The Sanctum

Welcome, traveller. This be the realm of Jay Niner, where everything be possible, and nothing ever happens. If, perchance, thou wisheth to tarry, then find thou a page from the Grimoire and read. For we are here in eternity, and we are in medias res.


Shall I fuck with you now?

(Author's note. If you're a young pup, I take no responsibility for the perversion you may feel. Like it or not, this is actually a serious and current matter.)

 It's the age where MILF has become plain MF, with the words "I'd like" wiped clean off. Yes, sir. Good old-fashioned pornos have gone out, and all that there is these days are those girls who seem to look either like sex-starved bitches or pubescent virgins. On top of that the boob craze. If it ain't silicone it ain't shit, apparently, and we see hooters the size of footballs.
Whatever happened to class, to a bit of.. dare I say it? Maturity?
Whatever happened to all those sensous, sultry ladies, and yes, ladies, not bitches or virgins, those women whom you'd not just want to fuck once, but keep coming back for more?

These are the times of the almighty quickie, the ONS. Wham, bam, thanks ma'am, and we're out of here, just dispose of the used condom.- Unnamed correspondent

A friend of mine is fond of repeating, these journo, and then the porno. Perhaps these days we just don't want to simply sit down and relax. We want quickies, and everywhere.. a quick fix, a jugaad, as you might call it.
Now, I am no stranger to jugaad. I love to use them in most of my work. A jugaad in time is worth all the effort you'd otherwise put into something, and that's a fact.
However, the porn industry may not be the place for it. I remember going through pictures of young, but not too young, ladies, all wonderfully proportioned, sensuously attired. These women could batter down a man with a blink of their eyebrows. And instead we have all the fakers in the business- fake boobs, fake orgasms on both sides.

 And if you think I've been sexist so far, I'm going to impinge on my own rights as a man and a defender of my manhood.

Porn is causing a lot of inferiority among the lesser youth.. those exposed to it for the first hundred kilometres grow immensely... miserable, even, watching those nuclear-reactor dongs. Ten inches, eleven inches, and on and on. And what's worse, the fairer sex has even fucking grown into that trend. I remember back at Sunny's, a brothel I'm fond of, one of the girls, Supriya, a dusky, dark-haired elf of a girl, shortish, remarked-
'Woh mera murder karega ek din, uska lund lund nahi, hatoda hai.' 
Now, I knew the guy she was talking about, a guy with a big enough dick. Gangbangs aren't so bad, anyhows, if you must know. What startled me was her companion's reaction, a tallish girl, one who I tried once and didn't like too much, reply, 'Aise lund ko aadmi bulao. Yaha to bus bachche ghoomte hai, aur mujhe pareshaan karke chodthe hai. Aisa lagta lund nahi, umli chod rahi hoon.'
And that with a lot of longing that left me in no doubt where the puss.. eh..heart.. lay.
It's because of such idiocy that leaves C'nCs wondering where to go. And while some of them will still stay true, others leave to conform to the bigger stick philosophy. At any rate, being a gentleman, I prefer to excite them as much as they excite me. My prior experience with that half-rate fucker left me wondering about his speed- screw it in, hammer it, leave. Like he was repairing a chair.
And not only that, that half-rate motherfucker actually left me to pay the five-figure bill, but that's a different issue.
They don't seem to understand much that those of us, with the average-size dicks, try not to be selfish and give as well as take.. and yes, my dick is average. But I don't mind.. I've had no complaints so far.
It's a bloody pity. With not only the porn industry in shambles, but also the recent nesting habits displayed.. actually a bit irritating. In the end, if we can't get a partner, we do resort to Dr. Hans Jerkov's technique. But if the catalyst in itself is nowhere near the quality we need, then what?
Just stand around, until masturbation is interrupted.
You done yet?
No. I ain't got the bitch.
Helpful, eh?
But all y'all can contribute. We guys can start being a bit more in bed than before.
Because if we don't, we might as well look out for prosthetic dicks. I ain't giving up sex. Neither should you.


Lethargy's no sin.

It's not hard to feel stupid when you're nineteen and instead of interning you're sitting your ass off in a forty-five degree celsius cyber cafe. Added to the fact that my creative juices packed up and went to Simla for the summer, my girlfriend to Pattaya for all I know, my sanity to hell and my energy to the ether.
In short, I'm fucked.
At least torrent is on, but because of an internal combustion problem in the family computer's modem, hellsbells can ring to eternity while googledotcom loads. The worst part about being here isn't even the boredom, or the heat, but the lethargy. There's Nothing To Do, and that leads to Why The Fuck Should I Do Anything, which in turn just goes back to square one: "Fuck It." Pity, actually, that I didn't keep trying for an internship... but I'm not that kind of person, I never wanted the internship in the first place, what I wanted was a sweet summer in Simla or Mahabaleshwar or Chilkhaldara or Nepal or gods forbid even Kerala, Pooja curled up next to me on some beach or high cliff or in some nook or cranny or even in some decadent hotel with a good stiff whisky and a cigar. But no, siree... I've finally shifted the base of operations from Viman Nagar to Wagholi. Inaccessibility, here I come.
The only forseeable advantage is the occassional use of the car, depending on my dad's temperament.

Added to that are disadvantages I don't and won't want to go into now. The only good thing about here is the downloading... the sheer amount of games from yesteryear that I've managed to accumulate has been enough to keep me occupied, but even so it's that guilty sort of occupation that keeps reminding you every five minutes that you should be doing something else.. writing your novel, cleaning your cupboards, watering the plants.. anything else but sit around, and even then stopping doesn't cross your mind... the next level.. then the next one.. or in my case, read tons of ebooks.. turn the page, again and again and again until it's four in the morning and my mom's standing next to me, a red-eyed devil in all glory.
As for ye who tried to reach me on Facebook: I'm sorry, but there was some randaapa on facebook, and it's not worth mentioning except for the words bad language and parental scrutiny. FB is banned at home and for quite a while now my phone has conked off, ever since it got soaked in God's own country.
As a result, social disconnection is the rage and the age, so all I can do is face the same problem a friend of mine faced: where to store all the data being downloaded?
Here's to a month of sundays.