"I'll stop the world, and melt with you"

Codes: het, rom, childhood, fetish

It is almost like monsters have escaped from Hagrid's forest in a Harry Potter film and are fucking me in my brain now……almost..
Something fantastical...is on the loose inside here...a strange animal, with the body of one, the words of another, and my imagination conducting them both, making silvery incandescent objects out of ordinary dry wood (or is it the other way).

Who knows when you stumble on your 'preference' or 'fetish' as the world insists on naming these things? Ice melting in my hand wasn't a special feeling ever; it was painful, it could stick to your hand in an insistent solid state instead of just melting. Maybe the heat and power cuts in Delhi made the clink of ice cubes a welcome sound, but I don't remember how or why I first dug my hand inside the freezer. But its there...a distinct feeling that can be recalled, the nails digging into the powdery ice along the sides of the freezer, the fast melting grains of ice before compacting them in my hand.

Little did I know when I huddled under many blankets in winter, or when my lips turned blue in the mountains to the horror of my anxious parents, or even though I run to the sea for each holiday, use a covering sheet in summer, insist on hot water baths in falling-apart hotels in remote hill stations..that I would one day be begging for ice to be put on me, to be pushed around the lips of the vagina, making it seem like your clit had hardened into a maroon scab – its colour and distinct feeling of unfamiliar hardness on your skin, an image clear and pressed against my closed eyelids.

….and when you fell on a flower pot as a child, and broke it, and hurt your pussy and clit, and couldn't pee properly for days...
did you know that you would want that exact feeling to be returned to you..and that how it would be, would be through ice...

The body's memories of pain..and pleasure...are distinct from other memories, that are too steeped in what one wants to hear, about journeys, the almost-fire in the house, the theft of my mother’s precious purse on the train, the bad decisions, the first boy who liked you, so distinct from the boy who first saw you...memories that can be given verbal form, grow, and become part of a narrative..

And the body's memories are close to the skin, willing to break surface at any moment, without a beginning or ending. So a body that avoids cold at all time, that stands in hot steamy showers for half an hour every morning, willingly submits to torture of ice every night...beckoning it...because begging it would be too real.
In this world I live in, I can't beg for it, not even in jest or play. I must beckon, tease it out of hiding, and into me, before it melts. These are transient pleasures, at best, for various reasons...


But I’m tracing an imaginary path for my body's memories, giving it a beginning, a middle and an end..it resists my feeble attempt at cataloguing. Too contradictory and too real to be summed up quite so easily, it holds on steadfast, adding new memories, new sensations, daily..

Sometimes we are just as deep as what the body feels, when it slips into water, and water slides into every crevice, and the body begins to move, first gracefully with the memory of swimming classes, and then ... as other thoughts cut past, with less grace, and more staccato rhythm...
Sometimes we just are the rain falling on the water in a swimming pool
Sometimes we just are the body turning in the ocean, checking that the bag is still there on the shore, and then turning away forgetting such mundane belongings as you look to the rest of the ocean, dotted by some people...braver than you..
Sometimes we just are ...that smoke that was inhaled
Sometimes we just are... ice inside
…and not the mistakes we made, not the errors of judgment, not the infidelities, not the continuing torture of loneliness, not the relationships we have, or the friendships we chose to nurture...

And I’ve never even seen snow....

Will I not need human touch then?
*giggle*


"You've seen the difference, and its getting better all the time
There's nothing you and I won't do...
I’ll stop the world, and melt with you...."

Music: Melt with you, Nouvelle Vague