Athletic, 5’4”, full-time yapper
Pol-Sci major
Looking for people who can actually hold a conversation.
Looking for ppl who actually read this and don't just hit me with an "asl?", like dude that's just the title man wtf.
If you’re chill and not just here to waste time, hit me up.
Telegm: @Sangriatimenow
I still can’t believe I’m writing this.
Last weekend my best friend Rohan and his girlfriend Meera finally moved into their new 2BHK in Andheri West. Proper house-warming. Nothing fancy some drinks, Maggi, Bluetooth speaker, a few common friends. Meera’s best friend, Ananya, was also there. I’d seen her a couple of times before but never really spoken properly.
It was already raining when I reached. That typical August Mumbai rain not the heavy flooding type, just constant light-to-moderate drizzle that makes everything sticky and clothes cling. Humidity was high, the kind where your shirt sticks to your back even if you’re just standing.
We all got pretty heavy. By 1 a.m. half the people had left because trains were delayed and cabs were charging 3x. Rohan and Meera were already half-asleep on the mattress in the living room. Ananya was sitting next to me on the bean bag, both of us still drinking. She had broken up with her boyfriend like three weeks ago. I knew that. Everyone knew that.
Around 1:30 Meera half-opened her eyes and mumbled, “Jay, can you drop Ananya? Please yaar, trains will be fucked.”
I said okay.
We took an auto because Uber was showing 25 minutes. The rain was still coming down, not heavy but enough that the auto’s plastic flaps were down and everything smelled of wet tar and her perfume. She was quiet for most of the ride. Then just before her building in Lokhandwala she turned and kissed me. Proper, drunk, open-mouthed kiss. I froze for a second, then kissed her back for maybe ten seconds before I pulled away.
“Ananya… you’re drunk. And this is a bad idea.”
She looked at me, eyes glassy, and just said, “I know.”
I made her drink water, walked her to the gate, waited till the watchman opened, and left. Did the right thing. Felt weirdly proud of myself.
Next day I was back at Rohan’s place by 11 because I had promised to help him move the remaining boxes and assemble the study table. Ananya was already there. Fresh clothes, hair open, acting completely normal. Like the kiss never happened. We exchanged the usual “hi, hangover kaisa hai” and got to work.
Around 1:30 Rohan and Meera decided they needed to buy a few more kitchen things and some curtains. “We’ll be back in an hour, max one and a half. Don’t break anything,” Rohan said, laughing.
The second they left, the silence in the flat felt different.
Ananya was sitting on the edge of the bed in the second bedroom, scrolling her phone. I was standing near the window. The rain had started again soft, steady, the kind that makes the whole city look grey and private.
She looked up and said, very quietly, “Yesterday… I’m sorry.”
I said, “It’s fine. We were both drunk.”
She stood up, walked over, and stopped right in front of me. “I wasn’t that drunk.”
This time when she kissed me I didn’t stop her.
We moved to the bed. Clothes came off faster than they should have. Her skin was warm and a little damp from the humidity. The rain was hitting the window and the AC was off so the room felt thick. I knew exactly where Rohan kept the condoms top drawer of the side table, same place he used to keep them in the old PG. I took one out without saying anything.
We fucked on the new bed in the second bedroom while the city outside was grey and wet. She was quiet at first, then not quiet at all. At one point she bit my shoulder hard enough that I’m still carrying the mark. I came inside the condom, stayed inside her for a while, then we did it again twenty minutes later because neither of us wanted to get up and face whatever the fuck we had just done.
Rohan and Meera came back around 3. We were both sitting in the living room by then, looking completely normal, helping unpack plates. Ananya left half an hour later with a casual “bye, see you.”
We haven’t spoken about it since.
But every time it rains like this that soft, sticky, endless Mumbai drizzle I think about that second bedroom and how easy it was.
That’s my confession. Also please don't ask for pics & ID Thanks!!
Any safe yet quality Redlight area in mumbai??
A hot black coffee, a nice of J and a warm mouth on my cock!!! ...Such a perfect start to the day!!
Same
Dm
Just come and lay on my bed, put your thighs on my shoulders and just get crazy sloppy sucked while it rains outside. Discretion compulsory tho. I’m sure you’re gonna roll up your eyes while you cum deep!
Anyone from juhu mumbai area? Know my g f tripti wanna talk about her
Horny and looking for sexting
Not above 30 please
Bored and driving everywhere alone. Would be better if someone accompanies.. 😉
37 bi m .. looking for m to m lesbo type of fun ...any one bi bott or feeling like bott .. can dm i can host too.. kisses , bj , hj bodyply etc
Looking for a plus sized woman who enjoys showing her self off.
Into indian busty females. Looking for longterm and fun interaction, open for Irl meets as well.
Girls with high libido and dark hairy private parts to the preferred.
It pains 😏 also my bf makes me do multiple times so that’s kinda extra work
Heyyy guys and women last night I was desperate to feel the warmth of a body beside me!
So i decided that it shouldn't happen anymore with anyone so wanted to build a safe self sufficient community of like minded individuals who are interested in a Polyamory,Clubbing,House Parties,drinks and a life ahead of Fun
Let's keep the Age Group Matured 24 and above
Let's go
Interested people Just don't send a Simple Hi or a Hey be a bit more descriptive
Current status🚨:3 Guys(27,28Y/O Straight Guys Attractive,1 Bi Top 24M,0couple,1 cute Female Bi! Let's make it 10 and close the circle The couple wasn't Able to Verfy themselves so they got kicked To get in first Let Me know the Basics ASL Preferably making the community Mumbai Centric as it would be much easier and convenient Telegram is a must I am personally making sure it's a safe and discreet community and taking in opinions of the remaining members Soooo verification is Taking a bit longer Suggestions were a lesbian Couple (No Age Barrier), A open relationship couple (No Age Barrier), Someone who could host events at their place, A Bi F(Age doesn't Matter), A 20Y/O(M/F Doesn't matter), A 40+Y/O(M/F Doesn't matter), A transgender person(Trans Male/Female doesn't matter), A Gay Guy (Top specific)Request Complete ✅, An OF Creator, F Bi With BDSM Fantasy of Being Tied Up and who is okay with sucking Vagina,Drinking Pee and could be waxxed and is okay with Anal Plugs and has a good Tollarance level
Chapter 2: Voices Through the Wall
The doorknob stopped turning.
My lungs had forgotten their job. The screen blazed with her inbox—subject lines, sender names, a five-year archive of my sister’s life rendered in twelve-point Helvetica—and somewhere in the hallway, Priya’s hand rested on the knob of my bedroom door.
“Ishaan? You decent?”
Her voice. The same voice that had whimpered through my speakers twenty minutes ago.
“Yeah—one sec—” The words scraped out of me like gravel. I slapped the laptop lid down, yanked the hard drive’s USB cable free, and shoved both under a pile of laundry with hands that didn’t feel like mine anymore.
The door opened.
She stood there in travel-worn jeans and a crumpled kurta, her long black hair escaping a hurried bun. Dark circles under her eyes. The same eyes I’d just watched flutter closed in pleasure.
“God, I’m wrecked,” she said, leaning against my doorframe. “Six hours at the airport for nothing. Rohan’s still stuck there—his flight got pushed to tomorrow.” She yawned, and the movement pulled the kurta tight across her chest. Soft. Full. I knew the exact weight of those breasts now, the way they spilled when a bra unhooked. “What’ve you been doing? You look weird.”
“Just gaming. Lost track of time.”
“Mm.” She didn’t care. She was already turning away. “I’m gonna shower and crash. You want chai or anything?”
“No.”
She paused. Frowned. “You okay?”
I nodded. My face felt like a mask someone else had painted on.
The bathroom door clicked shut. The pipes groaned. Water rushed through the walls.
I sat there in the sudden quiet, my heart still kicking against my ribs, and listened to my sister shower ten feet away. The splashing changed pitch when it hit her body. I knew the geography of that body now—the curve of her hip where Rohan’s thumb had hooked her panties, the dip of her navel where his tongue had lingered. My cock stirred again, insistent and indifferent to my shame.
I reached under the laundry and pulled the laptop back out.
---
The screen glowed to life. Still on her inbox. But my eye caught something else—a folder synced from her phone’s notes app. Journal_2023. Unencrypted. Just sitting there, like a letter left open on a kitchen counter.
I opened June 14th.
Rohan’s been gone three days. Business trip to Mumbai. The apartment feels enormous. I tried reading, tried Netflix, tried calling Ananya, but my brain just keeps circling back to that thing he does with his tongue—
I scrolled faster. My pulse was a drumline.
—I hate how much I miss him. Hate it. Called him at midnight just to hear his voice. He was half-asleep, that gravelly mumble he does, and I swear to god I got wet just listening to him say my name. He asked what I was wearing. I said nothing. (I was wearing his old t-shirt but the lie felt hotter.)
He started talking. Low and slow. Told me what he’d do if he were here—exactly what he’d do. His voice got that edge, you know the one, like every word was a finger tracing down my stomach—
My hand had found its way into my lap again. I didn’t stop it.
—and I just lay there in the dark with the phone pressed to my ear, my other hand under the t-shirt, and I swear I could feel his breath on my neck even though he was six hundred kilometers away. He kept saying my name. Priya. Priya. Like a prayer. And I—
I came so hard I saw stars. Actual stars. Little white flecks behind my eyelids. And then he laughed—that soft, pleased laugh—and said “good girl,” and I wanted to crawl through the phone and devour him.
I closed my eyes. Behind my lids: my sister in the dark, her phone glowing against her cheek, her thighs parting under the weight of a man’s voice. Rohan’s voice, yes—but in my mind, the voice had no face. It could be anyone’s.
It could be mine.
The thought arrived without permission, and it should have horrified me. Instead, it settled somewhere low in my gut, warm and spreading.
I read the entry twice more, each pass slower, committing phrases to memory. That edge, like every word was a finger tracing down my stomach. The specificity of her arousal—auditory, lonely, desperate—felt more intimate than the video. The video was performance, framed for an audience of one. But this was confession. This was the inside of her skull.
The shower cut off.
I minimized the journal and opened another folder. Chats_backup. A WhatsApp export, hundreds of messages with Rohan. I searched for “voice” and found a thread from March.
Rohan: you want me to record something?
Priya: omg yes
Priya: wait no that’s embarrassing
Rohan: too late already recording
[Voice Note: 4:32]
Priya: 🫣
Priya: I’m not listening to that at work
Rohan: listen to it at work. I dare you.
The voice note file was right there. A tiny MP3 icon. Four minutes and thirty-two seconds of Rohan’s voice saying god knows what. My cursor circled it.
From the other end of the apartment, a door opened. Bare feet padded down the hallway. Then Priya’s bedroom door—the room next to mine—closed with a soft click.
I plugged in my headphones.
---
The recording began with static, then breathing. Deep and deliberate, the kind someone does right into the mic to make sure you hear it.
“Hey, baby.”
My jaw tightened.
“Wish you were here right now. Wish I had you on your back, that little cotton thing you wore last night—yeah, I remember. White. Thin. You could see right through it when you walked past the lamp.”
A pause. A wet sound—lips parting, maybe a tongue. I pictured him in a hotel room, phone in one hand, the other already working his belt.
“I’d start with your neck. You know why? Because you make that sound. The little one. Like you’re surprised even though we’ve done this a hundred times.”
I knew the sound. I’d heard it in the video. A soft gasp, almost a hiccup.
“Then I’d go lower. Real slow. The collarbone. The space between your—” his voice dropped to a near-whisper “—your breasts. God, Priya. Your tits. I’d spend an hour just there. You’d be begging by the time I got to your nipples.”
My hand moved inside my sweats. Slowly. The dry friction of palm against shaft, my own breathing gone shallow.
“You’re touching yourself already. I know you are. Don’t stop.”
I didn’t.
“I’d push your thighs apart. Kiss the inside of your knee. Work my way up. You’d be wet by then—you’re always wet by then—and I’d just breathe on you first. Not even touch. Just breathe. Watch you squirm.”
The room felt smaller. Hotter. My fist worked in a rhythm now, slick with precum, the sound of it obscene in the quiet.
“Then my tongue. Flat. Slow. One long—”
A noise cut through my headphones. Not from the recording.
From the wall.
I pulled one earpiece out and froze.
A moan. Soft, muffled by drywall and distance, but unmistakable. Priya’s voice. The same voice I was hearing in my ear, except this one was live, happening right now, ten feet away through a layer of plaster and paint.
“—yeah, just like that—”
Rohan’s voice in my ear. Priya’s voice through the wall. The recording kept playing—his descriptions growing filthier, more specific—but I barely heard it. My whole being had narrowed to the wall beside my bed.
Another moan. Higher this time. A creak of bedsprings.
I pressed my ear flat against the cool plaster and listened to my sister masturbate.
The sound was rhythmic—a soft, wet percussion I couldn’t un-hear. Every few seconds, a breath catching. A whispered word I couldn’t quite make out. The bed creaked in a pattern: two short squeaks, pause, two short squeaks. Her hand working between her legs, maybe, or a toy—did she have toys? The journal hadn’t mentioned any, but there was so much I didn’t know. So much I was only beginning to discover.
“Priya,” the recording breathed in my ear.
“Priya,” I breathed against the wall, soundless, the word just a shape my lips made.
Her moans quickened. The bed creaked faster. Through the wall, I heard her gasp—that exact gasp from the video—and then a long, shuddering exhale that seemed to go on forever.
Silence.
I pulled my hand out of my sweats, wet and shaking. The recording had ended. My headphones hummed with empty static.
The wall was still warm from her body heat.
I didn’t finish myself off. Something in me wanted to hold onto the ache. The incompleteness. As if climax would be a door I couldn’t walk back through.
Instead, I sat against the wall and waited for her breathing to steady on the other side. When it did—slow, deep, the rhythm of sleep—I opened her hard drive again and kept digging.
Somewhere in the backup of her old phone, buried three folders deep, I found a folder labeled with nothing but a heart emoji.
Inside: forty-three files. Videos. All dated. All thumbnail views of skin and bedsheets and the floral duvet from the Diwali family photo.
I clicked the earliest one.
Priya’s face filled the screen—younger, softer, maybe two years ago. She was looking into the lens, smiling that crooked smile I’d seen across dinner tables my whole life. Then the phone tilted down, and I watched my sister take her clothes off for a man who wasn’t in the room.
My FWB is travelling to Mumbai and mentioned that she wants to get some tattoos while she's here, want recommendations for parlours with either female artists or professional males that do a good job with tattoos. Don't mind if it's slightly expensive, safety and good quality are important, would be nice if y'all can comment and tell the names, DMs are fine too! Better if someone can show/speak about tattoos they've gotten done personally