HANGOVER!!- PART 3.( an extrapolation of the 'BEER MAN SERIAL KILLER')

That night, Raghav was the perfect prototype of the ageold werewolf sending out its death howl against the full moon. As if the moon cast an inexplicable lunar force on Raghav's fast deranging mind, he moved aimlessly down the alley. Flashes of his childhood impinged on his crazed senses.

He spotted a sequestered rag-picker, lying on his left side and curled into a cocoon; his ears hidden by his folded, right arm, and the exposed, hollow cheek sedately moving in periodic bursts of a resting pulse. Raghav's stomach sent out tiny growls of anticipation, as if it had been famished for real food. He licked the beads of perspiration from his lips as he found his real victim. The ticker in him moving with a brainsick speed nonetheless, he observed his victim with unrelenting acuity. This was a healthy man with a strong, albeit sparse frame. There was a silent dignity in those dirty, bronze tinged arms. He lay on the ground with not a care about the whole, deuced world.

The grimy roadside drifter (internally heralded by Raghav as 'the roadside romeo') reeked of all the trash in the world. Raghav, on the other hand, somehow obsessed with uncanny olfactions (like the socks in Vichoo's room/ the toothpaste smell of Cocaine), now felt his body transmute into a tiny fly buzzing around an excessively inviting and scrumptious garbage bin, looking for the ripest spot to start feasting.

Raghav picked a pair of special gloves from his left pocket. As part of a warm-up seance, Raghav felt his hand up the rag-picker's fly. The rag-picker, slightly unsettled by the extraneous movement rolled over on his back, simltaneously stretching his right arm by the side of his right ear. Now, both hands were placed above the wastrel's head. The posture tickled Raghav's funny bone, as it resembled a Physical Edcation Trainer raising both his hands on a routine drill. In addition to tickling Raghav's funny bone, this paricular posture also tickled a not-so-funny itch to have the wastrel's hands tied.

Raghav looked around for the ragpicker's petty belongings, and found what he was looking for amidst the rags; a nice and strong rope. He placed the rope around both the ragpicker's hands, nitpicked the knots he cold possibly tie and finally zeroed in on a Double Carrick bend.
The sleeping man was definitely waking up.

Raghav moved around, and sat astride the man who was just a few seconds away from getting yanked into reality from his dreamless sleep. One glance at Raghav's delirious state instigated an instantaneous gander of stark horror in the superficial swirls of the ragpicker's eyes. As if he had swallowed a sharp bone, the ragpicker had himself gagged. It was one of those moments when he wished it only were that sudden awakening jerk brought about by the abonimable culmination of a devious nightmare. Nevertheless, this was far from an imagined mischance conjured by the slumbering mind.It was as real as the Titanic nosediving into the ocean aeons ago, somewhere south of the Grand Banks of New Foundland.

In the meanwhile, Raghav picked a rag from the adjoining mess and muzzled the ragpicker's mouth with it. He now unzipped the poor man's fly and began stroking the latter's manhood with his left hand, much to the utter consternation of the ground strapped man. With the other hand, Raghav fished out one of the metal artifacts in his right pocket. It was as cold as his heart currently was. Raghav momentarily detracted his left hand from the ragpicker's 'baloney' to pop open the Kingfisher beer can. The momentarily misplaced hand went back to 'action'. Under Raghav's viper grip, both the ragpicker and the beer can sent out beadlings of liquid trickling down the surface. Raghav hung on to the can as if he were the one hanging on for dear life. He swigged a portion of the beer can contents. The liquid coursed down his blazing throat, thereby cooling him down.

Raghav soon found out that the ragpicker was ramrod straight (ironic that intense excitement is sometimes caused by fear rather than anything more meritorious; akin to the severe adrenaline rush right before a bungee jumping fall). He then flipped the pinned-down man on his chest, got himself unfastened and forced his partially erect member into the ragpicker's rear. After a few unsuccessful attempts by Raghav, the ragpicker began displaying the first signs of protest. Raghav could obviously not maintain his erection. His frustration began foaming into burgeoning bubbles. He now picked the wayward beer can and gulped the bubbling remnants with a revengeful resolve. It was high time to have this over and done with.

Raghav tossed the ragpicker on his back once more. It was more like an expert chef flippantly flipping a full fish in order to have the 'masala' slotted into the open slits. All the same, there was nothing flippant about Raghav. The ragpicker saw the full throttle wolfman now. To lend a dash of eeriness to the horror show, he hopelessly watched the moon rise right behind Raghav's head like a frightening halo. Raghav now fished for the other metal artifact in his pocket. He looked at the Swiss knife that he had picked as a souvenir from an earlier sojourn to Sodom (on a f#$@ with a rich guy from the past).

And then he jabbed the ragpicker's chest once.. twice.. thrice... It was going to be a never ending spree...

Raghav's mind was like a sheet of frosted glass where laser beams were burning fresh holes and creating ambiguous patterns.

The first time he had been sexually ravished as an innocuous child, by a 'Muslim' Conductor in the backseat of a bus...
The first time he had seen his father sleeping with his brother's amah(wet-nurse)...
The first time he had seen his mother slashing her wrist, her gushing blood slashing his heart...
The first time he had felt the blood gushing to his serpent, at the sight of a full blooded man...
The first time he had discovered that he could just not get to doint 'it'...
The first time he had felt the fear and exasperation of being left 'high and dry'...
The first time he had resorted to the absolute vitalizing Ganja..
The first time he had been to the land of Utopia to experience the shattering climax of life...
The first time he had seen death after an excessively bad drug 'trip '...
The first time he wanted to feel that Utopian delight again, by exciting another man and bashing the man to death before the latter could get to an orgasm...
Every first time, Raghav wanted it to be the flaming 'last time'..
Could stinking garbage ever hope to become pritine water- dribbling cabbage?

Raghav, alias Jitesh, Umesh, Ramesh amid a torrent of others was a despairing man who suffered from severe derangement, on account of fear, drug abuse and most potently, a disease of severe erectile dysfunction.Erectile dysfunction, sometimes called "impotence," is the repeated inability to get or keep an erection firm enough for sexual intercourse.

Raghav reveled in these diabolic thrusts preceding his Utopian climax. Each jab led him closer to that inexplicable pleasure awaitin to embrace him at the end of the tunnel , walking him towards a peaceful white light. Raghav opeened his eyes; his pupils adjusted to a different white light- a strained beam of streetlight. The ragpicker was long dead.

Considering the aftermath of his divine encounter, Raghav knew that the forensic team would have no clues whatsoever. Not a trace of semen could ever be found, infact the real semen only coursed as notional elixir through his veins. As for fingerprints, he had his 'handy'gloves for his hands. Raghav found this very amusing;it being a given that this was a 'bloody' place to think about anything remotely funny. Bloody? With all the 'blood around? Raghav's insides were ready to burst at the seams. Raghav tried to divert his 'amused'mind to the 'deadly' smell around. Raghav couldné help but give out a deep chortle. He was clearly in his element today. Deadly??? And with a 'dead' body around? '

Raghav got off the corpse and began muttering "hand.. handy.. blood.. bloody.. dead..deadly.."

Then Raghav noticed the Kingfisher beer can. He no longer needed it; he was completely satiated. Besides, leaving it behind would lead the police to be very clearly misguided, as though the beer can were part of some modus operandi. Modus Operandi describes a criminal's characteristic patterns and style of work.

The kingfisher had swooped down onto the water and baited its fish. Now, the Kingfisher beer had to leave its characteristic trace by means of the inevitable 'hangover'. Raghav knew that the hangover was not going to be his; this hangover was clearly going to loom over the residents/investigators/police/ media of south Mumbai the next day. The only thought on Raghav's mind: to catch the first train from Churchgate.
Where to? Home of course. Home? The open skies were beckoning him...

HANGOVER!!- PART 2.( an extrapolation of the 'BEER MAN SERIAL KILLER')

Raghav loved the local Mumbai trains for these unique spine-tingling moments- every day they cradled lakhs of people, paving way for those clandestine gazes, electrifying feather touches (with the lakh people inside, it was more an aphrodisiacal body-squashing session) and of course, booty and beauty to all and sundry. Reflecting on that trail of thought, Raghav comprehended why Bollywood Directors had a field day romancing trains.

Getting his thoughts focussed once again on the spirited local lad, Raghav turned on the smouldering charm. He jostled his way through the mass of slumped shoulders, as though they were weeds that obstructed a good brushing with his healthy sapling. He assuaged the rising heat in his head by putting his hands into his pockets and clenching the cold metal inside. As he neared 'his guy', Raghav gave a half-smile that was well on its way to provoke a dimpled smile from the lad.

Raghav's eyes sauntered on the man, while simultaneously playing on all possible aliases before saying, "Jitesh. Yor name?"
"Vichoo, what do you do?"
"Achaa naam; and I do what people in India love doing most; infact, love it so much that some do it all their lives"
"Warming your ass on a freaking Government job?"
"Nahi yaar; job hunting was wat I'd meant. Besides, Government jobs hit below the belt when it comes to the money, though coming to think of what you said, I'd love warming my ass on anything 'below the belt' ! What do you do?"
"Doing my second year at H R College, Churchgate; returning from a friend's place at Marine Lines"
"Yeah, I saw you getting in there. I live under the open skies;as open to it as I'm to open people."
"I'm pretty closed in 'all' places right now, but don't mind 'invasion' of any sort, or even invading 'open spaces'."
After that, Vichoo simply let himself surrender to the moment; the moment that simply witnessed their intermingling raw desires.

As the train got into halting positions at various stations, Raghav thanked Newton's First law; the inertia of both their bodies aided in bending and brushing against one other. When the passengers started pulling out at the last stop, Raghav and Vichoo allowed the pushing crowd to have their way. The pair was the last to leave the erstwhile crowded compartment in its gloomy stranded state.

The night was still young. Vichoo said, "Arey! Apne khopche mein leke chaloon ( i'll take you to my secret place) and talk over a couple of drinks and coke/hashish? Infact, my room is only 5 minutes away from here; a small shack of a place in the quiet Raheja mansion."

"Well, I'd definitely be crossing the line there, but hell, I could jus sniff a line of the stuff and make the line disappear."Raghav and Vichoo laughed at this private joke as they stumbled along a dark alley, while Raghav marvelled at his luck; he was striking his pot of ecstacy absolutely free, just as he had badly wanted earlier that evening.

Raghav and Vichoo walked into a typical bachelor room. Raghav played the embarassed guy on a rare f*$@,while Vichoo transferred a heap of clothes adorning the bed to the nearby chair. The comforting reassurance of the 'God-knows-how-many-weeks-old' sock stench put Raghav at ease.

Vichoo then drew a line and sniffed it clean in one sweep. He had already done a few at his friend's place, which explained the free spirit Raghav had seen swimming in his eyes. Raghav looked on in disgust. Vichoo drew a line on a 500 Rupee note for Raghav and handed it over to him. Vichoo, of course wallowing in the good 'trip' failed to notice Raghav slip out the powder to the ground below. Raghav was tempted to death as his olfactory senses jumped five storeys after smelling the familiar rotten toothpaste odour; the 'stuff' had given him life and ironically taken it away in the past. But, he had a more miles to go before he could eternally sleep.

Raghav was roughly shaken out of his reverie as Vichoo bumped man to man from the behind. Raghav succumbed to Vichoo's advances. Raghav lived through his nightmares as he got royally screwed by Vichoo. He closed his eyes and the tears spilled out jus as Vichoo spilled into him behind. His body was wracked by sobs,letting Vichoo's body be rocked by lust and mindless sex.

Vichoo was spent and drifted into a slumber. Raghav disentangeled himself; the helpless shame in him was way too immense. He needed a vent, as he always had in the past. With the shame, rose the rage. He stormed out of the apartment into the open street. He wiped the tears. His nose sniffed a line of a different kind. It was time to get his real cocaine!

Read more in part 3..

HANGOVER!!- PART 1. ( an extrapolation of the 'BEER MAN SERIAL KILLER')

The train rolled out its gentle lullaby, sending its trusting children into a delicious kip; eyes that had been sparkling with the day's activities now lulled into routine sedation. Raghav watched his train comrades in fascination, mostly because even though bodies were meshed against each other in the crowded, claustrophobic compartment of the last train to Churchgate, South Mumbai, the passengers displayed a trusting weariness very akin to the naughty child resting its head against its mother's bosom after a 'Boost' triggered day.

Raghav, on the other hand was wide awake. He enjoyed observing the homo sapien. Like the ticker on people's bedstands that only thought of moving its seconds hand forward in keeping with the tireless progression of time, the ticker in Raghav's body only thought of training its eyes on its next victim. Every person he ever laid his eyes on was his prized possession sent by God, if there ever was one. Like God had chosen a moment for every one of his 'gifts' to Raghav. Raghav loved his gifts. He unwrapped each and every one of his subjects with an unbridled curiosity; the curiosity never reduced in intensity with the increasing frequency of the gifts.
A very lopsided attribute of Raghav's gifts had been the 'homo' nature of the homo sapien concerned; his sexual orientation very naturally skewed.

Raghav felt the eccentric gush of adrenaline as his senses attuned themselves to the tall, well-built man near the doors;his flexed biceps accentuated by the short, skintight, 'gay', yellow sleeve needlessly hanging on to the straps above, as if only to swank his queerness. What essentially drew Raghav's attention was the free spirit in the Aamchi Mumbai lad's eyes that begged to be temporarily tied down.

Raghav thought to himself, 'Kya Raapchick maal hein !'(what a sexy guy!)

The cheeky plushy 'tushy doughnut' ! - part 2.

sooo... i guess i've bin sitting part 2 out on my 'ass' for a long tyme' ;expected because the anatomy we're talking about in this short story is the tushy after all! geeee:D

part2:

The 'Doughnut', when i first saw it reflected a corpulent Forest Army- camouflage mass- a rummy montage of green and black printed patterns. Only, the 'Doughnut' would have had a better cutting-edge competitive camouflaging capability on LOC soldiers, rather than on my staid brown sofa.

Following the extremely harrowing experience with the 'rod' that the reverend doctor most sincerely rammed into my delicate tertiary hemorrhoids and the contiguous two hour excruciation inflicted by the coagulant pack/ pain placed in the arse (get the drift?) that consistently caused a dire peeing sensation, I had been asked to adopt a few post- surgery measures which i most reluctantly did. That included a fruit and veggie diet, an arsehole soothing session in a lukewarm water trough and ofcourse, a butt-warming incubation on the amazing 'doughnut'.

The incubation is what i initially found comically quirky, as did my other frenz who visited 'sick' me. Infact, for a month i refused to go to college only to abscond from their suppressed bouts of involuntary laughter. Its hard to know how to react when people you hang around with you try to keep a straight face, what with your tushy plopped on a cushy doughnut. It is even harder when you can see those laughter lines almost forming and those eyes almost watering. It is hardest when all that they painfully suppress is released with an even greater intensity because suddenly, you yourself are exploding thinking how amusing you must look.Hence, the fear of laughing at myself and pulling a sphincter stitch (urghhhh!!!!)was bigger than the potential stitch in people'z tummies aggravated by my funny situation.

After that one month, the initial flakiness was dispelled and replaced by a silent, yet strong bonding with ma tushy mate. It became a permanent fixture on my bed; slept along with me, my bedsheets, pillows and cushions. It became the AR Rehman music that grows on anybody; from a teetering bunch of beats to a persistent hum floating on one's lips.

Another two months of Godsend recovery saw it tucked away into oblivion.

There it lies now, atop the almirah; the cheeky look seeking to woo my currently hale and hearty 'cheeks'. The sadistic yet yearning look; a desperado looking at me in desperation! Never does my tushy want to see that invading operating 'rod'. Yet, it longs for that blissful solace in the cushy 'tushy'doughnut. Remember the sudoku you guys were trying to solve in part one. This is my lifetime Sudoku.