If I’m Not Pure, at Least My Jewels Are

After an hour of meditation facing Arun in the lotus position, we began making out. I was in such a clearheaded, relaxed, zen state, I didn’t have time to censor myself or my reactions when he grabbed onto me and wouldn’t let go. We had decided to do some relaxation and meditation before I drove him to LAX for his flight to Chicago. He was a little nervous about moving to a strange city in the US.

“I’ve wanted to do this with you ever since you moved in,” he said. “Good, then let’s do it, Arun.” I honestly didn’t know what I was saying, since I was kind of mesmerized by his hard muscles and his smooth skin. His kiss. His lips.

He took me by the hand and led me into my bedroom. Everyway he moved, he turned ME on. All of his energy was focused on ME, and I felt it everywhere he touched ME. Me. Me. Me.

“The other night, I sat up watching you while you slept. Your body was so peaceful, you looked so hot, I wanted to do this with you,” he said. His lilting and musical New Delhi accent continued, “The only thing I ended up doing was teabagging you. Your balls are a lot nicer than mine. You never even stirred. I hope you know your balls are spectacular. So pure, so manly. The essence of your manhood is right there, and I wanted to taste you, I can't explain.”

I wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but for the next 2 hours, we fucked on every flat surface in the apartment. We used 8 condoms, and left a large greasy stain on one of the walls which now needs a re-paint. Ramming really hard can be hot, but even hotter than that are the moments of stillness where you both lie quietly together as one person and feel the energy deep inside where Dick meets Ass. Where teabag meets throat. That is real hot. Any naked person who can step up to the plate with me here is a keeper.

It turns out that Arun had never been with a man before. I was surprised, because his technique seemed flawless. I didn’t ask him too many probing questions about his sexuality, but he did know exactly what to do once we got naked. He even taught me a few things. When we were getting ready for the airport, he wanted to give me something, so I asked him to gift me one of his smocky shirts called a kurthi with a snazzy design in the fabric, preferably the one he just took off, so that I could have the smell of him with me once he left.

An hour later, Indian Teabagger boarded his plane for Chicago, and I came home in my kurthi to clean up the mess. I’m going to miss him.