You’ve been calling her consistently for the past one hour, and she has been avoiding your calls like plague for all that while. May I add that you’re annoying and irritating, for I have to start all over again.
“Wait, Joe, I think he knows…”
No, of course you don’t know anything. You’re just suspicious,a voice in you afraid to utter out your little insecurities; lest you lose her, or so you think. Poor you!
“Lola, relax, he has no idea, it’s just you and me right now; forget him!”
I smirk back, loving the sheepish nod she gives me back.
Two or three kisses later, you’re just but a frigment of her memory, the tiny bit I can’t totally wipe. I guess she does really care for you. I don’t give a hoot anyway.
She’s all high, slowly giving in to my demands as I take pleasure in teasing her, exploring without mercy her beautiful body, an art unique in it’s own way.
Being the persistent guy you are, you call again, and this time I curse under my breathe as she picks up the phone, fingers trembling.
“Hey babe…I’m sorry…I’m at Betty’s…no bae…it’s just some assignment am trying to complet…babe I didn’t hear it ring …”
Your instincts are super good, but you’re killing the vibe. Both you and I know there’s nothing so great, nothing so joyous, as those few seconds of expectation before entering into a woman’s unknown; yet you just spoilt the moment and am here wondering what for!
So I get back to exploring, and she desperately tries to maintain her normal voice, while gesturing at me to stop. I can’t. I won’t.
Suddenly she lets out a moan. Of course you heard it right before,
“…babe I have to leave Betty needs some help with her homework…”
But you trust her. She would never play you, you tell yourself. She hangs up on you,turns her wild on and her phone off. Lo! You know how lucky you are? You probably brag about it to your friends.
“C’mon let’s do this!”
She says as she plants another kiss that triggers the beast in me. My foul-stenched self presses on hard, taking and staining her innocence with my filth, never minding her little noises. Her pained face under the moonlight beams issuing from the window, or her moans of pain, as if she is really hurt, of pleasure, as if eating honey combs and sugarcanes, and the waves of her gentle motions, fused with the creaking of the bed all play a role in ensuring that the snake in paradise gets full with the blood-warmth expectation of a heavy spit. Like a wounded buffalo, I maul her- my prey, my sweat-her blood-our breaths cast in the air as we lead each other to a point of no return.
Not so soon, a joyous trembling courses through our bodies as she gives one last moan of joy and satisfaction. The snake inside gets delivarance from the pain of this knowing, this knowledge that the faithful gentleman you are knows nothing about our little mischief.
An hour later, she’s back at your place, smelling my cheap cologne, really tired and not in the mood.
And I know her thirsty self will come back, and I will certainly carry her, a willing passenger, on a night train trip to the sindom of pain and pleasure and leave her there panting and hungering for more, for a thousands sins with me and more.
I roll over with a smile. . .
The faithful gentleman you are doesn’t mind after all.
© Wendo Kenyanito.