Thursday, April 16, 2009

Mumbai freeze-frame: Blue-collar dreaming

9. Blue-collar dreaming

The girls were running away with it - the big vibrating dildo that could contort its shape into a moving shifting fluidity that looked mildly threatening, just by the press of a button at its base. When Siddharth climbed into the driver’s seat five minutes later, the girls were already there next to him - three sets of arms, thighs and hands, and three heads of luxuriant lustrous hair all merged into one giggling, seductive mass - the dildo appearing now and then to public view from somewhere in its folds.

When the first traffic cop emerged at the Nepean Sea Road crossing, Siddharth stopped a little short of the signal, manhandled one of the girls into the back seat, pushed another’s head down into his lap, grabbed the dildo from the third girl’s hand and stuffed it in the dash, and then started off again. The policeman didn’t notice anything untoward as the Volvo sedan passed him serenely by.

At the club doors later, Siddharth made a big impression with the manageress, with his three luscious companions holding onto his shoulders like he was the desi version of Daniel Craig. They were ushered in with the cover tokens, stopping at the first available empty space on the large garage-themed floor, dimly lit with the huge four-sided bar counter at the centre. Two of the girls proceeded on and wantonly gave whoever cared to look a slut-on-slut rendition of that free-form dance movement of butts, breasts and knees, not really worried about keeping time to the music. Siddharth’s left-over companion turned herself into a smoldering receptacle of lips and tongue for a minute and a half that saw him gulping desperately for air when it finished.

He moved on then through the periphery of the dancing crowd to the second bar, thankfully placed at the right –hand corner of one of the four walls and got himself his first whisky and soda. He gravitated eventually towards a jubilant crowd out yonder and dissolved into the bonhomie. When he had made it to his sixth shot of tequila later that night, almost passed out on the sofa in front of the bar, he looked down into the top of a fourth dissociated girl’s head and saw her desperately try to engage his penile attention in full view of the five hundred other patrons who really couldn’t have cared less.

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