I asked, to someone I had a casual sex with, “Do you ever think about me?”

He is also a friend, actually first a friend, the sex was like really casual and I am not even thinking of making it a regular activity, not because he wasn’t good, he was, but because sex can’t hold me for too long. It only stays for the night.

So I asked, do you ever think about me? He said, “Of course I do, I just didn’t get the time to ping or call you, been very busy.”

No, I didn’t ask that question because I was missing him, I don’t miss anybody. Well that’s not completely true, but let’s leave it at that. I asked to understand something about me, something I have never known and though I am not sure but I think most women know that thing about themselves.

What is it about my physical being that people remember when I am not around? Do they remember me as the girl who had a great smile? The girl who was so cute, talkative, energetic? If they were writers, would any of them be able to write nice lines on my eyes? Or on how the touch of my lips felt, or how my skin glow, or how my sweet voice seduced them to the point of ecstasy?

I really wonder because no one ever said any of these romantic things to me. They did say though, “you got great boobs like to play with them; you are not pretty but you have the oomph; You got such great boobs one can work on them all night; Mr. Boner salutes you”

Guys, can you not do any better than this?

I mean, I am not even saying that I have a problem with being viewed as a sex object here, am not going into that serious line of thoughts, all I am saying is, can’t there be a bit of romance guys? Or am I being old fashioned here? I like that too, the sleazy talk et all, but ever saw beyond that? Did no one notice the depth in my eyes or the child in my smile?

Romance needs to be subtle.

When I am not around would I be remembered for the silly giggles, the funny talks, for the kind heart, the intelligent mind.

When I am not around would I be remembered at all? At times I feel I live a life that makes sense to me alone. No one else cares if I exist except me, my parents and my sister. I don’t know if that’s right or wrong. I have all these people on my Gtalk and a zillion other social media sites, and at times I stare at the list of the virtual IDs all kinds of people there with all their interesting status messages the green yellow and red lights and wonder, what remains of me in them once I sign out?

I guess what remains is a little bit of me in thousands of them but none who has the all of me.

His answer to my question was nice, he said, “The first thing I remember about you is the touch of your skin. So soft and sensuous, so awesome! And the next thing is your amazing eyes and hair!”

I know him well enough to know he isn’t making it up.

On the few things that’s going on in life I have been writing a private blog. I guess they can be published someday long enough from now, someday when the emotions portrayed therein would stand null and void. But here are a few lines from that blog:

Feelings and emotions are alright but nothing beats a man of substance, a man who is worth his words, who is like a wall you know wouldn’t fall.

But he is nothing like a wall, he is like wind, the sweet fragrance in the wind, he comes and goes, he is like a romantic dream, he is like a technicolored bubble…stays only for a while and then he is something else. Every day with him is a like a surprise every day with him is like being with a new man.

I don’t know if I want the wall or the wind. May be I need a wall. Because I myself am wind, and I need a strong wall to keep me within…keep me from escaping. But that may not be what I want.

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