Gulp (Girl with the Zeppelin Tattoos)
Hi indian sex stories dot net readers We were in a large bathroom at a house party. Our lips were locked, our bodies were conjoined in a powerful embrace that is felt, explicitly only by lovers. We were like two clouds, crashing together, creating thunders. Both of us were filled with terrible, heart breaking, intense emotions and we needed a release. When we crashed, it rained; not above us, but inside us. Together, we let the burden go. I cupped her ass and pulled her closer. She had her head buried in my neck and she was softly moaning, when suddenly, the door blasted open. I quickly turned towards the door, catching a glimpse of a girl with glasses (probably a friend of hers) hastily apologizing. She jumped away from my arms, shielding her vulnerability with a wall that I would never be able to break again. A wall that I could not climb. She shut the door back with force and stepped away from the light as if the darkness will engulf her sins and make her invisible from the eyes of unfriendly gossip. I walked into the backyard of my friend’s place without any expectation from the social gathering of a party. It was New Year’s Eve and I was prepared to do anything to get drunk, have a good time. It was a beautiful chilling evening and all the people that mattered most in my life were around me. As I stepped outside, I saw a few friends of the host. One of them was Her. She was wearing a short red dress, with a black jacket that came up till her stomach. A cigarette lightly hung from her lips, the tobacco burning to be sucked in. She was tiny, I noticed, and I could easily lift her in my arms. Her face had a slight blush, probably a hurried brush on the cheeks before the party. I admired women who made it a point to look beautiful. It was a competition where only women participated. The host introduced me to her and that’s when I looked first into her eyes. She gave me a glance, with a smile, that is reserved only for pleasantries and then looked back into her phone, moving on with her life. I, on the other hand, was hung in a limbo. Not because it was love or anything, but because I wanted to look deeper into her life and I never got the chance again. The Vodka-Gin-Whiskey punch traveled through my throat and splashed into my stomach. It burned and I knew I was hungry, but I didn’t care. As I walked around the perimeter of the backyard, smoking cigarettes after cigarettes, I pondered over trivial matters of love, loss, and philosophy. She soon realized that I was missing the intense conversation of university gossip and decided to join me. She probably needed a change of scenario. A fresh gulp of air. “I noticed your tattoos.” She said. “Thank you,” I replied with a smile. “Big Zeppelin fan?” she asked.I had two Led Zeppelin symbols on each of my arms. My eternal dedication to Jimmy Page and Robert Plant, the lead guitarist and vocalist of the legendary band. Music was partly a reason for the tattoos. More importantly, these men have intrigued me and I had decided to dedicate a part of my heart and soul (and skin too) to decipher them. Their lifestyles, the fanaticism to their music, their philosophy. All this cannot be explained at one brief meeting at a party. It takes patience and time and understanding. I simply replied, “Yes.” She smiled and reached to her shoulder and pull down a strap of her dress and she showed me a similar tattoo that few would recognize. I also glanced at her cleavage but she did not notice it in the dark. “The Jones symbol.” I smiled. She smiled back. Suddenly, I felt like reaching out to her and giving her a hug and not letting go. I had lost my guard at the first instant. It is very rare and unusual to find someone who loves the same music as you, let alone get symbolism etched onto their skin. I had fallen, with respect. After a few drinks, she leaned close to me and whispered, “I’m messed up.” I laughed and asked her why do you say that? She smiled and said, “I’ve done a lot of shit.” She told me she had done snake bite once when she was away from home. I told her I cut myself often. She told me she had tried a few chemicals, but she wouldn’t tell which. I told her I had felt suicidal sometimes at night. She told me the mountains were overrated and that she preferred beaches. I told her the mountains were calm and the beaches were chaotic. She asked me if I loved bacon. I said bacon didn’t appeal that much to me. It was just another food. She pretended to be offended and walked away, with an air that shunned every other food and proclaimed the superiority of Bacon. After a while, she sat down and looked at me and took a puff of the cigarette. It was sexy. Bacon was her favorite food. At midnight, everyone hugged each other and there were sentimental dialogues and promises exchanged. I nodded, smiled, and wished them a very happy new year. That’s when I realized that she was missing from the crowd. I went inside the house, looking for her. In the adjacent room, I heard her screaming at someone, which seemed to be her boyfriend. Or her ex-boyfriend, I hoped. After knocking, I entered the room, pretending to look for the camera. She suddenly said, “Please go away. I need some privacy.” I was surprised by the hostility but went out. There were no tears in her eyes. Only pain. I felt the agony and I could see the cracks in her wall. One can always see the cracks in the wall when it starts to crumble. The phone call with her boyfriend (Or ex), was responsible for the cracks in her wall. As I stood outside, I reached for my phone to dial my ex-girlfriend. It would soothe my wounds, I thought. But after repeated rings, she did not pick up. I felt ashamed. Weak. This wasn’t me. At a party, with all my friends, the alcohol. Her. I did not need my past to inflict more pain. I had the right tools for that all around me. I went to the kitchen and gulped down my drink.