Beneath the Surface of Desires

More often than not, there comes a moment in life when innocence slips away unnoticed.

Ever since I was young, I always slept early. The discipline of boarding school only fostered the habit further, though, I should admit, the stillness of the night with the sounds of breaths of fellow boarders punctuating the silence allowed me the clandestine luxury of indulging in pleasures of the body much like I had heard from a few of my close friends.

Nights during the summer vacation were no different, the exciting familiarity of the quiet house notwithstanding.

It was one of these summer vacation nights, when I awoke to the soft, muffled sounds from their room, my curiosity leading me to the door between the rooms. I didn't intend to peek. But sleep had eluded me in that moment, standing there, trying to make sense of the sounds seeping through.

And then I saw them!

No, I didn't just happen to see them, I felt it. I was still too young to understand what I saw, but old enough to feel its weight.

It wasn’t anything like we discussed in hushed tones amongst friends. It was different. He led, she followed, yielding under the weight of the unspoken, the stillness of the night alive with the dance of depravity.

I should have retreated. Instead, I stood rooted and watched, caught between shock, curiosity and an unfamiliar stir beginning to caress deep within. A part of me wanted to look away, to retreat into the safety of innocence, but another part, an insistent voice, held me there, rooted in the allure of something primal.

It wasn’t just the intimacy, it was raw. When silence finally settled, I tiptoed back to bed confused, intrigued with an aching need for release that gnawed at my conscience. It got a peek through the door to a new world that night, and the door would never fully close.

As I grew older, as I chanced upon women and men or various ages who have had their own hitherto secrets buried deep underneath their moral conscience, the layers of that moment began to unravel.

Many a times I had asked myself, did they sense me there, cloaked in the shadows? Or did they trust the night to shield their secret?

I had convinced myself it must have been the latter, until I encountered a world where people found erotic pleasure in being seen at their most intimate, the world of exhibitionists. And in finding this new world, I realized something else too, we live in a world of complementarity.

If not for voyeurs, exhibitionists would not draw their thrill. In their own ways, unique yet similar, both lust for the excitement in blurring the boundaries of traditional expectations. But that is a topic for some other day.

Coming back to the topic of intimacy, what really is intimacy? Is it an expression of love as traditional society would want us to believe, or is it something darker, more primal? Back those days when the internet was not this all-pervading, I was unaware, but I think I have a better understanding now.

That night was my first glimpse into the complexity of human desire, into the fluid lines between love, intimacy, lust, and power exchange.

The years that have followed have been a journey of fascinating realizations shaped by interacting with others, deviants as moralistic society would like to call them. In the process, I began to recognize my own desires, my fascination with the intricacies of power dynamics.

I didn't have the words for it back then, but I see now how deeply that night shaped me. It wasn't just a physical awakening, it was an emotional one, a realization of how people navigate control and surrender, desires both constricting and freeing.

Consent, as I came to understand that night, often transcends words. Purists might like to disagree, but I for one am convinced, between partners who understand each other, understand their needs, consent manifests through the unspoken, a glance, a touch, or simply an alignment of intentions. The world of consent there is as fluid as the blurring of societally and socio-moralistic expectation of roles.

If the dynamics of power exchange was one part of it, the other part had left me equally perplexed, shamefully so. For much of my adolescence and early twenties, I often wondered why taboo holds such allure. Why do we find ourselves drawn to forbidden desire, to stories of crossing boundaries?

The anonymity of the internet and the chat rooms, groups, provided some answer to begin with. Perhaps it is because these stories force us to see beyond the roles society sets for us. Aren't there roles beneath the societal, professional and the familial? Something raw, something utterly human. something that exists outside of society's constraints!

Talking about constraints brings me to another dimension of sexuality which fascinates me. While there is something primally beautiful in the contrast of opposites, be it in the realms of heterosexual relationships or within the realm of power dynamics, there is something equally fascinating in same gender sexual relationships.

The media, particularly pornography, often sensationalizes lesbian intimacy as a visceral and intoxicating experience. Yet, to think of it, there is an undeniable power in the collective hunger of bodies regardless of gender. This desire carries its own raw, unfiltered intensity. This desire transcends context, be it heterosexual, homosexual, or bisexual, and is laced with a subtle organic force that can't be ignored.

The primal dance of queer lust is not merely about surrender to a partner, but also to one's own untamed desires. It is a surrender not to another, but to the desire that rises from within. That energy, intense and merciless, carries its own unique beauty, one that is found in indulgence, in the raw release of control.

I have been fortunate to interact with a diverse range of individuals, sometimes in quiet awe, sometimes humbled by the privilege of being welcomed into their secret world of queer or forbidden desires. Yes, there have been many for whom these have remained merely a fantasy, yet their fantasies have been so vivid, I could visualize them playing out right in front of me.

As for those who have traversed the journey, it was every bit fascinating as it was enthrallingly arousing, living it with them through their recollections. From being seducer for some to being the seduced for others, from being controlled for some to being the one in control, they are unique, rarely following any defined patterns.

Freud's theories, often debated yet undeniably compelling, find quiet echoes in the desires we bury deep within. The lesser-discussed Electra Complex reminds us how tangled and unexpected human yearning can be.

Writing stories about such moments proved more challenging than I had imagined.

It is not just about the acts. It is about the emotions beneath them, the complexities of human nature, the psychological intricacies. For women and men alike, who shared their experiences with me, they could never really verbalize their emotions. They were too complicated, sometimes overwhelmed by the physicality of the moments.

Stories of kink, taboo, and desire now force me to confront something deeply human, our need for control and submission, and the emotions that accompany them.

As I write, I explore these themes of power, submission, desire through characters who are more than mere roles. They are people with flaws, complexities, and struggles with identity. They defy the neatly defined categories society imposes. They are dominant and submissive, lover and loved all at once. Through them, I strive to explore the vast spectrum of human connection.

But even in this exploration, I am mindful of real human experience. These moments are not just acts on a page, they are emotions, struggles, desires. The people who have shared their own stories with me have made me realize something profound. Even in the most explicit acts, there is always something deeper, an unspoken fear, a quiet shame, a hidden pleasure. It is not just about the act, there is more to it that drive it.

I have been writing for some time now though you might not find me posting too many stories. That is because of the feedback I have received from friends who have read the stories.

It is thanks to my female friends and their critique that I realized, often it is not enough to simply recreate what I have experienced, seen or heard. The real challenge lies in capturing the emotional complexity and the psychological nuances beneath the surface.

Though I may never fully understand the psychological landscape of those who have shared their stories with me, I strive to give voice to those struggles from my own perspective, through the vulnerability and strength that coexist in us all.

As I reflect on this journey, I realize that writing stories is not just about the act of writing; it is about understanding people beyond the roles they play in life. I have come to see people not just as parents, colleagues, or friends, but as individuals with desires, flaws, and complexities of their own. And in that, I find beauty.

One day, I hope to write a book on erotica, set entirely in India, stories I know to be real, stories that could stir a heart even amidst a crowded London subway or Times Square, not just in the privacy of one's suburban Indian room. But for now, I will keep writing, and to you, my future readers, I can assure you that the characters are all imaginary... or maybe not.

VW