Indian Gay Sex Story: Forbidden Love: 5
Indian Gay Sex Story: Forbidden Love: 5
Indian Gay Sex Story: The next five years after Vijayâs wedding were a complete blur, fast forward to 2015. By then Jyoti and Vijay had a daughter and with my suggestion, they named her Myra. She looked a lot like Jyoti so I was glad. Jyoti like me is fair of complexion and is blessed with grace and beauty. God forbid if Myra turned out bulky and dusky like Vijay. Vijay and I never spoke after that kiss on the river Ganges. I never messaged him or called him after that. He did try to get in contact with me many times post the wedding, but I had decided to cut him off completely. And cut him off completely, I did.
I religiously followed the FB and twitter feeds for both and always comforted myself that my elder sister was happily married and nothing else did matter. Vijay grew extremely attractive over the next five years. He bulked up more and was really well endowed with a position in the Indian Army. They had relocated to Ladak and his quarters was to die for. Jyoti had invited us on their first anniversary. She was indeed pregnant at that time but wanted to deliver the child at her in-laws itself. It was the first delivery, but we all caved in.
Her mum and my mum both traveled the distance to their bungalow and stayed there for over 6 months. My father joined them, but I gave an excuse for my studies at that time. Vijay called me from Jyotiâs cell at that time to convince me to come. I just made an excuse for the reception service being bad and cut the call.
The next five years gave me an opportunity to visit Canada. I took up a course in Bachelors Writing Degree at the British Columbian University in Vancouver. I completed my degree there and also applied for a Masters for the next two years. I did complete my education with honors and also published my first book that was the New York Times # 1 best seller for 2015. This was all just two months before I graduated with my honors. I was the brightest student in my class and was also much appreciated back at home. Dad was proud of my achievements, and my mother just couldnât stop discussing it with all her friends.
I had completed five book tours across Canada and US by September of 2015. I was feeling really homesick and considering a gap of five years from home, it was time I returned to my mothers homemade daal-chaaval and aam ka achar.
I completed the formalities and paperwork for the flight back home and by the 20th of September, I was in Mumbai. Much had changed in the city. For beginners, mum and dad had shifted from Kolkotta and had rented a fine 3 bedroom-hall-kitchen in Bandra. Daddy had come to receive me at the airport with half of the family tribe that followed him. I was apparently a celebrity over here. As soon as I exited the airport in Andheri, you could see the lot waiting with fancy decorated placards and camera flashes to greet me. (Uncles, Aunties, Grandparents and their until then non-existent relatives, people who I had never met in my life or known… An entire lot of misfits were there to receive me…) The situation was so precarious that it took us literally forty-five minutes to reach the car that was barely 500 meters away.
We finally got home after 2 hours in traffic. It was four in the morning but Mumbaiâs traffic was a killer. Besides mum, Jyoti had also come home to meet me. Even Myra was there with her. We all sat down that morning and we were up until 3 in the afternoon. Gossiping and storytelling was never that enjoyable. It was like I had started narrating the last five years of my life with all its gory details and intrigues. Mum just couldnât stop crying every time I mentioned the book I had published, Samanantar Rekhayein (parallel lines) a description of five people living closeted lives in the LGBT community with an unfulfilled love story. The book had also been awarded an honor at the Californian Literally club in August of that same year. By then mum, dad, and Jyo were well aware of my orientation and had kept their personal thoughts about me getting married to a girl with themselves. I was an honorary literaturist, the fist in the family, and possibly the first in the city to receive the title at such a very young age. I guess that title came with unknowing respect and gratification. Everyone was over pleased with my achievements and understanding that a sequel was in the making that could also lead to even more greatness, they didnât want to jinx it.
A few days in the country, Vijayâs name popped up in conversation. It was at that moment when I was slammed with the saddest and most devastating reality. A secret that my family had kept hidden from me all those years during my education. They didnât want to reveal the horrible and macabre that befell my sister at Ladak. So one year into their marriage where all was blissful and Myra had just started 1st grade, Vijay was called to the border. The Indo-war bombing was in full flight. His services were required. So during the oration, Jyoti was all tears as she revealed the fact that Vijay was killed and had perished in the war. It was then when Mum called Jyoti back. Now she was in the process of recovery and Kakimaa, Kakababa, mum, and dad were having thoughts of getting Jyoti married off to her childhood crush Yogesh. He was in touch with her too and also loved her dearly. All that time, he said nothing and so their love had gone unnoticed.
I was shattered and went into mourning for the next few days. It was a nightmare come to life. The one I loved. The one who meant to world to me had passed away a year back and no one had the courtesy to even inform me. My mother said that I was the epitome of success and so Jyoti didnât want me knowing about Vijay at that time. The harsh reality made me break ties with the family for some time and I decided to leave for Ladakh by the end of that month. It was October and I was prepared with all the clothing necessary. I wanted to visit the home where Myra was born. Visit the place and stuff. Get to know the origin of my niece and her life before she came down to Mumbai. Also, I wanted to spend some quiet time with Viju if the least that I could feel his presence there.
It was a five-day journey and I made it on the 28th of October. The weather forecast had warned us of a thunderstorm. It was accepted that night or the following morning, so I wanted to reach my destination without a hurdle of a downpour. It was a cold and chili ride from the station to their quarters. Jyoti had given me the key and everything. I asked the driver to place the luggage on the doorstep and he left. I had 3 bags with me. A suitcase with clothing and some groceries and ingredients to start the night with. I loved cooking and I thought that would get my mind off the tragedy before I sat down and took in the ugly reality.
The main door creaked open and I entered the now dusty dark bungalow. There were white sheets strewn all over the furniture. I turned on the flashlight on my cell and headed down to the basement. I somehow after hunting for a while found the power box and moved the mail throttle upwards and switched on all the lights.
I moved upstairs to the ground floor landing. The lights were still off. I headed to the main door and turned on the porch lights. Then I switched on the tube lights in the hall and after getting in the bags from the porch, I closed the door behind me.
I called home and informed my folks that I had reached. I told them to give me some more time to adjust to the change. Also, I needed some quiet time for adjusting to reality. The quite and alone time would also help me fill the blank sheets in my next venture. I removed the sheets from the sofa and coffee table in front of it. I dusted a few things around the hall and kept the bangs in the corner. The fridge was working in pristine condition, thank god â and so I kept the perishable goods in it and followed by emptying the dry ingredients in a few empty containers in the kitchen.
I was just about the household chores so that I could get things arranged before I went to bed when I heard a deafening crash from the upstairs bedroom.
I looked at the time. The analog dial on the mobile read 1:35 AM. I shuddered with terror. Was there someone upstairs in the bedroom? It hadnât occurred to me to inspect the entire house before unpacking. I thought that Iâd sleep on the couch that night and start the upstairs the next morning. I was too tired with the trip anyway.
âHello…â I whimpered. âKoi hai wahan?â I said, my voice quivering.
Come on Jagannath, this is not the moment to get scared. Go and check it out. It could be a cat or something also. Youâre just freaking out, I said to myself. I started on the stairs and turned the lights on first. I reached the first-floor landing. Towards the first bedroom on the right, there was a vase that had been shattered. I turned into the bedroom and searched for the lights. Luckily I was right beside the door frame. I turned on the lights. Nothing there. No one there.
Similarly, I looked into the other two bedrooms on the right and in front of the landing. Nothing was disturbed there. The bedroom to the far right was, in fact, Myraâs bedroom. Disney cartoon paintings were canvassed all over the walls. A little writing desk lay at the corner of that room towards the balcony. She had a vanity table as well the little princess.
While observing the satire of my nieceâs bedroom, the crude present came flashing back to me. Tears filled my eyes and I collapsed then and there. I was shaken out of my stupor by the Kabir Yatra. I walked across the room and headed to the balcony. I opened the sliding door and stepped out. I peered out to glace at the celebration that was sweeping the streets of Ladakh.
The Kabir Yatra is a traveling folk music festival in Rajasthan. It features more than 20 artists from Kutch, Malwa, Bengal, Chennai, Mumbai, Delhi and Rajasthan who will share mystic songs across diverse musical genres. The festival will also showcase the work of painters, sculptors, and photographers inspired by this tradition. This procession was just completing its pilgrimage to Ladakh that year. It was surprising that they had not thought of stopping for the night. I guess the expert sadhus and religious scholars wanted to finish the walk at the earliest.
I guess they too were trying to dodge the coming storm. Many sculptures carried their exotic and beautiful carvings of Radhe-Krishan and other Hindu deities. There was the midnight aarti procession that was in full swing.
I was engrossed at the sights of the lit lamps and sound that I didnât notice a shadowy figure standing behind me. For a second I felt a moment but I ignored it. I felt a low growl of a breath again and realized that I wasnât the only one on the balcony. There was another person behind me, but because I was blocking the way to the bedroom he was unable to pass.
Read the hot and steamy Indian gay sex story of a horny gay guy narrating his experiences with his sexy neighbour from his teenage years!
I turned around and saw him. He was cloaked in a shabby and torn jacket. He was a tall figure, all bulky and huge. I got scared and my face turned white. I was unable to get his face. He had a hood that covered it. Overgrown beard appeared from his now somewhat resemblance to a face. I was about to scream when he jumped on me. His left hand pulled me towards him and his right hand covered my mouth as to silence me. My hands were free and so the first thing I did was rip off his hoodie. I gasped.
âViju!â
Lightning struck in the distance. This eliminated both our faces as we saw each other after five years. Thunder rumbled afar. Rain started pouring down and the priestess in the mob below blew the shank in honor of the union of Shri Krishna and Radhajii.
