Date: Sat, 09 Jun 2007 07:46:32 -0400 (EDT) From: Herb Cat <herb_cat@lycos.com> Subject: Rip Folder: Around the World 13 Mumbai and Southern India Around the World 13 Mumbai Copyright 2007 Herb Cat. Do not reproduce or distribute this story without the author's permission. Please note: this story depicts oral and anal sex between male adults and male minors. If this offends you or is illegal to publish in your jurisdiction, or you are under the age of 18, read no further. The characters, locations and incidents in this story are fictional. Any resemblance to actual events or locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. As an author, I welcome feedback on my writing. Please send any comments about this story, positive or negative, to Herb_Cat@mailcity.com. Thank you. ----- At the hotel in Agra that night, Malcolm booked a suite and also another room for his driver and his companion. However, when Maria saw the view from the single room, she insisted on staying there, leaving the suite for the males, who lost no time getting comfortable (that is naked), and engaging in the universal male sport (that is wanking). Casually stroking himself, Malcolm turned to Krishna. "So your father doesn't approve of homosexuality. I guess he's a very religious Hindu." "No, it's more a cultural thing. Actually, there is a long gay tradition in Hinduism. The Kama scriptures, -- you've heard of the Kama Sutra, -- talk quite frankly about male-male sex, more than the writings of any other religion. They try to explain the biology of homosexuality, they graphically describe positions and techniques, and they even list good occupations for gay men: barbers, valets, houseboys, masseurs (that probably means prostitutes, just like it often does today). Even the Vedas, which are even older writings, describe the deep love between men. "The Narada Smriti, written around 400 AD, forbids gay men from marrying women, which is ironic since that is exactly what Piwa wants me to do. But, of course, he'd like to have grandchildren. "Unlike some Christians, Hindus do not see anything wrong with sex, when it is part of a loving relationship. It is not merely for procreation, but also a way to express love and show devotion." This discussion may have seemed clinical, but later in bed Om and Krishna gave Malcolm, Juan and Pepito a powerful demonstration of Indian sex. The Americans too became horny and soon Malcolm was pounding away at Juan's love hole while simultaneously sucking Pepito's little nail. This merely upped the ante for the Indians, and soon the room was filled with the sounds and smells of exuberant male orgasms. Who could deny that this was the way the gods intended? .oOo. "Suprabhat, boys." When Maria came in the next morning, Krishna, Om, Juan, Pepito, and Malcolm were all contorting themselves naked in the newest yoga position. After breakfast, they loaded up the van and drove south. But after an hour or so, Krishna stopped at the ruins of an old temple in Gwalior. "Hold on, Malcolm, you gotta see this. Come on, you too, Juan. This temple was built in the tenth century. Like I told you last night, Hindu lore is rich in gay imagery. Look at that carving over there." They all stared. Finally, Pepito spoke up, "He's suggin him! Hehe." "That's right, Pepito." "Wow, that is so gool. Are there any more statues lige dat?" "Hop in the car, we'll be there for supper." Maria, as usual, sat on the left beside the driver; Malcolm and Pepito occupied the second seat, with Juan and Om in the back. Soon, Juan had his pants down and was wanking away. He looked up at Om, then ran his eyes down to Om's crotch and back up to his face. Eventually, Om got the message, shrugged and thought "What the Hell," and pulled his pecker out as well. Juan grinned. "Horny little bastard," Om thought. As they continued on, Om taught the boys some Hindi songs. Soon everyone in the car was singing lustily, even though two thirds of them had no idea what they were singing. They pulled into Khajuraho as the sun was setting. At the Hotel Chandela, Malcolm knew now that a suite was not necessary. He simply booked two adjoining rooms, and assigned them along gender lines. The males bid Maria "Subaratri," and began their orgy. Well, that is possibly not the word, since there was no exchange of partners, but the lust was nonetheless intense, each couple making the other even hornier. Fully exhausted, Malcolm who was twice the age of the Indians, eventually settled down with his two babies and went to sleep, as the erotic lullaby continued in the next bed. In his dreams that night, Malcolm again saw himself fucking little Pepito. .oOo. At breakfast the next morning, Krishna explained that the name of their hotel, Chandela, referred to the people who ruled this area a thousand years ago. They followed a form of Hinduism called Tantrism. Their writings, the Tantras, teach that one can attain enlightenment through sex. It is actually a very beautiful religion with symbolic designs called mandala, special gestures called mudra, and sacred chants called mantra. There are five divine substances: wine, meat, fish, parched grain and sexual intercourse. Often the altar in their temple represents the Jewel in the Lotus. (The jewel is the penis and the lotus is the vulva.) They even practice a special form of yoga. Maria was fascinated. "Can we visit one of their temples?" "Hehe, along with a few thousand other tourists. The temples here in Khajuraho was built by the Chandelas. For a while, they were hidden by the jungle, but now people come from all over the world to see them, almost as many as the Taj Mahal." .oOo. Despite Maria's embarrassed attempts to keep her sons quiet, Juan and Pepito kept announcing their discoveries in excited voices: "Look that one has a penis down to his ankles!" "Dose two is 69'ing, just like we do!" "There's the doggy position, hehe!" "Dat one's spread eagle!" (Now even Krishna and Om were embarrassed.) "Look, Pepito, there's another one sucking!" "I dink he's a little boy lige me!" "They sure like group sex, don't they? It's a fuckin orgy! Like we was doin last night, right Malcolm?" "Dey do lots of wanging!" "Shit, is that guy fucking an elephant?" "Dat one's fugging standing up!" "Shit, this place is more fun than Disney! Malcolm, I like these old temples. I want to be an archaeologist when I grow up and dig up stuff like Dr. Andrea." .oOo. Early the next morning, they packed up the van and Krishna headed west. He and Om took turns at the wheel, and the family made it to Udaipur for supper. The next day they discovered why Udaipur is called the most romantic city in India. They took a leisurely boat ride on Lake Pichola. With all its lakes, Udaipur is often called the Venice of the East. While Malcolm played gondolier, Maria in her sari hugged her boys, and Om and Krishna kissed each other. Even the birds chirping added their romance to the atmosphere. Maria calculated that Valentines day was about one month away. They went to the Jag Niwas palace. Sitting on an island, the lovely building is reflected in the water. Then the exotic Jag Mandir temple, the peaceful Sahelion ki Bari (Garden of maidens) and the memorial to Indian hero Maharana Pratap. It seemed like everything in the city was designed for lovers and romantics. And all the passengers in Krishna's van were in that category. They tried not to think that the following morning, they would be parting ways. .oOo. There was not a dry eye among them at the airport. Maria kissed Krishna and Om, who had become like her own children. Juan and Pepito kissed them also, on the mouth, and Juan stuck his mischievous tongue in their mouths. Malcolm thanked Krishna for making the previous week so enjoyable, handed him a generous envelope, and wished him great success in his chosen career. .oOo. "Suprabhat!" Maria came out of her room to find Juan, Pepito, Malcolm still doing their morning yoga. But their enthusiasm was certainly tempered. Like Las Vegas, Mumbai, or as many still call it, Bombay, is a city that never sleeps. However, since their hotel was located in the exclusive Malabar Hill area, it was not urban noise that had kept the family from getting a restful night's sleep. It was that they were already missing Krishna and Om. Malcolm felt he had to find some attractions, or perhaps distractions, to brighten their mood. Se he led them over to nearby Kamala Nehru Park. There wasn't much there except a silly building shaped like a shoe, as in the "Old Woman" nursery rhyme. The Hanging Garden was a little more interesting and gave them a fantastic vista of Back Bay and Chowpati Beach. They also walked over to the Walkeshwar Temple, and drank from the legendary Banganga Tank. Workers were busy sprucing the place up for a music festival held every February. "Hey, everybody, look!" Pepito pointed across the wide pool of water. "It's Jacob!" "Jacob who, my niño?" "From back home, you know, Neil's grandpa. Come on, let's run over there." Being the youngest, Pepito had the best eyes in the family and everyone knew it, but what he was saying was too incredible. All anyone else saw in the distance were several women in saris. What would the chances be that halfway around the world they would meet someone from back home? And not just anyone, either. But Jacob! Malcolm remembered when his older sister used to play with Jacob after school. Even then, Jacob's favorite game was "dress up." By the time he went to college, he was cross dressing regularly. Jacob intrigued the teenaged Malcolm, who was wrestling not only his homosexuality, but with his attraction to young boys. However, Jacob was neither. He dated girls, -- even took Andrea out a couple times. And soon after he graduated college, he married Melinda, came back home, and joined his father in running the only hardware store in town. People laughed of course, but no one seemed to mind too much that Jacob wore dresses around town. He was a good man, a good husband, and soon enough a good father. And he was comfortable with whom he was. Every Tuesday, he came to the racquet club to work out and have long talks with Malcolm. He often encouraged Malcolm to likewise be true to himself, not to be defined by someone else's narrow definitions of acceptability. Jacob and his wife ! were a comfort to Mom, when Dad died. Now Jacob's son Walter was grown and beginning to take over the hardware store, and HIS son was in Pepito's class. "Come on, everybody. They're walking away. Hurry." Pepito grabbed Maria's hand, and still unconvinced, the family followed him around to the other side of the pool. "Señor Jacob, wait!" Two American women in saris turned around, except one of them wasn't a woman. Miraculously, Pepito had indeed spotted Jacob and Melinda. "Shit, Malcolm, Maria, boys, what the Hell are you guys doing here in India?" They sat down at a table and Malcolm, with lots of interruptions, explained their round-the-world adventure. "Wow, that's great, my boy. I wonder if I could find anyone to give me $2.5 million for that old store. Hehe. Now you must be wondering what we're doing here. Well, our kids wanted to give me a birthday present -- had the fucking big five-o a couple weeks ago. My daughter has a time share in Hawaii. She thought I'd like to relax on the beach all day, but fuck, at 50, I don't look so good in a two-piece any more. I told her I wanted to see Mumbai, and she traded for a time share on Juju Beach. You see a couple years ago, I attended an international symposium in San Francisco for T and T's." "What's dat, Señor Jacob?" "Transvestites, Transponders, Transsexuals, Pepito. I know those are big words for you. It's just a bunch of men who like to wear ladies' clothes for one reason or another. Oh, and the other way around for that matter. Anyway, that's where I met Zudora. He's this Indian author, uhm, I mean she's, she prefers the female pronouns, it's confusing. But she's a hijra and she's writing a book about the hijras. "What's dose, Señor Jacob?" "They're guys here in India, Pepito, who like to dress like women, like I do. Zudora fascinated me because I was under the misconception that hijras were uneducated. At the symposium, we talked for hours; remember, Melinda? And Zudora said if I ever came to India, I should look her up. She lives here in Mumbai. She was thrilled to hear we were coming. We're going to meet her this afternoon." Melinda finally broke in, "Malcolm, you've got to come along, and bring the boys. It'll be a great education for them. Don't you agree, Jacob?" "That's a fucking great idea! Definitely! I won't take no for an answer." .oOo. That afternoon, Maria, Malcolm, Juan and Pepito, Jacob and Melinda were aboard a ferry headed across the waters of Mumbai harbor to the Island of Elephants. Waiting at the dock was Zudora, in a garish pink and purple sari, her hairy arms bejeweled with bracelets, her face heavily covered in makeup, her large feet bare. "Kumari Jacob darling, so good to see you. What a lovely sari you have. And Shrimati Melinda. It seems like ages. You must tell me everything you've been doing." "Kumari Zudora, I want you to meet some friends of mine from back home. You won't believe it, we bumped into them this morning. This is Malcolm. This is Juan. The little one is Pepito, he goes to school with our grandson. And this is their mother, Maria." "Maria, your sari is just scrumptious! But certainly you are too young to have these three sons." "No, no, hehe, Señor Malcolm is not my son, hehe. Jacob meant the two boys." "Ah, that's better. And they are very handsome young men indeed. Come, come, let me show you around this island." Zudora brought them to the caves, and the statue of Shiva portrayed as half male/half female. "Isn't she beautiful?" Zudora's pronouns ignored the male half. "Juan, have you ever heard of Rodin?" "We seen his statue in Paris." Juan assumed the pose of The Thinker. "What a brilliant child! When Rodin saw this statue, he said 'This full, pouting mouth, rich in sensuous expressions, these lips like a lake of pleasure, fringed by the noble, palpitating nostrils.' Oh, doesn't that make you all goose-bumpy?" "Is there more caves?" "The island has seven. Come, I'll show you the others." "Yippee!" .oOo. At supper that evening, for the first time in their entire trip, Maria was at last among the majority (in a sense). In their saris, she, Melinda, Jacob and Zudora outnumbered Malcolm and the two boys. Malcolm had wanted to treat everyone to dinner at their hotel on Malabar Hill, but Zudora laughed. Hijras, apparently, were not welcomed everywhere. But she guided them to a small restaurant, where the food was delicious and the atmosphere warm and friendly. Many other hijras patronized the place. Maria's curiosity prompted many questions. "Are there many hijras in India?" "Millions, darling! Though the government chooses to ignore us. No one has actually counted our, uhm, noses. Hehe. Most people would like to see us disappear. They don't want us living next door or eating with them. And as for getting a job, well, shit, forget that." "Then how do you make a living?" "Me, I'm a writer. But I'm fortunate. Most hijras get by begging, or prostitution, or singing and dancing." "Oh? Where do they perform?" "Usually at weddings or when a baby boy is born. Mind you, we are not invited performers. We have to, as you say, crash the party. But then the people are so intimidated, so afraid that we will cast an evil spell on their marriage or the kid, hehe, that they pay us to perform. It's a tough way to make a living, but a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. "We're like a big family, you see. An older hijra is a guru and she teaches the young chelas, just like Malcolm here teaches you boys. We watch out for each other. Juan, you watch out for little Pepito, right? Keep bad people from hurting him?" Malcolm looked embarrassed. "Well, that's what my sisters do. You know, if we get hurt, and go to the hospital, we might not get treated because they don't know if we belong in the men's ward or the women's ward. It is so fucking unjust! That's why I'm hoping my writing can shed some light on our plight." Malcolm asked, "Are all the hijras transvestites, or are some transsexuals?" "Honey, we got all kinds. We got some, who yeah, chop off their nuts. They think the only real hijra is a nirwaan hijra. Then, some of them use girdles and stuff to try to pass as g.g.'s (genuine girls). Hell, I know I ain't fooling nobody. Tell me, little Pepito, when you go the hardware store and see Kumari Jacob, you know she's a lady right?" Pepito giggled and shook his head wildly. "Hm, oh my, I guess not. But you know I'm a lady right?" More giggling and energetic head shaking. "You see, I can't even fool the little ones. But I don't give a shit. And Kumari Jacob doesn't either. But some hijras do try to pass. And some hijras have wives like Kumari Jacob, and some even have husbands, except the state doesn't say they're married. And then there are the kothis. They don't think of themselves as hijras, but they like to get men to fuck them. "Psst, Malcolm, am I a kothi then?" Malcolm kissed Juan and put his arm around him. As they left the restaurant and headed down the street, someone shouted out of a car window, "Chakka!" and drove off. The family sensed how their new friend felt, having to endure discrimination every day. That night, Malcolm found himself admiring the way Zudora didn't just endure the abuse, but was working actively to change the public perception. Perhaps he should become more political for men with his orientation. That seemed such a daunting proposition, however. .oOo. Juan's blog January 16 - Namaskar. Guess who we met here! Jacob. Yep, Jacob. And Melinda too. They want all you guys to go to the store and make sure Walter is working, hehe. So we've been hooking up with them and taking autorickshaws to see all the stuff here in Mumbai. Like the Gateway of India, and the Flora Fountain, and lots of temples, and parks. We saw the Towers of Silence. That's where some people put their dead bodies and let the birds eat them. Pretty cool, huh! And we went to Bollywood. And I said I could help them make a movie, but they said no, dhanya-waadh, no, thank you, hehe. And we went to Juju Beach where lots of the stars hang out, but I didn't recognize anybody. And we ate bhelpuri, pani puri, Nariyal Pani, shevpuri, chaats, and of course pav bhaji. And we went to a market, and Mama bought two more saris, and so did Melinda. And Jacob bought six! I think Mama looked prettier than him but I didn't tell him that, hehe. And Jacob bought two little doll saris for Rascal and Oso and Pepito told him that they was boy bears, and Jacob said yeah he knew that. And we watched a puppet show. The puppeteer took Pepito and me behind the small stage and showed us how to make the puppets dance. Every morning we practice the yoga that Krishna taught us. We can do the lotus position now. It's easy, but Malcolm still has trouble getting his legs tucked in. Hehe. All us guys are in one room at the hotel and we have lots of fun at night. Mujhe tum bahut yaad aate ho (that means I miss you). Upna Khyal Rakhna (that means Take care). Juan .oOo. As Juan pecked away at the computer, Malcolm and Pepito were relaxing on the bed. With those warm moist little boy lips wrapped around his cock and that sweet stiff little boy nail in his mouth, Malcolm figured he had attained Nirvana. He ran his hand along Pepito's tender little body: those tiny arms no thicker than pickles; those pointy wings bones jutting out in back, surely, he was an angel; those sweet little hips. Lost in this simple pleasure, Malcolm let his hand caress the adorable little buns. His finger soon found the vertical smile and began to trace the little boy crack, until it located the anus where it stopped and pushed on the doorbell. "Nhh!" Pepito's sudden gasp startled Malcolm. "I'm sorry, Pepito," he whispered. "I didn't know what I was doing. I was in another world." "Dat's ok," Pepito's soft young voice answered. "It felt nice, Malgum." And he went back to his suckling. God, Pepito, Malcolm thought, I won't be able to resist you much longer.