Pert Nipples

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So I find myself in yet another streetside internet cafe, with a dodgy keyboard; this time in Aurangubad, which is true to its Lonely Planet description of tatty. Unfortunately the dodgy keyboard is matched by an increasingly dodgy stomach. Nothing exciting happened with the luschious lad from New Jersey whose crotch so caught my attention in Ellora. I tried my best to put a spell on him, pretending I didn't understand how to work hotmail, dropping my pen at his feet (in the hope he would lean to pick it up, meet my eyes, and be unable to resist) ... I even tried to make conversation by asking if he visited often. I guess that may have been my downfall as Ellora rarely features twice on the RTWtrip. I finally gave up, paid my 20rupees, and meandered back to the hostel, where I joined a group of oriental travellers for veg fried rice. (In fact, it may have been the veg fried rice which is responsible for my current intestinal traumas.) I tried, best as I could, to fit in. To socialise. To laugh in the right places. It didn't help that they were jabbering in mandarin, and as I shovelled the rice into my famished orifice, I realised that I've never done an oriental. Never been shagged in Shanghai or been banged in Beijing. I cast my desperate eyes around the group and tried to work out who was most likely to give into his genital-desires. It was at this point that I noticed two of them holding hands and stroking each others thighs under the table. I had wasted half an hour pretending to understand mandarin, weighing up the possibility of sexual activity with what turned out to be a group of gay guys with their transexual side kick. I bet they aren't lying awake at night forced to spank the monkey. I would have even been up for a three-some, but I wasn't sure how to go about enquiring (hand actions anyone?!)

Most people, I suppose, would write about the weather, the scenery, the chaos and the clutter which somehow encompasses every town in India. Yet these details, these images, either need to be experienced personally, or else can be read about in numerous guide books. To quote McFly, this is all about me. Whenever I think of Ellora, I will think of those finely formed shoulders, the crotch of lost possibility, and the veg fried rice which is still very much a part of my daily lavatorial activity. So I settled down to sleep once again, alone with all but the bed bugs and my treasured right hand. I dreamt of the alternate reality in the cyber cafe ... of being shagged to oblivion and back again. I woke up the next morning and waited until the dorm was clear before continuing the self simulated pleasure. Surely there must have been some men in Ellora equally as desperate? It has been a long time since I had a really good shag, and provided we aren't related, I'm really not that fussy. Perhaps I should start wearing a sign on my head "If you're up for it, I consent" ...

It is wrong to be so desperate. You can pay anyone to do anything in India, and I'm seriously thinking that financial incentives may be my best bet. It does seem wrong though ... paying a guy to fuck you. Does nothing for the self esteem. At this rate, I should return to the UK, invest in some shiny white stilettoes, and acquaint myself with red lights. There are only minor worries of being arrested or murdered. Being found face down in the Ganges seems so much more exotic than lying on a motorway verge outside of Ipswich.

I got the train back to Aurangubad, where I have been wasting time (and bodily fluids) shitting a lot. One of my dorm buddies (I use the term loosely), an 18yr old girl called Hayley from Manchester, told me I reminded her of her mother. I smiled ambivalently, wanting to suffocate her with the bug ridden pillow. Smug little bitch, with her 25" waist and her pert nipples. Been there, done that, lost the T-shirt. Bothered? But I was bothered. I'll never be 18 again, and there is much to be said for pert nipples.

Am thinking of heading to an ashram. When I say I have no real travel plans, I mean, I have no real travel plans. I am drifting from one place to the other in the hope that somewhere, sometime, I will find the shag of my life, and maybe even find myself in the process. I'm not sure we ever find out who we really are ... we're so many people rolled into one, and the realisation alarms me. An ashram intrigues me. Do I want to engage with my spiritual side (if I have one), or do I want to mix with the ecclectic inmates, who may be up for tantric orgies? I haven't quite decided, but I will leave Aurangubad tomorrow, headed for Delhi, where I will visit some nuns and re-tune with a spot of voluntary work. It will be a long train journey, and I can always hope that I will share by berth with a virile 30-something whose hand will creep unexpectedly into my sleeping bag in the early hours. Of course, I usually end up sharing with half a crate of chickens, or an elderly widow who should have cut her loses and thrown herself on her husband's pyre.

... enough for now ... I feel a toilet break may be necessary. Such a turn on, don't you think?!

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Comments

[Susin]

You Travelblog Rebel!!
You are such a travelblog rebel! Good on you for posting such a different and interesting blog. I love it! Will be keeping my eye out for your stories :-)