Asian Window

In this extract from a book featuring South Asian sex writing, a young man experiences sexual tensions at a Bengali wedding. Excerpted from The Wedding Night Or, Bachelor’s Boudoir 9, from the anthology Electric Feather: The Tranquebar Book of Erotic Stories, edited by Ruchir Joshi. From Mint-Lounge:

Electric Feather: The Tranquebar Book of Erotic Stories, edited by Ruchir Joshi.

I don’t know if this is a common phenomenon, but I’m always slightly horny at weddings. Maybe this is some kind of primal thing; the whole business is, after all, about sex, about anxious parents hooking their kids up for sex, about meeting exciting new strangers to sleep with, or at least eating like a tapeworm as a substitute for sex. At Punjabi weddings they dance and drink to release some of that sexual energy, and to show potential hookups how tireless they are while performing simple rhythmic movements; why do you think the bhangra looks the way it does? At Bengali weddings, though, everyone sits and eats and talks and ogles other people doing the same thing until everyone is either horny to the point of combustion or asleep.

And this wedding I’m attending is one that inspires horniness on a mammoth scale. A Big Fat Bong Wedding where two nice, loaded and future-society-pillar types are getting their Official Penetration Permit; all of Calcutta is here. And now, sitting at this table with old friends watching women I last met ten years ago walking around, magically metamorphosed into sexual beings, all curves and silken swaying strides and knowing smiles, the awkwardness of their college years but a distant memory, I’m beginning to feel it; people are beginning to break up into body parts, I’m beginning to regress. What can I say? It’s a wedding. You’re supposed to be horny. That’s why you’re wearing a kurta. More:

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