Open Love

Nipples aren't weed, they don't need to be rolled like a joint everytime:

I’m in college now. I travel halfway across the city every morning  to earn my degree. I will insert a line here now that my friends wouldn’t catch me dead uttering. Ruia isn’t a place, it’s a feeling. It’s a small world here, but it’s foreign. A quaint building nested in a quiet neighbourhood. But I’m standing in it’s epicentre and I can almost feel it engulfing me.  It’s small, but it’s huge.  It’s a fish tank sitting in the dentist’s reception area.  I feel like Nemo. 

I do get carried away with these thoughts once in while. I get carried away a lot, mostly by you.  The Quadrangle is a strange place. It’s not square at all. It’s shape is a quarrel for another day, because  right now you are staring into my eyes. I hope the midday sun is doing me some favour hitting the right angles of my face.  After all, I don’t get your attention like this in public all the time. I straighten up in an attempt to make my boobs conspicuous. You laugh. “ You’ve got  really bad posture, you’re going to get a hunched back someday”, you say.

Apparently the next lecture is cancelled, it was 50/50 anyway. The professor is running errands for the Principal, couldn’t be helped. We have half an hour more, to while away. We both got dragged by our friends towards the stage at one end of this open yard. The Quadrangle is bustling with people and there is no other place to sit. I sit on the edge of the stage with my legs hanging over the edge. You sit cross-legged, behind me. I lean back into you and my ill-postured back finds comfort in this position. There are my friends on one side and yours on the other. My idiots couldn’t find a place and are standing on the ground in front of me. I put my bag on my lap, there is really no place here.

You are so busy talking to your friends, and my friends are busy talking amongst themselves. I might almost drift off to sleep. Your voice reverberates from your chest and I close my eyes in peace…  until I feel your  hand snaking under my arm.

My eyes are wide open now. The hand has progressed to the boob now. I regret having pads in my bra now. Suddenly  I am eerily aware of the number of people here. It’s bustling with people. My eyes dart all over the place, is anyone watching? My breath hitches, and my heart beats faster. I half turn to look at you questioningly. What are you doing? Why does it feel so good?

You are immersed in talking with your friends, who are dangerously close to us. Too close for comfort. I try to sit up,  but you hold me steady in place against you. I look at you, you smile at me. The sun is heating up the air, but that’s not why I am sweating.

You leisurely stroke my boob in rhythm with your talk. As natural as say, ruffling someone’s hair or swinging hands in hand. My toes curl inside my Converse. I look anywhere and everywhere except your face. I almost scream when the other hand lands on my other neglected tit. An audible “Oh shit” escapes my lips. The friend who was talking to you turns to me. He agrees, the tv show he was talking about had an unexpected main character death.

Now I have to focus on her and control myself. But your relentless ministrations won’t stop. My size doesn’t matter, you’re covering every inch. The gentle pressure is driving me crazy. I want to rip my bra off so you can find the nipple. But you find it even through the thick fabric, pressing on instead of rolling it with your fingers. I am losing my mind.

I am exposed here like this, naked amongst these people and your horny self. The strokes go back and forth from my tits to my back and everything in between. How hasn’t anyone noticed? My legs shiver from all of this madness. I slowly arch into the cup of your fingers, and my feet hanging of the stage lift on their own accord. I am no longer in control.

And I accidently kick my friend standing in front. Fast as lightning, I sit up straight and apologize. And that’s when I realize someone has unpinned my bra.