Remember the time when you jerked off twice after watching the sizzling moves of Raveena Tondon in Tip-tip barsa paai?
Wet saree with pointing nipples through the tight fitted blouse, which Indian men could have resisted himself from reaching down his pants.
Ahh, good old 90’s wala era. Kids these days have it so easy.
When guys started buffering their bananas in the 90’s, porn was only available via dial-up internet on a shared family computer.
Those were the frontier days, long before this double digit Mbps speeds.
I always sympathized with the older generation because they had no access to Mia Khalifa and her tits until I saw the sensuous ‘gaon ki gori’ avtar of Zeenat Aman in Satyam Shivam Sundaram.
Hundreds of pants dropped of all Dadaaji’s across the nation as Zeenie baby, as a village belle Rupa, sashayed down village lanes in a transparent sari giving ample view of her shapely breasts.
Now I know what kept the sexual drive alive of Indian men back in 70’s. Well, the blockbuster movie broke all records, not because of the great script but because of great tits.
I’m tired of hearing thirtysomething dudes rattle on about how in their day they discovered a decaying lingerie catalogue in a bush, and how 13 of their friends shared it in strict rotation, and how they treasured and debased it until it disintegrated back from whence it came, and how internet-bred kids these days just don’t understand the struggle.
Well, we ‘the 90s’ kids do. Computers were crazy expensive back then so there was one sacred, communal access point, and attempting to covertly extract an orgasm from it was a delicate operation.
Most acts of self-abuse went down under the cover of night. Disabling the parental lock was child’s play. Suckers.
I can’t imagine any firewall ever standing between a horny teenager and a solitary nipple. Next, I’d use some unloved search engine (shoutout to lycos.com) so my mom wouldn’t receive suggestions like “huge tits porn tits free tits”. The present-day dolphin flogger can simply cloak his seedy searches with “incognito mode.” There’s no art to it.
That was the age of dial-up internet.
Like Pavlov’s horny dog, I used to get solid wood just hearing the clank of the dial-up rhythm scratching through my speakers. Yeah, that’s it. Go on. Dial.
There’s none of that tantalizing foreplay with the instant access of high-speed broadband.
The internet crawled like a castaway toward a mirage. While the moist finger madly jabbed at the mouse, the screen always decided to freeze on a super close-up of a great strip scene.
It was during these heart-stopping moments that one would hallucinate their mother’s voice or their father’s footsteps coming down the hall and pound the X button while frantically shoving their dick inside the pants.
Well, that use to take the urgency and precision of the prison break. Today’s generation are able to buff their bananas at total ease. They only get a faint taste of that old-timey panic if they accidentally blast an orgasmic wail out through their speaker system.
Well, ultimately all you need is a hand and it doesn’t matter whether Zeenat Aman made you hold your dick or one of the girls from pornhub.com.
If someone asks me- “who is more arousing- Lady in the wet saree or the one with hanging silicon bags over her chest?” I would vote for the one in wet saree, not because I am too Sanskari but because we Indians love to see half naked and fantasize the rest according to our needs.
Wet cotton cloth covered around perfectly carved body with nipples ready to pop out, Savita Bhabhi yaad aa gyi by god!