I DO NOT WANT TO ENJOY

QUEENS AND ROYAL MISTRESSES  

I discovered that she was a great reader. She liked history, but only history of a certain kind, the lives of queens and of mistresses of royal personages; and she would tell me with a childlike wonder of the strange things she read. She had a wide acquaintance with the six consorts of King Henry VIII and there was little she did not know about Mrs Fitzherbert [Maria Ann Fitzherbert, mistress of George IV] and Lady Hamilton [Emma, the mistress of Lord Nelson]. Her appetite was prodigious and she ranged from Lucrezia Borgia to the wives of Philip of Spain; then there was the long list of the royal mistresses of France. She knew them all, and all about them.

'I like to read about real things,' she said.

(p. 93-94)

(From Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham, in Ruskin Bond: "Love among the Bookshelves", Penguin/ Viking, ₹ 299)

I am not trying to sell dreams. ("Oh, are You not? Really?")

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

ROSIE 

Our way back to Rosie's led through Vincent Square and as we passed my house I asked her:

'Won't you come in for a minute? You've never seen my rooms.'

'What about your landlady? I don't want to get you into trouble.'

'Oh, she sleeps like a rock.'

'I'll come in for a little.'

I slipped my key into the lock and, because the passage was dark, took Rosie's hand to lead her in. I lit the gas in my sitting room. She took off her hat. Then she looked for a glass [mirror]. 

'Come into my bedroom,' I said. 'There's a glass [mirror] there.'

I opened the door and lit the candle. Rosie followed me in and I held it up so that she should be able to see herself [in the mirror]. I looked at her in the glass as she arranged her hair. She took two or three pins out, which she put in her mouth, and taking one of my brushes, brushed her hair up from the nape of her neck. She twisted it, patted it, and put back the pins, and as she was intent on this her eyes caught mine in the glass and she smiled at me. When she had replaced the last pin she turned and faced me; she did not say anything; she looked at me with that little friendly smile in her blue eyes. I put down the candle. The room was very small and the dressing table was by the bed. She raised her hand and softly stroked my cheek.

A sob broke from my tight throat. I do not know whether it was because I was shy and lonely or because my desire was so great, but I began to cry. I felt terribly ashamed of myself; I tried to control myself, I couldn't; the tears welled up in my eyes and poured down my cheeks. Rosie saw them and gave a little gasp. 

'Oh, honey, what is it? What's the matter? Don't. Don't!' 

She put her arms round my neck and began to cry too, and she kissed my lips and my eyes and my wet cheeks. She undid her bodice and lowered my head till it rested on her bosom. She stroked my smooth face. She rocked me back and forth as though I were a child in her arms. I kissed her breasts and I kissed the white column of her neck; and she slipped out of her bodice and out of her skirt and her petticoats and I held her for a moment by her corseted waist; then she undid it, holding her breath for an instant to enable her to do do, and stood before me in her shift. 

'Blow out the candle,' she whispered.

It was she who awoke me when the dawn peering through the curtains revealed the shape of the bed. She woke me by kissing me on the mouth and her hair falling over my face tickled me.

'I must get up,' she said. 'I don't want your landlady to see me.'

'There's plenty of time.'

Her breasts when she leaned over me were heavy on my chest. In a little while she got out of bed. I lit the candle. She turned to the glass and tied up her hair and then she looked for a moment at her naked body. It was a body made for the act of love. In the light of the candle, it was all silvery gold; and the only colour was the rosy pink of the hard nipples.

We dressed in silence. We tiptoed along the passage and when I opened the door and we stepped out into the street the dawn ran to meet us. I felt as young as the day. We walked arm in arm till we came to the corner of Limpus Road.

'Leave me here,' said Rosie. 'One never knows.'

I kissed her and I watched her walk away.

(p. 102-109) 

(From Cakes and Ale by Somerset Maugham, in Ruskin Bond: "Love among the Bookshelves", Penguin/ Viking, ₹ 299)

Weird.

Kishalay Sinha [G] 

OBVIOUS 

It is obvious to Me that all scared s. sweet gals want to have unlimited s. with Him indefinitely for eternity and all scared male humans want a lazy life without having to work too much if this is ensured by acting as pimps permitting sweet s. females allied to them to have as much joyful s. with Him as the loose females want. 

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 25, 2020 

RADIO 

Radio has such awesome potential that I think even God Himself would be tempted to give regular national and international radio broadcasts in His own voice. I think personal radio broadcasting facilities are available in today's awesome high-tech world. I remember noticing some tutorial videos on YouTube a few years ago about how One can make personal radio broadcasts but I did not watch those tutorial videos seriously at that time. Of course, I have no desire to make money from My broadcasts. I understand that I can use YouTube to upload audio talks and readings from books (but I don't like the idea of number of followers popping up) or I can add audio files to My Blogger blog; both of these methods would be the equivalent of My talks on the radio. I would be very glad to have radio conversations with men and women (!) of the calibre/caliber of Professor Norman Lewis. I am fluent in English, Bengali, Assamese, Hindi, and Bishnupriya Manipuri, but I plan to learn other Indian languages and French, Spanish, German, Russian, Italian, Greek, Chinese, Japanese etc. (Frankly, I see no difference between Urdu and Hindi. The differences are artificial, not real.)

Kishalay Sinha [G] March 26, 2020 

I DO NOT WANT TO ENJOY 

I do not really (really?) want to enjoy watching and hearing poor sweet s. loose females suffering from illicit heartbreak over Him but I cannot resist the temptation of shedding Crocodile tears over the sad plight of these poor sweet s. girls. (All sweet s. females are "girls" compared with the infinite age of eternal God.)

Kishalay Sinha [G]