THINGS LOVERS DO
By Neel Anil Panicker
“Have one more”, she said extending yet another glass of drink onto the eager hands of Rishi.
Unlike with his last four drinks, this one he gulped at one go. Shefali looked upwards. The stars above shone. A benign half moon sprayed radiance onto the Earth.
A cool gush of cold breeze swept across the star-lit midnight sky. The slight chill forced her to draw closer to Rishi.
She entwined her arms in his; he pressed her closer to him, his hands caressing her bare back.
A wave of desire surged through her veins. Her innards began to moisten up, yet again. Her knuckles dug into his left thigh, the fingers making contact with skin around the mere apology of a patterned check-boxer shorts that he was wearing.
The response was immediate. She felt his hands tighten up around her bare arms.
The music had begun; the hearts’ strings tugged; and the two lovers turned around facing each other__their eyes interlocked, having successfully decoded the Lovers’ Morse__privy only to and therefore decoded only by lovers.
And so for the fifth time that night, oblivious to all including the world that lay asleep below them and the stars that shone above them, Shefali and Rishi made love, pulsatingly passionate love.
Parched hearts found solace in ravenous bodies, filling its inviting crevices to the brim with the throbbing viscosity of love that came heavily lathered in lust.
Soon after, and as their passion exploded in a million splashes dazzling the moon-lit sky with its sheer brilliance, and as the stars above twinkled as if in affirmation, the two lay spread-eagled on the stained floor, closing their eyes to all but each another.
“This is one off my bucket list”, she said several hours later.
“Excuse me,?” he replied as his eyes scanned the dark surroundings.
“What are you searching for”? she teased him as she deftly extricated her legs from under his thighs.
He began to answer but she cut him off.
“ You want this, here take it”.
Before he could realize what had happened his Dixie Scott boxers had melted into the skies. The two craned their necks out, he first, only to see the debris of their passionate encounter bobbing around, an increasingly tiny microcosm floating around much like the flotsam and jetsam of life.
“This is life”, she screamed from 22 floors above the ground.
He turned around, an amused expression lining his face.
“Is this also part of your bucket list”?.
She grabbed him in a tight cinch and locked her mouth into his, sending forth cosmic vibrations across his spine.
Later, when the two broke off and she winked into his eyes, he got his answer.
She offered him one more drink. This time he didn’t bother; instead, took the half finished bottle from her hands and thrust the orange concoction down his throat.
She went for the kill.
“I want you to kill my husband”.
What???!!! He screamed out, his voice reverberating across the clouds above them.
“ You heard what I said, Rishi. I won’t repeat it again. I want you to help me in killing Aman”
“You are drunk? …and mad as well.”
“Drunk? Am I”? Well, if you say so, darling, then I am drunk.”.
Shefali shifted her weight around. Her legs recklessly brushed against the near empty Bacardi Silver White rum bottle, spilling over the least few drops onto the damp floor around them.
Jutting her head out towards Rishi, she added, her faded brown eyes glinting under the starry light and boring into his,
“I maybe drunk, sweetie, but am not mad. I say what I mean and I mean what I say.”
A bat that disturbed the stillness that had grown, flying over their heads as a wave of cool breeze collided against their bodies, and died thereafter. Above, the searing sound of a supersonic jet boomed past as if in affirmation.
“But, darling, this…”
“Here, have this. This will clear your head”, she shot back thrusting a fresh bottle of Bacardi (this time, whisky, with a hint of mint) into his hands.
She had extricated it from the other of the two 12-pack crates they had brought along.
Glad she carried the second one, she thought feeling mighty pleased with herself.
It sure was proving a big help in putting her plan to action.
She had never killed before and neither had Rishi.
Shefali looked across towards Rishi.
With his back to the wall and legs all spread out, he looked a sight with his curly hairs all disheveled and sans any clothes save her favourite Dixie Scott underwear boxers. Already zozzled
(‘man he drank like the fucking liquid was fast becoming as extinct as the dodo’.)
She watched him intently as he held whisky bottle, clasping its neck, and bobbing its contents down his throat like it was some weapon of mass destruction.
It was time for her to make him play the lead role.
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( Chapter 16 of continuing fiction series A FAIR AFFAIR)
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