rubbed the soap on my skin only to realize that it wouldn’t lather because I had no hair on my skin (which briefly distracted me as I remembered a postponed question in the list of many- why the fuck do I not have a single hair?); he took the soap and rubbed it vigorously on the thick jungle of his pubes and worked up a sufficient lather.

He scooped up the lather and alongwith soap, he placed it on my back and started rubbing it up and down. He covered my back, my lower back, my one arm after another as he turned me clockwise or anticlockwise between his giant knees, my arm pits, and then he turned me 45 degrees towards him and reached my chest.

The pace of his rubbing motion slowed down as they moved towards my nipples. I have a fleshy chest, which can feel like small breasts, something which I realized I really don’t mind. In the pretext of lathering soap, he spent sufficient time around my each nipple, following the contours and cupping the flesh.

At the second one, he even gripped the flesh within his fingers tighter than needed, gently squeezing the flesh in his palm a couple of times. As he worked his way downwards, over my stomach, I could sense a vulnerable sensation between my legs.

Below my stomache he rested his palm horizontally along the edge of my stomache, flat upon my pubic region, and right above the ground of my penis.

Why did he stop there? It felt like a magnet resting upon my skin. Sending in a strong frequency of a sensation, almost like a very fine vibration, under my pubes travelling down behind my crotch, all the way down to my anus, as I clenched my butt hard to contain what I was feeling in that moment.

I hadn’t realized, but during this brief moment, his other hand had quietly travelled down my butt and rested his palm on the inside of my thigh, with his thumb right outside my anus. As I clenched my butt, both my cheeks tightened upon the tip of his thumb. I think he realized what was happening, as he slowly slid his palm higher up my thigh, with his thumb dragging through my tightened crack, lower onto the perineum.

My cock erect by now, and still pretending to continue lathering the soap, this beast of a man went about gently lathering all around my genitals, once in a while “accidentally” touching my erect cock. Until he sincerely worked his way up to finally “lather” my penis. He grabbed my entire penis within the width of his palm, and he engulfed it tight.

Slowly he tightened his fist as the entire middle part of my body felt like it would spontaneously combust and implode. He kept moving his grip back and forth until a strange wave of involuntary movement surging from my suddenly weakened knees, disrupted my balance as my arms reached out to the wall looking for support.

The last time he tightened his grip and moved it forward, a surge of energy from every part of my body rushed towards my crotch as semen shot out of my cock and onto the wet cement floor. After stroking my cock a few more times, he reached around with the other hand, pulled up a mug of water and washed my crotch and his own hand. But he wasn’t done.

As I was about to release my support from the wall, he grunted, telling me, not to; and positioned himself behind me and squatted down again near my legs. He poured some water on me and himself and took the soap again. I was standing between his legs with my own legs somewhat parted leaning ahead against the wall as I could tell my ass must have been very near to his face.

If I hung my head low I could see his crotch through between my legs. He was still erect. He took the soap and rubbed it on his pubes again, but this time, he lathered up his cock too and stroked it, until his entire groin was covered in white lather. He scooped up the lather and applied it to my ass.

With both his hands, he was rubbing the lather all over my ass now. With an open palm sideways, he kept rubbing up and down inside my crack, until the side of his index finger could scout the intersection between the cheeks. The tip of his index finger finally discovered what he was looking for.

My hole was ripe and shriveled up. Using some wet lather, he carefully slid his index finger inside my hole until the entire finger was in. My entire pelvis clenched up on his finger. He pulled his finger out and sank it back in a few times as my muscles started to relax.

My eyes were shut as I was earnestly trying to calm my body down to this sensation. And I don’t know why, I was trying not to make a single sound. The only way to relax and unclench, I realized, was to imagine my ass as an external, independent part of my body that I have no control over.

I can receive sensations from it, I can’t send any signals to it. That does the trick. My cheeks relaxed and I didn’t even realize when he was fingering me with both his index and middle finger. I caught myself whimpering. He removed his right hand with which he was fingering, and replaced it with the left palm on my hole.

He slowly inserted his thumb and pushed it deep inside. He moved it back and forth for a bit and then stopped, with his thumb deep inside my hole. He was doing something. I looked down between my legs, and he was stroking his cock. When he realized that I could probably see him, he started finger fucking my hole again.

This time with the same rhythm he was stroking his giant cock with the other hand. This time it was too unbearable, and I craned my neck up, with my face towards the sky. It went on for I don’t know how long, until he grunted and heaved and let out a loud breath, as he grasped my entire left butt cheek within the grip of his palm, and his thumb still deep inside my hole.

It felt like, with just a single hand stuffed upon my ass he could operate my entire body like a ventriloquist dummy. I looked down and saw the blob of his semen travelling down towards the drain along with blobs of soapy lather.

He washed both of us of and stood up straight behind me. This whole time I just kept standing there leaning upon the support of the wall with my both hands. I let go of the wall and stood up straight. Realizing he stopped right there, I turned around towards him.

And we looked straight into each others eyes and rested on each other’s gaze for an eternity. I don’t know what came over me and I just slid my arms under his and wrapped them around his torso, digging my face between his pectorals. Just like last evening, except I wasn’t crying this time.

Although, for some reason, I felt like this would be the moment I should cry all I want, and exhaust the tears that have piled up inside of me since the life I didn’t know I had left behind. He wrapped his one around my neck, and the other around my shoulder. And we stood there as the warmth of the sun and the closed spaces between our bodies evaporated the water off our skin.

Read the hot and beautiful Indian gay erotica about a young guy who has lost all his memories and develops a requited attraction towards his saviour!

My puzzlement of this entire situation was primarily to do with the logistics of how I landed up here. My bafflement of it was merely the simple fact that I didn’t seem to mind it. I didn’t seem to mind that I didn’t remember anything about who I am, or rather, who I was.

Somewhere deep down inside I didn’t want to know. And I was baffled at how comfortable I was with the idea of never knowing. The blank slate of memory, kept reminding me of this movie. Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind.

I didn’t remember anything, but I remembered the entire movie so clearly. I even remembered my favorite lines that Shakespeare wrote from which the movie is inspired. How happy is the blameless vestal’s lot. The world forgotten by the world forgot. Eternal sunshine of the spotless mind. Each prayer accepted and each wish resigned.

To be continued…