Let's make love
by ndambp@gmail.com,
"Let's make love" she said.
"What?" I had retorted with incredulity. The type that shows in the face and you can't hide it.
"I don't like how you have been fucking me. And before you ask, I feel like an ashawo. The ignorant type at that, the one who doesn't even have the decadence to collect money immediately after the act like how the girls at West of Mines do. You pound me, and I feel it's done only for you to cum, and you don't even end up cumming. Must be some masochist thing, because I don't understand all this suffering we are doing and calling it sex. You leave me sore every time, and call me when you are bored. I can't do that anymore."
Man's ignorance is legendary, but you see when you pair ignorance and sex, men tend to rise above that base instinct and reach a level hitherto unknown even to them. It's a rare thing when a man takes criticism without pants about his performance in the affairs of him and his willy, it's even more rare when the criticism smacks of erudite elegance.
I tried to think of words, acts, reactions, but I laid their partly limp, with little bouts of blood rushing to my willy, reminding me that she didn't call me a "1 minute man" but I felt worse. It was like I was a pig with a diamond ring but with no appreciation for the value of what I had. The only way to ease my mind, to stop it from tearing itself to bits analyzing her words in context and making new things with the scrap was to ask. There is no harm in learning a little, we should not have to relearn every skill in each generation. So I asked. "How do you want us to make love?"
With her winsome bright eyes and innocence to the quagmire she had wrought to my brain, she described scene after scene with particular attention to certain spots she liked been touched at. Snuggling deeper into the curvature of my body, she nestled and continued drawing my active mind to more scenes than I had read from the kamasutra. Where do they learn all these things!! My earlier befuddlement had cleared at the sound of her voice describing things.
If anyone had seen us at that point in time, I'd have said we were practicing subintroductae. Except, she wasn't a virgin and I wasn't an old priest who had sworn chastity upon himself.
"Is that what it means to make love?" I asked, it hit me right there that I was getting dumber despite all the info I'd been given. I couldn't take back that stupid, so I just laid and watched as she slowly rolled and looked into my eyes.
"I want to see the brown in your eyes when we make love. I want you to go gentle and think of me when going down, I want to swallow you and swallow all that comes from you, I desire that you taste me and savor the taste of my inner being. It will please me if you remember the shape of my body, and the color of my skin. I have imprinted your birthmark in the inner reaches of my mind and I see them in the shape of the clouds. If you find my birthmark, I will show you more on how to love me".
If this was an initiation, I done go oh guys. This must be how men end up buying mansions in Maitama for their small chops while madam is in Tudun Wada, tending the family.
My mind didn't race, it imagined briskly, then decided to try it. Ugliness was the chance to make beautiful. She had somehow bypassed all my learning and impacted in me fresh insight distilled in one sentence and taught in the most beautiful way ever.
Gone were all my past definitions of sex, like long lasting, big and deep throated screams that I passed off to be moans of ecstasy. I wanted to try what I had just learnt.
"Calm down", she said. As she made me drink from my cup, while my restless fingers glided over the flat of her tummy, counting the translucent beads that warped around her waist.
Practicing new knowledge can be tricky. Is it too early to add your own variations? Are you doing it right? Will you see immediate results? I ate all the knowledge she had shared with me and I altered some to fit my randy dreams.
The kiss before was manageable, with my new twist, I found her longing for more as my tongue found hers and licked it. New found knowledge is dangerous!
She had a preference for her boobs so I sucked on it like a toddler finding breath for the first time. I nibbled on her nipples and she gasped, then I nibbled again on the mounds of boobs and she held my head in between them. My tongue traced the fine stretch mark that had coursed a path down, "interesting", as I began to scan for the birthmark.
She had found willy, and while I kissed her boobs, she was touching them in a way that it had never been touched. I know how willy feels like, the veins that protrude to give it life, I know how it bulges with excitement when it's in the hands of another, and how it swells when it's in someone's lips. I don't know what willy is doing now. It's like halfway between a bulge and a swell. Throbbing with vigor and anticipation.
I had to repay this favour. As I tasted her down below, she tasted like cream with a touch of something exotic. I licked the upper lips and kissed the lower lips. Then flicked my tongue side ways, feeling the hypnic jerk kicking and begging for more. Oh was I just getting started. I did that, then I did what she said and watched her hold my head in place with her knees and her hands. A couple of more minutes and she dragged me up to her. I had on my face of satisfaction.
She rubbed willy against her outer defences, i saw the satisfied look in her bright brown eyes looking into my eyes. There was something sinister in that look. Teasing me. Playing with me. Forcing me to learn patience. Teaching me virtues I have never needed to learn. Woh! Just kill me already.
Five minutes later and what felt like 10 pumps staring into her eyes, we sighed in harmony. Me collapsing on her and sleeping almost immediately, she stroking me endlessly with a look that is now in my head.
That was my first love making experience. Five years later I've not replicated the deed. What type of person would I be if I never practiced what i was taught? There's beauty in the world even though we refuse to see it. I knew her in her own terms, the way she demanded to be known, from the inside first.
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Featured Stories
Leah
by eli-smooth, published 3 years, 1 month ago
The ride down the empty hill felt like a deluge. Five people cramped into an old Peugeot 504. The car jolted its way down the rough terrain and with each sharp turn, their eyes narrowed with despair.
The driver was Kelechi, a 22 year old medical student who had joined the fraternity about a month ago. His low hanging beard chiseled into his sharp jaw-line. The scar that was above his eye gave him a menacing look.
“How could this happen?” He wondered as he drove through the rickety slope. His eyes squinted a little as he swerved to avoid a goat that had moved into their path. The sudden swerve forced the engine to quake mildly and shut down.
They all moved out into the open space.
Silence lingered for a while.
“What do we do now?” Simi asked. Her dark skin glistening under the low light of orange setting sun. She was a psychology student. Brilliant but edgy; unwilling to succumb to the wild stereotypes that followed the other women in her life.
“We do nothing; we just bury the body where no one can find it” Sam whispered coldly.
Leah winced and paced the space around them, sobbing gently as she walked from side to side. She seemed the most distraught of the five. She wondered how different the day before had been and wondered if her life would ever be the same.
But it was the fifth person who seemed the most odd.
His tattoos were visible under the sleeveless shirt he had on. A nose piercing marked him out from the rest of them. He barely talked as the others encircled the empty bushes around. He just leaned on the car and peacefully disappeared into his thoughts.
“We were only supposed to scare him” Simi lamented. Her voice seemed to echo a distant regret.
“I keep asking what happened and no one wants to tell me. We were all on the same plan but as soon as I turn to take a leak, I return and find a fucking dead body on the floor. What happened while I was gone?” Kelechi asked. He seemed to be screaming at everyone else.
“Is it that important? Would you rather not have the truth be a little subdued from your conscience now?” Goni, the boy with the tattoos whispered back at Kelechi. His voice was cold, almost haunting.
“I don’t know. I didn’t sign up for this.” Kelechi confessed.
“Oh, so you think we all woke up and planned a murder and you were the only person out of the loop?” Simi asked angrily.
Kelechi looked away. His hands shaking under the weight of his deepest thoughts.
Sam chuckled slyly as he watched Leah’s wandering theatrics. He seemed calmer than he was a few minutes ago.
“The truth is right here. Whatever we say it is” Sam cuts in. The others looked at him. He nodded. They all nod back except for Goni.
“We still haven’t answered the most pertinent question though. Who poisoned the little old chap?” He asked calmly.
“Does it matter, we all know he was a dwindling, two faced monster” Leah said.
She had stopped pacing and sobbing. She seemed calmer and her big round eyes cut into her beautiful face. Sam looked at her in admiration
“We all knew that, but we also knew that the idea was to scare him and not to murder. So who amongst us had the most reasons to murder him?” Goni asked.
They all went quiet. The few seconds left between their breaths built up a reckless angst. Leah stared at each of their faces. She wondered who amongst them fits the murder type best..
Sam was a nerd.
It was odd that the frat boys loved him but underneath his queer humor and deep lingering eyes, there was no reason to suspect that he could be a killer. Leah thought. Simi was mostly indifferent; capable of the mundane but also the awe inspiring moments. Her calculative mind set her apart as the most logical of the group.
Kelechi was by matter of chance, the only one that was unavailable when they witnessed the death.
Goni was the one who seemed the most vulnerable to accusations. He had fought with the dead boy just a few minutes before the boy broke into a fit. He seemed more dangerous than anyone else and he also seemed to be nonchalant about the corpse that lay in the trunk of the car that had just stopped.
- Simi looked at Leah from the corner of her eye. Their eyes meet and for a few seconds, they lingered on in their sanctified space. Simi felt a rush of casual emotions rushing within. She remembered their nights underneath the moon when the boys were away. She remembered every feeling and it made her question her every truth. But she also knew the other truth.
The five of them stood in an arc as the trunk was slowly being opened. The three boys straddle the body and move it towards the empty path that led one into the bushes. The rustling of the leaves just in front of them stopped them in their tracks.
A Park ranger had his gun pointed at them. The boys surrendered and raised their hands. The Ranger looked on in surprise.
“Who killed him?” He asked as he nudged the safety of the gun; turning it off.
The group stood, staring at him in silence.
“Who killed my partner?” The Ranger asked again.
This time his gun was pointed at a visibly distraught Simi.
She was overcome with fear.
“Leah, Leaaah,
She poisoned him because he raped her” Simi confessed.
The boys look back at Leah, stunned.
Leah’s face bore a look of resignation.
“Thanks so much for having my back; Lover” she said in disgust.
They boys all stood stunned. Processing both news that had crept into their ears.
Minutes of Memories
by InspiredLetters, published 3 years, 2 months ago
The first thing you know is that you don't know how to run until you know how to run.
***
"Do you plead guilty?" The Judge asks, his glasses perches on the bottom of his nose.
"Do you -"
Although the ceiling fan whizzes faithfully, the room is still hot. It is still still hot.
You are held behind a dock not just by chains washing your hands and feet but by betrayal spoken in silence. Your hands, those large elements of bloody lust, gasp for the air of freedom, at least.
Anxiety is carefully sketched on the brown faces of the court.
The eyes in the room shining brighter than your future peep into your past.
***
Your anger started the day you met Mama sitting on the verandah; her wrapper had come undone, finger prints, five of them, kissed her cheeks, disheveled hair, and eyes blood red from crying. And Papa walked around like four walls with the paintings of Mama's curse words hanging on them.
"Prostitute!"
"Jobless drunk!"
Whenever they quarrelled, there was a cold war; minutes grew into hours, hours into days, days into weeks...
You know the air in your compound smells of their daily quarrells, yet you do nothing, can do nothing but run away. Away from it. It's now normal that if you see Papa saying I love you to Mama, you wonder if something is wrong, if it's a dream.
You keep on dreaming but the pain from the cuffs whisper reality into your eyes.
***
"Do you plead guilty?"
The atmosphere is now condensed like the hot thick pap Mama does for you and Ike every Saturday morning.
In nanoseconds, you could be kissing Mother Earth goodbye just from one statement of one man. One! One!
You look around, wanting to say the truth. Say it anyway!
But then you keep quiet.
***
That fateful day you were greeted by distant sounds of fighting. You know it's Mama and Papa again!
"Not again," you mumble and walk into the sitting room sluggishly.
Your sight beheld a liquid on the burgundy carpet. No, it was not water, it was blood, that sacred stream of life's mystery, Mama's blood!
"Daddy, stop, please, stop," your younger brother, Ike, screams, kept on screaming. He tugs at you to do something because the overflowing blood scares him. But you do nothing, can do nothing but run away. Away from it.
"Daddy! Daddy!"
The punches come in quick successions. Mama's body lay half-dead, half-consYou'vehalf-consYou'vehalf-consYou'vehalf-consYou've
The punches come in quick successions. Mama's body lay half-dead, half-consYou'vehalf-consYou've on the floor decorated with blood.
on the floor decorated with blood. on the floor decorated with blood.
"Daddy-"
The blood melts into thin air, into your eyes, forming a dark cloud, maybe an envelope on the canopy of your eyelids.
You can no longer take it.
So, you grab Papa by the neckcollar of his shirt but he pushes you away. Once, twice, thrice.
Your anger gets the better part of you when you forget the scissors in your hand in his neck.
Blood gushing out, Papa dies within minutes. The same minutes with which everything falls apart.
Papa is dead. Dead!
***
You know you should run. But you also know that you don't know how to run until you know how to run. Instead your feet glues to the roof of the earth and your tongue embraces silence.
Your mother's eyes, though dull with darkness, will you to run away. Still, you don't run, you don't want to run. You don't want to run but still run. Still, run!
Don't run again. The police are waiting out of your house.
"Who called them?" you kept asking.
***
Now.
You pose, one knee up, one knee down, before a congregation of rifles about to blow your dream off. An eye closed, you remember minutes of memories that you never can forget. Memories such as your younger brother calling the police against you, in fear. Memories such as the night you mixed rat poison in Mama's drinking water instead of Papa's.
You tiptoe through life into the bars of death. You are now your own fate. Can you run away from it?
#TheRun