Rangpanchami festival day
17th March, 2017
Small footprints in the sand weave past the roots of the mangroves, away from my hut. I follow them towards the placid afternoon sea which glitters blue-green beyond the white beach. The sky is cloudless azure above the swaying emerald fronds of the coconut trees that line the coast. A silky breeze blows in off the clear horizon and lifts the locks of my overlong hair from my shoulders.
At the end of the footprint trail, the naked boy is tracing his toes through the water's edge. His slim, dark neck and back are coated in bright, magenta powder from the day's celebration. There's a sprinkling of yellow down his left side and some blue and green and orange scattered all over, but it's the electric magenta that dominates. A wide smear of it covers the centre and right side of his back. There's a coating on his left shoulder and upper arm. Below the line of his araijan, just to the right of his well-defined butt crease, is a magenta hand print.
He looks back over his shoulders, that bright strong smile looking pleased with life and the world. His eyes gleam with joy from under the strands of blue-dusted black hair waving across his magenta-streaked forehead.
I cannot help but feel his contentment and joy spread through my heart. Just over a year I've been living on this little island on the west coast of India, lost to the world. For me, this boy is the centre of existence right now. Whatever else I might be or might become, I will never be more than I am when he looks at me.
On the most colourful day of the year, in the most vibrant country on Earth, I'm having the most sensual and profound moment of my life.
Last night after sunset, Vikash and I had climbed the low hill at the centre of the island, hand-in-hand, enveloped in the dark. I could see the mainland lights to the east. Even in the warm air, I shuddered in revulsion as I remembered what lay on that side of the channel: boardrooms and firm handshakes and blinking green lights demanding attention on my phone.
You dying or what?
The boy gave me a questioning look and I smiled down at him. He was scrubbed clean from his afternoon bucket bath and was resplendent in his white kurta, a half-shirt, half-robe that he wore for going to the temple and to weddings. I wore one myself, but I doubted I looked half as bright and pure as he did.
We continued up the worn footpath to the temple. Out back was the giant cone of stacked tree branches that would burn tonight, the holika. Upon it stood an effigy of the evil princess Holika which gave the bonfire its name.
Eager boys milled around, many of them calling to me, "Mac! Mac! Mac!" so I would join their games or just say hi in return. I played the reluctant adult in their circle while the women and girls organised aromatic foods and the men prepared the offerings and accouterments of the ceremony, which seemed just as aromatic.
Both seemed to involve a lot of coconut oil. Indians used it for a million things, not just food, but hair tonic, medicine, lamps...Vikash often gave me long full-body massages with it when he said I looked stressed. I think he just wanted an excuse to put his hands all over me.
He'd put those nimble fingers of his to work along my limbs, down my back, on my neck and even my scalp. Of course, far from being relaxed, I'd get so worked up after one of his sessions that I'd promptly jump all over him for a vigorous fuck while he yelled and protested that I needed to stay loose and take it easy so I could get the full effects of his therapy. Forget it. I knew what therapy I needed--his tight little hole around my stiff cock.
As I refereed the temple boys playing their version of freeze tag, I watched Vikash and realized I had never given him a massage in return because I'd always moved on to sex when he was done with me. How could I never have taken the chance to put my hands on his oiled up body? Next time would be different I promised myself.
The games ended as the religious rites began. I hadn't really understood the temple goings on the first time around, last year. I'd only just gotten to the island then, and was still living with Vikash and his parents while I tried to get my head together.
This year, I knew the significance when the priest spoke the ceremonial words to the accompaniment of the thumping drum; while the village boys pranced in a ring around the pyre as the flames were lit; while the holika ignited and blossomed into a seven-metre tall pillar of flame and heat.
All of this followed by eating, singing, praying, drumming, laughing and dancing. It was hard to tell where one started and the other began.
Burning the holika and playing with colours the next day is a custom most of India celebrates during the festival called Holi. Out here in the western fishing villages, they wait until five nights later, during Rangpanchami, but their enthusiasm is in no way reduced.
The families with younger children and some of the older folks left early, but the youths and the extra-religious stayed long, wearing out the drums and their voices in praise and song. It was near midnight when Vikash and I were done helping to tidy the empty temple. Under the light of the newly risen moon, we walked back down the footpath, the woodsmoke scent still drifting in the air, our sandals pattering on the grass.
At the bottom of the trail, we strolled along the beach for a while, holding hands again--his dark, mine pale. This area was treated as public land, but most people lived on the channel side of the island where their fishing boats could have safe harbour. So we had the western shore all to ourselves. The wave tops foamed in the moonlight as they gently washed the sand. Behind us, in a darkness unfazed by the few electric lights on this half of the island, the glowing remains of the bonfire made a beacon on the hilltop.
I squeezed my boy's hand tighter. He smiled up at me. His English was very good, much of it learned from the cricket commentators on TV, but he tended to say very little.
Cricket...I shook my head at the memory: he had only ever gotten angry at me once, when Australia beat India in a semi-final six months ago. I'd cheered loudly for my home team of course, and once the game was over Vikash had blown his top, eloquently denouncing us Aussies as bullies and cheats.
I had been unable to suppress my chortle at how cute his accent made his anger, which caused him to storm out of his parents' house. His father shrugged his shoulders at me in a way that said, 'What did you expect, you idiot?'
Vikash forgave me eventually, but I suffered two nights without affection as a result. The lesson? Never doubt how much Indians love their cricket.
But the Vikash on the beach with me was all about quiet harmony. I breathed in the salt air and let out a smiling sigh of appreciation to be where I was. Vikash copied me, a sincere gesture though he often mocked my admiration of his island life. We turned from the sea's murmur and headed home.
I had my own place now--a single room structure on short stilts in a clearing of the seaside forest, a few hundred yards from where Vikash lived. He slept with me most nights, even the nights we didn't have sex. (But he still favoured his mother's cooking at meal times.)
At the side of my small house, under a wide awning of dried palm fronds, was a simple gas stove and a wooden table with a few benches on the clean-swept dirt.
Shelves nailed into to the side wall held my supplies. From a small icebox, I dug out a cool coconut and opened it up with a big knife. I didn't offer one to Vikash because drinking coconut water at night had made him pee the bed when he was younger and he had a phobia about it.
Three rising steps led up to the doorless entryway of my house. Inside, on the unpolished wooden floor, was a low bed, a cupboard with some books, a chest of drawers with a few clothes and personal items...and a trunk in the corner with the remnants of my old life. I'd only been in the trunk once since I first padlocked it.
Vikash lit the kerosene lamp, ignoring the battery-powered lantern I used for reading. I finished off the woody-sweet coconut water as he undressed, the lines of his brown body melding with the soft shadows of the hut. There was no great ceremony in this. We had been lovers for nearly all my time on the island, so our bedtimes had become routine. But I stood in silent appreciation nonetheless as he revealed his beauty to me.
I undressed as the boy lay back in the bed. He was on the verge of puberty, the first definitions of muscle emerging over the past year. He still didn't shoot anything when he came and below the traditional black string tied around his waist--his araijan--his little, uncircumcised cock stuck out from a bare pubis.
I left the flickering lamp on as I lay next to Vikash and held him to my side. He leaned over and pressed his lips to me. I let his soft mouth slide against mine, both of us getting wetter as we tongued each other languorously.
Vikash reached down to my hard cock and stroked it gently. I stiffened, leaking precum all over his fingers so that a wet sound soon rose from his handjob.
I caressed his smooth back with one hand and his cheek with the other. As we kissed, our breaths warmed each other's faces. I inhaled his delicate scent--camphor and coconut oil and...something else that seemed to be just his, something a lot like sunshine--and I got even stiffer down below as I realized how intimate I was being with him, how close I was to this perfect boy, who had taken me in and loved me.
I snuck a hand down from his back to the start of his buttock curve as he got more on top of me. With my other hand, I held him close by his slender neck and he pressed himself down on me like he was hungry for my taste.
My hips as he pumped my shaft, energy and desire building in my stomach.
"Soon?" he asked.
"Soon," I nodded.
He pulled back and kissed his way down my chest and my flat stomach. (A year of working on his father's fishing boat had stripped away my ten kilos of flab). I rested my hands on his skinny shoulders as he reached my straining cock and engulfed it in his wet, warm mouth. As the light danced along his features, Vikash sucked lovingly on me, like he enjoyed his task just because it brought pleasure to me.
I moaned as he used one hand to stroke the exposed shaft while his lips and tongue slurped and sucked the knob. He upped the pace of his pumping, bringing me to the edge and then keeping me there. (This boy had wonderfully skilled fingers. He'd be a world class surgeon some day I was sure.)
When he had teased me enough, he let me cum and I instinctively held his head down as I lifted my hips off the bed, driving my hard, pulsing cock into his mouth and spurting load after load into him.
When he had swallowed it all, he stayed on me for a few more minutes, sucking me clean and sending a few last shivers of delight through my body. When he lifted back up, we kissed and I marveled at the mix of my flavours and his.
Against my thigh, I could feel Vikash's hard little dick. He was grinding it on me, letting me know he needed his turn too. I sat up and tossed our two small pillows into the corner between the bed head and the wall. He reclined against them, knowing my intent from our many previous sessions, and spread his feet, knees drawn up. I lay on my belly, hands cupping his smooth, soft butt cheeks and slurped on his thin boy cock. I savoured essence-of-Vikash, that sea-breeze and sweat mixture that his skin always brought to my tongue.
Now he was the one pressing on my head as he climbed the hill of arousal to the temple of ecstasy at the summit. He gasped out raggedly and his hot flesh throbbed in my lips as he pressed into me with slow humping motions.
Once it was all over, I gave him a last kiss and we smiled at each other before I blew out the lantern and draped the mosquito net around our bed. He cuddled into my arms, his head on my shoulder.
I fell asleep saying silent thanks to God that I had ended up here that day I stole a speedboat belonging to my company's client and drove it until there was no gas left.
Sometime in the early morning, Vikash and I awoke and we made love in the quiet, my cock in his welcoming ass. Afterward, I spooned him and we dozed, my fingers stroking his skinny forearms.
The festivities began right after dawn with a water fight. We were actually ambushed in bed by a gang of Vikash's friends carrying buckets. They knew he'd be in my house and no one seemed surprised to find us naked in bed. Everyone on the island had an idea of what was going on between me and Vikash, but they also seemed to figure he was old enough to do what he wanted. Some, like his friends and his uncles, even made winking jokes about it from time to time.
He and I retaliated against the bucket brigade of course. Vikash grabbed the loaded, budget-brand super-soaker under the bed and I used the water balloons I had hidden in a large pot outside. We drove off our attackers, but then, sadly, Vikash betrayed our love by turning his weapon on me once I was out of ordnance.
We had reconciled by the time we finished breakfast and then we put our good clothes back on for our return to the temple. But first we stuffed our pockets with packs of coloured powder and shouldered our super-soakers. I had several empty balloons on me as well.
In the cool shadows of the woods, as we walked up the trail, Vikash turned to me and said, "Mac, hold on."
He leaned his water gun against a tree trunk and I waited while he dug in his pocket. Around us, birds chirped and the wind rustled through the heavy leaves, bringing a mossy odor. I heard a truck drive by on the road at the bottom of the hill, the tree-muffled faintness of its engine underlining how much in our own world we were right then.
Vikash popped open a pack of the magenta powder and I smiled in anticipation.
Humans are designed to love touch. As I discovered last year, the act of stroking powder onto a person's face is intimate and cathartic for both individuals. Even when it's people you hardly know--young girls, old women, veteran fishermen--that friendly touch, enhanced by the grainy powder, creates a sense of closeness and kinship. Powerful enough to bond a whole country together, never mind a village.
And when it's someone you love that plays colours with you? Someone you like? Oh, it's Nirvana. With two fingers, Vikash smeared the colour along my jaw, his powdered touch a strange mix of gentle pressure, warmth and a scraping sensation as the rough powder was pressed into my skin.
Hey, mister, you dying?
He repeated the action on the other side of my face. Then I took hold of the packet and spread powder over all my fingers. I slid them across his cheek to his ear, creating a path of brightness against his dark skin. Then I bent and kissed his forehead, savouring the moment of me and this boy face-to-face in the peace of the woods.
It seemed Vikash could sense that same emotion too and he solemnly signaled that I should let him have the powder again. With a look of love and longing, he stretched out a lone finger tipped in magenta.
A mischievous smile broke across his face, his perfect white teeth showing, and betrayed his intent. But too late to save me. He flicked the underside of my nose sending powder into my nostrils so that I had to turn away and sneeze while he giggled. Dropping my own gun, I tackled him and stole the powder, making sure to hold him around the waist so he couldn't escape. I took a handful of powder and rubbed it into his neat hair. Vikash squealed with laughter and tried to squirm away, but I twisted his arm and leaned him sideways so I could toss powder into his ear.
He proved far from helpless, however, and ran his hand through his hair to coat his fingers with powder. He slid two fingertips into my mouth and I let him go to spit out the bitter taste. "Vik, you little motherfucker!"
When I looked up, cleaning the surface of my tongue with my teeth, he was pointing and laughing. But my enraged expression sent gleeful panic through him and he turned to run. I raced up the hill after him, catching him just in sight of the opening where the canopy of the trees gave way to blue sky, and pinned his chest against the mossy trunk of a mango tree.
As he tried to fight me off, he giggled, "No, aaahh, I'm sorry, aaah, Mac, no!" But I got the drawstring of his Bollywood-style churidar open and reached in to dump the last of the powder over his naked crotch.
His mouth opened in an 'O' of disbelief and I looked down at him in victory, panting from my exertions.
He said, "You--" He looked back down at his now magenta-coated cock.
I grinned, my body-weight against his back He looked at me, his expression changing from shock to wicked delight.
I realized I had a thumping erection and it was pressing against the cotton-covered inset of his slim back. Before he could react, I pulled his pyjama-style trousers down to his knees. The bottom of the kurta covered the firm brown ass I knew was under there, but I didn't mind. My hands cupped his buns eagerly under the fabric, squishing them in my powdered hands as I was possessed by lust.
Vikash looked left and right along the empty path then gave me an eager nod of his head. He too could sense the rightness of this moment, in this place.
No time for preliminaries. I untied my own trousers and let them drop then unbuttoned my kurta at the bottom so that my upward-curved cock popped into sight. Keeping Vikash pressed against the tree with one hand--the one with the magenta powder--I slathered the fingers of my clean hand in spit and reached into the tight, warm crack of his ass. He was still a bit loose from our morning fuck my burrowing fingers revealed, but even three applications of spit into his entrance wasn't getting his hole ready enough for me.
He looked over his shoulder, teeth clenched, and said, "Don't worry about that. Do it."
"It'll hurt, Vik."
"I don't care. I want it."
I held his kurta hem up with one hand and got my swollen cock head to the boy's ass. With my other hand, I guided the thick knob through his cheeks so that it rested against his opening. Pressing on him at the shoulder and waist, I lowered my hips and powered into Vikash's slender boy body.
He grunted and panted in discomfort and hugged the tree. I covered his body with mine and gripped his shoulders, then began pounding into his tight chute with deep, lingering strokes. The coloured dust from his head wafted up to my nostrils as his body shook under each forceful thrust. The underside of my chest slid along the soft cloth covering his shoulder blades as I fucked into him again and again.
The temple drums started up, the slower, heavier beats penetrating down the forest path to us. Instinctively, I timed my fucking of Vikash's sweet ass to the music.
The feel of his small form trapped between my big body and the tree gave me a sense of power. Mixed with the adrenaline of the just-won chase, it compelled me on to keep ramming into him, to take all the pleasure I could from possessing him.
His back passage was smooth and warm and its walls gripped me as Vikash squirmed. He wasn't speaking English anymore, his moaned mutterings sounding like a mixture of need and pain and triumph.
I felt the orgasm boiling up in me and I gripped his shoulders as I maintained the penetrating thrusts of my fucking to the beat of the drums, all the while pressing him into the tree with my chest.
As his voice became higher pitched with overloaded emotion, I slammed into Vikash and grunted as I blasted my load into his welcoming little ass. Pleasure surged through my body and poured out through my cock along with my shooting semen. Six, seven, eight times I shuddered and drove my pulsing cock into him, before finally calming down with a series of smaller shivers.
When I pulled free, cum dripped down the insides of his thighs, making milky rivulets against his brown skin.
"Shit," he said, still bracing the tree, "I can feel it running down my leg. Why do you always shoot so much, Mac? I can't wipe it with my clothes. Now wh--"
"Hold your clothes out of the way," I told him, then ran to retrieve our super-soakers.
"You can't use that," he objected when he guessed my intent.
"Why not? All the kids are going to be wet at the temple anyway." And with that I washed him clean of our sex. At the end, I squirted his little ball sack at close range, which made him squeal in outrage.
When we got to the temple door, Vikash's clothes were damp and smudged magenta with my palm prints, but he fit right in. The rest of the kids sitting on the floor at the back of the temple were wielding powder and water toys of their own, engaging in covert warfare while the adults up front chanted and played music and listened to the priest's sermon. The magenta powder was the most popular by far.
The religious stuff was all over by noon. There was more food and general mixing and celebrating while people decorated each other's laughing faces and white clothes with powder and liquid dye. Kids weaved in and out, some targeting me for watery attacks. I retaliated of course, though at one point I went after a knot of girls with a water balloon and ended up hitting an old man shuffling along with a walking stick. On any other day that would have been mortifying. Today, he just chuckled and shook his grey head as he walked off towards a table laid out with slices of watermelon, mango and banana.
After lunch, the action moved to the village square. This was a cricket field next to Vikash's school. Most of his friends lived around there, near the harbour on the other side of the hill. Music was everywhere with men playing drums and mini-cymbals and flutes while singing traditional songs. In between, Bollywood music blasted from the speakers set up to one side.
While the parents stayed under the wide shade of the gigantic saman trees that lined the boundaries, the kids chased each other around in the heat, carrying buckets, water guns and even backpack water sprayers. The wet powders of the day's celebration dripped down their bodies like melted rainbows.
At one point I recognised a song from Vikash's favourite classic movie. The number was set in a Holi scene featuring a drunken Amitabh in love with a woman he couldn't have. I'd been bouncing along with the dancing crowd at the periphery until then, but I jokingly started acting out the dance scene from memory to Vikash. He recognised the moves immediately and danced along with me to correct some of my misplaced choreography.
The crowd gave us some space, amused to see their Australian guest mimic their greatest movie star. Halfway through the number, Vikash changed the joke. Instead of dancing along with me, he began doing the girl's part. At first I was worried, but everyone else understood the spirit of the jest and cheered us on. It was all wholesome anyway since old Bollywood dancing involves a lot of circling and leaning at your partner, but has very little touching.
My hesitation vanished and I became lost in the multi-coloured face of the beautiful boy dancing with me and the clear affection and love in his eyes. I willed my own face to show how much I treasured him.
Once the song was over, I resumed my more detached participation on the sidelines, content to observe and drink the local liquor. When the sun had clearly begun to head for the horizon, Vikash and I said our goodbyes and set off back across the hill.
I watched him now in the slanting rays of the sun as he walked into the Arabian Sea, standing waist deep. Every curve of him was elegant. Every movement smooth and enchanting. The magenta coating on his skin invited touch and tenderness.
As if hypnotized, I tossed aside my clothes and walked into the waves toward him, the sea around me clouding with colour as it washed the powder from my skin. He smiled as if he'd been waiting for me and I stroked his shoulder while looking down with an awed gaze. He had learned to accept these little brain freezes when I looked at him from time to time so he waited until my mind was clear again and I opened my lips to speak. But I had nothing to say.
I'd shared so much with this boy...He had told me of his ambitions--his desire to work in a big hospital one day and help people and drive a big car. On weekends we took a taxi into the city so he could watch movies while I watched the captivated expression on his silver-lit face. He critiqued my awful cooking, helping me get better. At night we curled against each other, ignoring the night's irritants, whether it be storms or sweat-inducing heat.
Yet I was now unable to put the closeness I felt into words when I needed to tell him more than ever. Vikash slid a hand down my side questioningly.
Hey, mister, you dying?
I looked at his nude body and nervously bit my lips. He nodded as if I had just spoken and pressed his cheek to my chest, his arms encircling me in warmth.
Holding him close, I stroked his hair, hoping I could say with touch what I could not with words. We stayed like that until he said, "You're hard."
I was. Not in a ready-to-fuck-now way, but in a happy-to-be-here way. "You're hard too," I said. And he was. His little dick was pulsing against the inside of my thigh.
"Maybe we should fuck?" he asked, his words vibrating pleasantly through my ribs since his face was still pressed against me.
But neither of us shifted except to move our hands as we stroked each other's backs and shoulders.
When he finally attacked me, the element of surprise and the buoyancy of the water enabled him to sweep my feet right out from under me. Then he brought me splashing into the water by hanging all his weight off my neck. The dunk fight lasted about ten minutes, with lots of unnecessary grabbing of our naughtier bits mixed in. At the end, we emerged from the sea panting and happy, arms around each other, and collapsed on the edge of the sand. Our bodies were mostly clean though traces of colour remained in the folds of our ears and in our hairlines.
"Sex now?" he asked hopefully.
"Hell, no. Last time we did it here, the sand tore up my cock."
I'd gotten over my romantic notions about beach sex quite fast after that. "I''m taking you home and fucking you proper," I said, scooping him up then walking away with him draped over my shoulder.
"Mac, my clothes!" He pointed to the magenta-stained whites at the top of the beach.
"You don't need clothes for what I'm about to do to you."
"Someone might take them. The water might wash them away."
"They're above the tide-line and no one ever comes around here anyway."
I made sure to pick up my own clothes, though.
"Hey, that's not fair," said Vikash.
"I've got money in here."
"I've got money in mine too!"
But it didn't matter anymore. We were on the sandy path home through the mangroves and palms. I thought about the boy I was holding. Whose future I held too. The one time I'd broken into the trunk that held my past, it was to arrange the purchase of the western half of the island. No one knew of course, since the residents all thought they were squatting on government land, and I didn't plan to tell them things had changed. I had never let them know just how rich I was, allowing them to believe I was just another wandering pilgrim on a long detour from his spiritual search. The same day I'd bought the land, I'd set up an education fund for Vikash, to cover him all the way to medical school if need be. That I'd told him about. It had made him much more serious about his homework at any rate.
You dying or what?
Under the awning that served as my kitchen, I threw my clothes on the big table then plonked Vikash's cute butt on them before heading to the cooler.
"What happened to sex?" he asked, sitting there with his legs swinging off the side while he looked at me from under the hair that fell across his forehead.
"Got to be hydrated for sex." I removed one of the chilled coconuts, cutting away the layers of woody exterior with my big knife until I had opened a hole in the top. After I'd taken a half-dozen gulps, Vikash looked over from his spot on the table and stretched his hand out. I looked at the sun setting through the trees and figured it was early enough to let him have some without wondering about if he'd soak our bed.
I stood between his knees and handed him the coconut. He held contact with my eyes as he tilted it to his mouth and took a few swallows then tossed it off into the bushes, its water spilling as it whirled.
"Hey, that's mine!" I said.
"Don't worry about the coconut. That thing's hole can't do what my hole can."
"Fine, let's go inside."
He stopped me reaching for him and said, "No. Right now."
"Here?" I looked around. His parents' house was just visible through the forest gloom.
Vikash answered by cupping my balls. He rolled them with his skilled fingers--the fingers of a future surgeon.
I sprung an erection immediately. Off to my left was a small Pepsi bottle full of coconut oil. I poured a liberal amount along my shaft and Vikash gently spread the lube all around my hard cock, the feel of his sliding fingers making me harder still. (I told you the stuff had a million uses.)
When he was done, he lay back with an expectant smile and I took some of the oil dripping off the tip of my penis to finger his butthole, getting his entrance slippery inside and out. His body was warm and tight as I probed him, making him writhe on the tabletop in anticipation.
As I continued to open his passage, adding another finger, I bent to his tight scrotum, licking it, then licking around it, to the ticklish area near the thighs, then up from the base of his shaft to the uncircumcised tip. I slurped the pink head protruding from his sheath.
He moaned and sunk his fingers into my hair, raising his hips towards my mouth. I used my forearm to pin him to the table while I stroked his narrow rod with two fingers under my sucking lips.
Unable to move, Vikash let out frustrated whimpers as I carried him to the edge of cumming and then sent him over with the combined stimulation of my fingers in his butt and my lips and tongue on his cock. He trembled as his boy dick stiffened in pulses.
I didn't wait for him to get his wits. I stood upright and hooked his knees with my upper arms, raising his ass to a more convenient height. When I pulled him towards the edge of the table with my hands on his hips, he shimmied his shoulders to help me, so that his entire ass was hanging in the air, ready for my pleasure.
With our long history, plus all the lubing and loosening we had just done, I was able to get my cock head right into him without any guidance. I hung in the air over Vikash, leaning forward while we looked into each other's eyes. He blinked away the discomfort then rolled his head back and sighed happily, stretching his arms wide as he let himself surrender to the sensations of being fucked.
I understood this to be his welcome signal. He was ready for more. I sunk my cock into him with a smooth, steady push. My cock spread open a path in his hot rectum, the walls sliding along my skin erotically.
It was my turn to throw back my head and sigh happily, not stopping until my pubes bumped into his balls. I was all the way inside this beautiful boy. I leaned forward more, keeping his thighs up with my chest and shoulders, and searched my pockets until I found the packet I was looking for.
Resisting the urge to fuck into the boy's tight hole, I tore one corner of the packet with my teeth, the chalky taste causing me to make a face. Vikash took a break from his dreamy posture to look at what I was doing. I poured about half of the magenta powder into my palm then offered the rest to him. After he took it, I sprinkled the powder in a line across his smooth brown chest, down one side to his waist and up the other.
As I pulled my hips back and then penetrated his chute again, I pressed my palms down on Vikash's chest, smearing the powder across his shoulders. I fucked him with slow strokes as my palms savoured the texture of the powder on his skin, gradually spreading magenta all across his torso in random paths.
The feel of being inside Vikash was a familiar, but exquisite, pleasure. Adding this element of touch and colour sent us into a new place, a state of spiritual exploration.
As I pressed my thrumming cock into his welcoming ass, I spread the powder across his arms and up his neck. I massaged it into his sides and back. I had never felt closer to anyone in my life.
He responded by continuously dipping his fingers into the powder packet and tracing magenta lines on me as I rocked above him. His little fingertips left a trace of electricity as they painted my body, weaving lines of power and grace.
As we touched each other and heaved our hips in joint arousal, our bodies came closer. I rest my elbows on the clothes-covered table and held Vikash's face in my powdered palms. He held me in his, and our lips closed the distance until we kissed. The fine grains of the powder enhanced the feeling of his skin against mine everywhere we touched.
My body had reached its limit and the erotic pressure building in my loins burst out. I held his face as we looked deep into each other eyes, the creaking of the table and our moans the only sounds. As I made my final jagged thrusts into him, my vision swam with the expression of love and trust and pride on his magenta-powdered face. I shot into him over and over and then slowly regained focus.
Under me was a vision of boyhood beauty, his happy face soft under my fingers. I pressed my forehead to his. We said nothing.
After about a minute, I pulled out of him and he sat up, wincing at the stiffness holding his position had given him. I froze in admiration. He watched me with amused eyes as he wiped excess powder off his face with my clothes. I remembered the day we had met, me lying hung over on the bottom of the stolen speedboat. Him peering over the side with those bright eyes and asking, "Hey, mister, you dying?"
I had only managed to groan in reply.
"You dying or what?" he had persisted.
Now, as I stood there, my body and soul naked before this boy, feeling no guilt and no fear and only the pain of love in my heart, I realized I could finally answer his question.
No, kid, I'm living.
---My portrayal of the festival is based on internet research and a few personal experiences. I apologize for any mistakes I made and if anyone wants to send me corrections, I encourage you since Nifty sometimes lets me update the story files.
---I intend to publish a sister story to this one with an inverted setup, i.e. a rich white boy and a poor brown man in Australia. It will be called Gold. Look for it later this year.
---Comments on this story are welcome. Even if you're reading this in an archive years from now, I'd love to hear what you think.
---------HELP KEEP NIFTY TICKING---------