“ I have the passion of a city girl “ , he said to me last night , while his hands glided over my exposed skin lying limp beneath his heavy body .He brought his face closer to mine , his rough chin scracthed on my face . His hands followed the road map down my waist and in the dimlight with his rubber-robed object he did all he had to do . Zipping up , he spanked me gently and gave out a sigh of pleasure . He was happy because his sexual hunger found its fodder in my insides . I was happy because it was done .
He left the ‘pink paper’ beside my pillow as my prize !
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I am sixteen and I have been living here since forever . You know what is strange , when I look at these dishevelled nude walls, with its bricks and cement , cracks and recesses and milked windows laying revealed to all the weathers of the world and the sour stares of its people , I see my reflection on them . My body too lays exposed in front of a stranger everyday , revealing the dissimilar tones of my skin at different parts , birth mark and that mole on my breast . Please don’t confuse my world with these colourblind houses . The flight of stairs on the left will lead you to an underground floor and crossing a dark fifty metre lane , knock at the first door and when the door opens , you will be ushered to my world . Shimmering lights and sensual music on the background and in the hallway is a line of girls with gaudy dresses hugging their curves , their cleavages peeping out of their blouses and the skirts creeping up the thighs , their loud make up pleasing and seducing men to give them them that chance and the men pick their girl from the line , hold her hand and lead her youth to a room and close the door .
Yes , I live in a brothel …
My world are these glitzy walls and smudged lipsticks and erotic music and iridescent lights , but ironically , I have befriended these naked walls .
( Vinita )
Photograph by Alwina Kathuria.