The Memoirs of Andrew. Pt 2 (First Kiss tutorial)
by sheshat,
FIRST KISS
Snr Smooth's moniker since his Junior class was “Smooth” even the teachers called him “Smooth”; he was that kind of guy, ruddy cheeked, dark like his favourite Guinness stout beer, Hercules built, barrel chested, a smile that charmed the other sex, and lips that sang sweet tales of danger and mischief to his peers. His eyes dazzled in the sun light glinting of knowledge and bad behavior which he always got away with and well-trimmed finger nails that you could put anywhere.
Legend has it that he got his name from Mrs Ada the English teacher in his first year after he had told her “you’re the best thing I’ve seen this morning since slice bread”, and instead of flogging him, she looked at the then youngin with admiration and uttered the words that will forever be his, “Smooth”. As he promoted in college, the name became “S” to his peers as a tribute to his sins, “Snr. Smooth” to his underlings, and “Smooth” to his superiors.
My first ideas of pollution came from Snr Smooth, he who was never out of his way when any avenue of imparting his lessons of lewdness availed itself. He considered it his fatherly duty to school me in the affairs of the world in which I was dangerously naïve of. Knowing no vice, I feared none.
Like a pupil true to his tutor, I soaked every word from his lips like gospel truth, and absorbed his dictates like the commandments. I was a lesser being where he stood. Imagine to yourself, a boy of eleven, small for his age from the legacies of malnutrition, acne covered face, and a shifty eye that bulged out of their sockets like I was being strangled. Yet I was the chosen protégé of Snr Smooth, he praised me highly before his peers as a being modelled after his intellect and tongue; and he said “You my boy have the gift of the silver tongue, you may not have the looks, but what man needs money when he can make a woman smile?”
My tasks at his hands were first elementary, I delivered letters he wrote. I watched his sleek cursive movements on rose scented papers, and crammed his wrist flicks to become mine and in no time, I could draw words on paper in such perfect manner that I graduated in post to his official letter writer. A post much coveted and created specially for me; a post which allowed me to learn words necessary for wooing, and gave me the impetus to speak sounds of adulation to the fairer sex.
At this time, all the tyranny and fears of girls in me was reduced to nothing but a trickle which still worries me even now. Memories of those dark days still flash in my mind, and I marvel at how far I have come.
Allow me to proceed with my remembrance of my first kiss, which I dare say Smooth had a hand in preparing me for. My lesson lasted every free hour of a fortnight as I had to conclude other chores before learning this art. I was instructed from appearances down to conversations, sitting positions and of course how to do the deed. In my mind, such a precious act should be performed together with the one who holds your heart, (Plangnan of my primary school days). The hands of fate however pointed a different direction. Snr Smooth had several ideas, and as the tutor, he shared his knowledge and strategems with me in bits. The thing is, Smooth didn’t want me to botch my first kiss so he made plans. His arrangements resulted in me having an unofficial first kiss, and an official first kiss, a conundrum that brought out in me my true Casanova. My unofficial first kiss was with a senior named Beauty, she wasn’t really a beauty but she had a beautiful heart and Smooth had a soft spot for her. In his words, “I won’t risk your first kiss to stories, we shall test your aptitude practically and correct all flaws, I want your reputation to grow".
It was on a dark Saturday night, cladded in hoods as dodgers hiding away from evening devotion, we huddled ourselves in the infirmary and so my learning began. She took me by the hand and placed her lush soft lips on mine. I never noticed, but Snr. Beauty’s lips were beautiful and made for more than just eating and talking; they also defied the harmattan that was cracking the whole school’s lips and heels. As she sucked on my tongue, the fervor made me feel a rise in tide in my nether regions; my breath was being taken away but there was palpitating life down there.
As I returned the favour with the energies of eager learning and floods of bliss, I added twists of my imaginations learned from Smooth’s tales and her eyes lolled and rolled with a tinge of surprise and excitement tingling and coursing through her body, bringing with it passions of pleasure she was well familiar with. As all the tyranny of pleasure ebbed out of my body, the agonies of fading delight overwhelmed me, I was left flustered in all areas with a lingering feeling on the verge of sprouting forth those liquid thrills common to our over excited sex at the point of reaching apogee. Life as I knew it had just taken a turn, the new knowledge in me surged and wanted more, driven by a desire for finding things hitherto unknown to me.
I received high praises from Smooth who had witnessed this initiation solemnly like the High Priest of Casanova’s temple, presiding over the sacred rites of passing the mantle to a new found and worthy disciple.
Explicit content.
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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