Friday, March 9, 2012

The Blogging Affair by Manu

Here's the first chapter from the book 'The Blogging Affair' by Manu.

'I was in my missus when the phone began to ring. Only I was not able to hear it ringing as I was thinking of someone else. No excuse really - this is just who I am.

 Who was I thinking of? Now give me a second to recall. There's just too many of them good-looking ones out there. Oh yes - I remember now. I was thinking of that little tart who gave me those little looks while my missus was busy trying out yet another lingerie of some sort or other. Lingerie sections do that to you, don't they? You will be standing there looking at all the frilly and lacy undergarments, and all the girls picking and choosing, and it will all seem utterly normal until suddenly....wham! It happens! You start putting the lace and the girls together, and before you realize what's happened, you'll be engulfed by visions of negligee clad beauties surrounding you with the grandeur of their scantiness.


 Once that happens, you've had it! The one-that-must-be-obeyed would start making his majestic presence felt, and soon you would be sporting that uncomfortable bulge down below. Made uncomfortably aware of the grand presence, you would park your hands in your pockets playing billiards of sorts, trying to plead the one into submission. Doesn't always help, you know. Girls have a way of whiffing out our state of arousal. That's what happened to me today at the big mart. This one whiffed me out. It was not altogether her doing, though. My eyes had been doing their bit of roaming as well. Well, then what? She would just not stop giving me that look, her eyes burning like ambers. That look is permanently burnt at the back of my brain.

 I do not pause for a phone call when I am in the middle of someone.


But you know how it is with women when something like that happens. My missus went cold. It was not because she figured out I was fantasizing of someone else. No, we're good that way, the two of us, kind of open that way, sharing our fantasies and all. No, it was the ringing of that darn phone that knocked her out. She's like that, my missus. She'll miss the rythm when she gets distracted and then just cannot go on. Mighty strange, I think. It's not like she stops tapping away at her laptop when something like that happens. No, that does not interfere in her typing rhythm. It's the same phone call, isn't it? It could be equally important, couldn't it? Well then why does it not affect her typing the way it affects her.......err.....thumping? Oh, well!

 She's quite a bombshell, this missus of mine, even when she's diffused. I mean nubile with sultry eyes and long thick hair that reaches her mounds and everything else that man's dreams are made of.

 She was always the kind that got the horns honking, if you know what I mean. The kind that causes accidents merely by being displayed on the billboards. The kind that men cover but never obtain, on account of lucky idiots like me.

  Anyway, I forced myself to come to a standstill, and we were left looking at each other as if to ask 'what next?' It should have been obvious though because the phone was still ringing.

 "Are you not going to attend to the phone?" she asked as she tried to move my weight from above her.

 "Just as soon as I was done with my job here," I replied, speaking from my heart, while maintaining my precarious position. That ticked her off. I'm not quite sure why. What was she expecting? Something like 'Yes darling, I will be glad to escape your clawing clutches' or what? It'd be difficult to understand any woman, let alone your missus.

 Men are simple. All our needs can be reduced to that one thing. And what's worse is that women know that. They know that all a man will ever want is what he can't have. That's where women have an edge over us. They know what we want, they sure do. The only thing they don't seem to get is how badly we want it.

 Well, what's wrong in what we want, I ask. The pleasure's in poaching. Once you've tasted the spoils, they're spoilt, that's all they are. A fish once fried cannot be fried again. Look, here's how it works. Your missus is like your house. You come in and go out as you please. But you can't be the same with all the other women out there, can you? But then, there's no harm in trying, even if the door is slammed in our face. Eventually, one of those doors is going to stay open, you just have to ring enough doorbells. Bells? Ring? Oh yes, that reminds me. I've got to pick up that phone before it wakes the entire neighbourhood up.

 The clock showed quarter to ten. I know.....I know......that's early to be busy in bed, by any standard. What can I say? My missus came back from one of her business trips just a little while back. She came in, plonked her bag over the side of the loveseat, plopped on the bed, announced that she was ravenous, and proceeded to have me for dinner. Oh yes, the phone!

 And so it was thus that I walked over to the phone, with the steady beat of the tap dripping tiny droplets in rhythm with the patter of my feet treading across the cold hard floor.'


- Debolina Raja Gupta

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