Candlelights And Roses

The light of the moon shone on the walls of the balcony. He enjoyed the serenity as the night air blew on his afro fade cut and his brown eyes navigated the busy landscape ahead of him, his eyes sometimes meeting those of the Statue of Liberty.

He had stood there for three hours, lost in his many thoughts. He had a decision he was to execute that evening, and everything was set. He was not sure it was right, but he was determined to do it anyway. To him, it was a step to true happiness, one he had not felt in a really long time.

He looked to his watch, it was half past eight. It was almost time.

He turned around and walked into the house, making his way straight to the dining room. The dining table was aesthetically pleasing; long scented red candles in vintage candle holders decorated its four corners, with a beautiful bouquet of roses laying at its centre, four pairs of short red candles surrounding it. Finely decorated dishes of lemon garlic butter shrimp with white rice and sauce lay on just one side of the table, next to a wine glass and a big bottle of Pierre Gonon Saint-Joseph.

Just like in the movies, he smiled.

This was his finest culinary work, which meant a lot because he was an extremely talented chef. It was perfect, there was nothing left to do. He then walked quietly up the stairs and straight to the master bedroom.


Michelle had a long day, but it had a happy ending. She parked her Mercedes and hurriedly made her way to the front door, letting herself into her house, or rather he fiancée’s house. She almost missed what laid in wait for her in the dining room as she ran past it and brought herself back.

“Oh my God!” she exclaimed, as she hastily made her way to the table.

It was beautiful; she loved the vintage candle holders and how the scent of the candles filled the air. The meal looked divine, and of course he would get a bouquet of roses, her best flowers, in her best colours, red and white. Perks of dating a romantic chef who pays attention to details.

However, the table was obviously made for just one person; one set of plates, a set of cutleries, a wine glass and a bottle of wine.

Had he already eaten? she asked herself.

It was a question best asked to the one who made all this, which then begged the question of where he was.

“Baby, where are you?” she said in slightly loud voice as she took a taste of the shrimp.

She didn’t get any reply. She wondered what this husband-to-be had in store for her. It was not valentine’s day, neither was it her birthday nor their anniversary, and it surely was not a proposal, one where he already outdid himself. It was a very normal day for the much she knew, unless somehow he knew about the good news she brought and decided to celebrate it with this surprise.

But he couldn’t have; or could he?

She walked towards the stairway and made her way up the stairs, wondering if something awaited her in the bedroom, because obviously there was nothing or no one downstairs. She felt a mix of happiness, excitement, anxiety and curiosity as she galloped towards the bedroom like a child hunting for presents on Christmas day.

She was at the door of the bedroom now. She paused, took a deep breath, brought out her tongue in a goofy manner, and pulled on the handle of the door.

She really was excited.

She pushed the door open and walked in.

She was quiet for a while, trying to understand what she was looking at. All the positivity she had just before she opened the door was gone. Of all the surprises this man could pull up, of all the surprises she could think of, this was the last thing she expected.

She watched as the body of James, her fiancée, hung from the ceiling, rope around his neck and a stool lying on its side on the ground below him.

She could feel her heart break. She could feel the uneasiness in her belly and her rising heart rate. She could feel her body tremble as she let out a stifled moan, and then another, almost trying not to cry. She placed her hands on her mouth as hot tears ran down her cheeks.

Why could he be so selfish? Why would he do this when everything was going fine? What was the point of bringing him the big news?


Six months earlier…

The early morning New York sunlight beamed through the louvres across the bedroom. It was everything you would expect after a Friday night of wild drunk sex.

A black thong lay on the reading table, the reading lamp and ‘not so important’ documents on the floor beside it. The matching bra and a pair of male briefs lay alone on scattered bed covers while a naked couple were deep in sleep on the couch just across the room.

Michelle opened her eyes, the sunlight blinding her initially as she twitched and squeezed her face, also partly due to the hangover from the night before.

She stood up from the body of the man on whom she was laid, scanned the room and made her way to the reading table. She saw her phone on its side and picked it up.

“You must have had a long night, I wouldn’t want to bother you, just wanted to let you know I love you and can’t wait for you to be back.” She felt a surge of guilt the moment she read that text.

By now the man she was with had woken up as well.

“You still look beautiful to me even in the morning, I must really love you” he said with a gleaming smile as he struggled to his feet.

“Oh please stop it Mr. James Obasi” Michelle laughed, as she put on her underwear.
James stared at her while she dressed as he sat on the bed, thoughts racing through his mind.

She was bodacious. She was a five foot and seven inches build of chocolate delight. He felt she wasn’t busty, but that she more than made up for it behind and on the sides, which was the ideal figure of a woman for him.

She looked like a Lana Del Ray song; bold, elegant and dark, seductive yet innocent. Her body well-toned in about every area in almost a prime Beyoncé like manner.

James took this all in as he watched her “ransack” the room for her belongings and dress up. And the gown she put on didn’t help matters. He felt ready to go for another round at her.

“I have to hurry” she said as she put finishing touches to look as not “dickmatised” as possible.

“I have to read through a lot of contracts and I am a bit behind schedule.” She went over, laid a kiss on his cheek, turned and walked towards the door to leave. She pulled on the handle, drew open the door, paused and turned around;

“PS…I saw the proposal coming, you were not so sleek but I’ll let you have this one big head” she said as she smiled, stuck her tongue out and shut the door behind her.
James let out a loud laugh. He did it. He finally found the one. He has had his heart broken more times than he could count, and add that to a very bad childhood, growing up an only child of two drug addicts, and you would realise why she was a big deal to him.

He had to fend for himself and run away from the madness and beatings at home. He took solace in an old man who owned a diner and took him as his son, after he had lied that he had no parents or money. He could eat proper food there and stay as long as he wanted, learning to cook.

The old man nurtured him, showing him the love of a parent, but with a catch; he had sex with him. The old man was a paedophile. James had no parents to the best of the old man’s knowledge, so there were no apparent repercussions. For James, it was a small price to pay, since his father repeatedly did the same to him, on numerous occasions, with his mother watching. A very small price.

James grew up under the tutelage of the man until his death, and was made the new owner of the diner. He had the skills of a very good chef in a small diner in New York, and he also learnt to be an entrepreneur. Combine that with being street smart and soon afterwards he had grown the diner into a very big establishment with branches in more places than a wealthy man would eat in a lifetime, spanning various countries.

He was however a made man with no real sense of emotional or mental satisfaction. He never easily trusted people easily, and the few times he did, he was either back stabbed or cheated on. A girl he once dated told him he was over bearing and sulky every time he tried to open up. Another he loved with his whole heart cheated on him with his best friend, and they ended up getting married.

He usually felt bouts of anger and resentment and sadness and pain, but somehow managed to keep all those emotions bottled up when relating in public. He had one of the best smiles you would ever come across, he was cheerful and could infuse positive energy into a dull room. He however came back to his house removing the heavy mask of positivity he wore all day, to become his true self; a very unhappy man who has had countless suicidal thoughts.

This was the first time he felt genuine happiness with someone who was willing and able to both give him love for being him, and also listen to him vent and let out the built up anger, sadness and pain from the years past. He is thirty-eight now, and he has finally found the one in Michelle.

Michelle on the other hand grew up in a disciplined family. Raised to treat people with respect and dignity, she was usually the prim and proper polite woman who you would trust with your son. She was always sought after by men, you could almost say men were “rushing” her, not only because of her classy attitude, but also because she knew how to give you the best of both worlds. She was as good as she was as bad, like yin and yang, each showing themselves as the situation deems so. And that is one way she has kept her marriage of five years, up until now that she is engaged to get married to another man.

As she drove back to New Jersey, she pondered on what she should do. A drink became lunch, and then another, which became dinner and a night of sex, and moved on to many more nights of mind blowing sex and travels, and now here she was. She really messed around and caught feelings. She found herself saying yes to a proposal the night before, and her yes always means yes. She was really in love with another man.

She got home to her husband, Dr. Raphael Dean, who seemed to be working on his latest architectural piece, whatever that might be, she never really took interest in it.
He stood up with excitement on seeing her and went forward to kiss her.

It didn’t feel like James’.

He hugged her.

Still didn’t feel as good as James’, no matter how tight he made it to emphasize how much he missed her.

Damn, she thought to herself, she knew her remote belonged to James now.

They went on to enjoy lunch while she told him all about her business trip, that is aside the parts that involved orgasms and proposals, of which her husband has only been able to give her just the latter in honesty. She sometimes felt that was why she had not gotten pregnant yet, she felt the sex was too unsatisfactory to make her conceive.

The game intensified. She started having more foreign clients, busier days and numerous night work. Keeping one man is hard enough in the present day, but now she has to keep two? Sometimes the thought of the entire situation thrilled her, other times it was exhausting, but the one thing that she was sure of was that James was the one she would always want to be with. He was everything she never knew she needed.

But how was she to tell him the whole truth?

It was a Saturday night. Michelle had left her husband the week earlier under the excuse that she had to travel to London to close a contract.

She did tell the truth, she travelled to London, and you could call James the contract but he was the one that closed her on every night of that week.

Exhausted from the long day they spent out, Michelle decided to take her shower for the evening while James watched the NBA finals between the Warriors and the Cleveland Cavaliers on the large hotel television.

He was a very strong Stephan Curry fan, which should mean his eyes would be glued to the game, but somehow, he noticed Michelle’s phone was unlocked, unusually so.

He had always been curious about her messages and calls. He knew she was a busy woman, but what if she was hiding something, especially with how close she kept her phone.

The insecure part of him began to kick in, it was like a blessing from the gods, a force pulling him towards the phone, reminding him of how no one can be trusted, using his past experiences as examples.

But another part of him reasoned that perhaps this is just him looking for heartbreak, he might begin to interpret innocent conversations poorly and magnify scenarios into more than they really are.

It was an intense tug of war, one which was eventually won by the decision to trust Michelle, because she had well and truly earned it.

I deserve to be happy, he thought to himself, shifting his focus to the game, I don’t need to question if it is real but enjoy it while it lasts.

Michelle was done bathing. She put on her pink sleeping pyjamas and proceeded to the bed where James was laid.

“Hey big head” she said as she gently went under the covers, “wouldn’t you have your bath?”.

“I will, just want to finish the game” James replied with a wide smile.

There was a bit of silence, during which Michelle was weighing on the means to finally achieve her reason for organising the trip for the both of them.

“I need to tell you something” she said, in a very tame tone, which was still able to bring out every bit of anxiety of James as he turned to face her.

“Please just do not overreact or take me as a bad person” she continued, “I just didn’t know how to tell you”.

She went on to tell him all about her life and her husband and all she lied about.
It broke James.

He didn’t let out tears, his facial expression was blank almost throughout, but inside of him felt dead. It was the last straw. In that moment he told himself the minute he walked out that room he was killing himself. No more lies, no more sufferings, no more persecutory, unhappy thoughts.

However, Michelle came with a plan. She knew she could not just tell him all that without finding a way to appease him, cause then she might have as well committed murder.

She went on to try to assure him about how she had lost the love she had for her husband, and how she had already met a lawyer to start up divorce proceedings. Knowing she might be the last person he would trust at that moment, she showed him documents in a bid to prove what she was saying. She wanted to show she was all in for him and she was going to do everything possible to prove it.

Somehow that gave James some level of satisfaction and made the suicidal thoughts regress. She gave him a rope to climb out of the deep well she threw him into just moments earlier. It made him happy to see she was going through all that, just to be with him. He didn’t care about the other man. For once, he will put himself first. He was going to be selfish.


Time went by, and it seemed the divorce was taking a lot more time than it should have. Raphael was very reluctant in agreeing to the divorce, and quite understandably so, seeing as she brought it out of nowhere.

All she said was that she was no longer interested in the marriage, but he felt it was nonsense. She was not trying to take any part of his wealth or property, which meant she wanted to just leave, and in a hurry, and he wanted know why. But try as he may, he was always going to meet a brick wall if he was going to her for answers, he had to go in search of them.

He loved her, he really did, and more than that he saw her as his trophy, something he always used to brag about to people, and made it look like there was no one else capable enough to get or keep a woman like her. He was overprotective, sometimes turning violent when she would go out for long periods for reasons not related to her work. He was insecure and somewhat possessive of her, but he tried his best to keep it at bay. It was part of the reason Michelle started to lose the love she had for him, sometimes he scared her because she knew domestic violence starts from the little acts of being controlling before it escalates. So while losing someone he loved was infuriating, he was also losing control of her, and that was what disturbed him the most.

After two months of Michelle not budging and seriously pressing for the divorce, he finally gave in. He could not believe he was going to lose his marriage, his woman, his trophy.

It hurt him, it hurt him so bad he wanted to kill something, someone.


James kept his distance but followed the proceedings of the divorce. He had eyes and ears to let him know about what was going on, not to the knowledge of Michelle though. She wanted him to stay calm and away from it all, assuring him all would be sorted out in the end. But James couldn’t, no matter how hard he tried. He was going to satisfy his urge to know, unlike the time in the hotel in London.

However, after a while of following the madness of the divorce, the possibilities of finding himself in the same situation as Dr. Raphael began to dawn on him. He had a large collection of various forms of heartbreak, but the pain of being married to someone for some time, only to lose them because they fell in love with someone else, was one that he felt would be too painful to bear.

He was happy, knowing how much Michelle was fighting to take a place by his side, no one had given him that much, but how long were they going to last?

She once loved her husband, she once would do anything for him, but somehow she fell out of love and is now fighting to break away from him, to go into the arms of another man who is already her husband to be. He knew he could be overthinking, but was it really worth it?

At this point, James was in self-destruct mode. His mind was getting chaotic with thoughts and possibilities and what could be and what could have been. He even at a point felt the divorce was really not happening, and even if it did, she might still some day go back to Raphael.

That was it. He was tired of navigating through so much emotions and problems, wondering when the next heart ache would come. Change is constant, so he did not feel this happiness or any happiness he would feel would last. There was always going to be periods of unhappiness.

He was going to silence it all.

On the day the divorce proceedings were finally done, he had decided he would take his life. He would rather remember these moments as his last, end his life knowing someone was genuinely good to him and all she did was for him and to try not to hurt him.

He knew that was selfish, but that was the first time in his life he felt he had something to be selfish about. He did not care what would become of Michelle if he goes ahead, he knew it would hurt her deeply, but he was going to put himself first. He only wished the idea popped in his head before the divorce went as far as it did.
He went shopping. He got a bouquet of red and white roses, the ones she always loved. He got her favourite wine, scented candles, ingredients for her favourite meal and a pack of sleeping pills.

He consoled himself with thoughts that he would have still done this for her if he was not taking his life.

He got home, prepared the meal and set a table for her.

He was very calm and gentle, more so than usual. He was not in a hurry; he was going to savour the moment. He went to the balcony and watched as the sun began to set.


Michelle called the police. She still could not come to terms with what had happened. After all she had gone through, he still went ahead with such a self-centred decision; that was all she saw it as.

The police had barricaded her house to go through it without interference and search for any form of evidence that might suggest it was not suicide.

Her ex-husband somehow showed up at the scene but she did not care. She wanted comfort at that point. She needed to be held and consoled, especially when the body of James, wrapped up in a bag, was stretched out. It was the most heart-breaking period of her life.

“Ma’am,” a police officer called out to her as he stepped out of the building, “can we talk privately please?”

She excused herself from Raphael and went with the policeman some distance from all the chaos.

“This is an empty pack of newly purchased sleeping pills” the officer said, holding to her an evidence bag containing an empty card for tablets and its pack. “This was purchased today by the deceased and we found out that he eventually took them.”
At this point Michelle was a bit puzzled as to why James would want to kill himself by both overdosing himself and hanging. Wouldn’t that be an “overkill”?

The police man continued. “We also found on investigating the house that there were a set of footprints that did not belong to you or the deceased, which were traced to the window of the master bedroom, suggesting there was someone else in the building with the deceased.”

At this point she was mortified. She had a very confused look. What was he trying to say?

“Given the evidence, we believe the deceased intended to commit suicide. However, we will perform an autopsy and confirm the cause of death to determine whether to launch a murder investigation, or to rule his death as a suicide.”

She was speechless. Everything was moving too fast. She turned around slowly and locked eyes with Raphael.


Midnight Shenanigans.

Its 2:17am.
We can hear the fan of the air conditioner hum as we lay quiet in white sheets, the movie “Me Before You” playing on the television which rests on the wall right in front of the bed.

I am wearing a black t-shirt and grey shorts, right palm behind my head, thinking about the perfect moment to sneak its arm below your neck to get you to be much closer to me, to get your body pressing against mine.

You wear an ash singlet, no bra on, revealing just enough for me to know your perky breasts wouldn’t be able to fit in my palms without some spilling out. Your black jean bum shorts stop just at your butt crease, leaving a lot of your clear fair skinned thighs to display, while I wonder what sort of underwear you have underneath. Is it a red lacy thong? A black G-String? The type that runs from the waistband behind, down your “butt crack”, your peach-like butt cheeks almost swallowing it whole, until it gets to the angle where your labia majora starts, the fabric fanning out to cover just enough of what matters most.

I realise you lean in a little closer, I can feel the warmth of your skin now. Was it just to adjust yourself or was it a signal that I had taken too long to try to get intimate with you?

Either way, it was now or never. Worst case scenario, you resist and decline my advances, and we watch the movie to the end.

In one deft move, I take my arm from under my head and try to slip it between your head and your pillow. You lift yourself up a bit to help me, and now your neck rests on my right arm, my fingers meeting the skin of your arm.

Almost like you could read my mind, you move in closer. Now I can feel your breasts on my side. I zone out, not aware of what is going on in the movie anymore, and I know it was the same with you, because ever since my fingers kissed your arms your gaze has not been steady, and each breath you take has gotten slightly slower and deeper, because you want the same thing I want at that moment.

I notice your leg move. You place it on top of mine, and you move your soft foot slowly over my leg, the feel of your breasts on my side much stronger, your head resting on my chest and your arm on my belly.

I move my free arm and run my palm over your thigh, going from your knee, to your mid-thigh, back to your knee, then higher up your thigh, my fingers slipping into your bum shorts, softly grazing the sides of your labia, then slipping out and softly grazing the angle your butt makes with your thighs. I notice you take a breath deeper than usual. Was it because of what I just did or was it the feel of the bulge of my enlarging penis against your skin.

I raise myself from the bed and slowly put you on your back, my body hanging over yours, my eyes locked with yours. I can tell you can see the murderous intent they carry towards you, how much I want to fill up your tiny little hole, which made you smile and bite your lips.

I smile as well and slowly lean in close, first touching your nose with mine. I part my lips a little, same as yours, and let my soft, moist lips run over yours and close together to make a kiss. I withdraw a little, wait till you try to take a breath, then I cut you short, taking my lips back to yours, stealing your breath.

We kiss slowly and softly, registering the warmth of our lips, its feel. Your lips are so soft on mine, I can already tell I enjoy kissing you, I don’t know when I bite your lower lip softly, dragging it a bit, then releasing it. I was running on autopilot now.

As we have the most beautiful of exchanges, I place my palms in yours, and like reflex, you fold your fingers into mine.

I gently move my lips away from yours, to the side of your neck. I can tell what the warm air from my mouth does to you; you tighten your grip on my fingers.
I kiss your neck, and like a shoot of electricity your body moves, wanting to run away but wanting more of it.

I take one of my hands and place it on your neck, just below your jaw, almost like I was about to choke you. I kiss your neck some more, short enough to not linger on a spot for too long and long enough to leave my lip print on you, sometimes biting the skin of your neck a little, each bringing about a more intense reaction; your toes curls, shoulders raise, fists clench, and you place your hand to my head, almost like you want to whisper to me how well I am doing at turning you on.

Hand still on your neck, I move back to your lips and kiss them, this time a little faster than before, a little aggressively than before. I release my other hand from your grip and take it underneath your singlet, palm slowly moving over your belly until they find your breasts.

I run my finger slowly around your areola, still kissing you, then run it round and on top of your nipple, till I feel it push against my finger and it becomes hard. Then I use as much palm as I can to grab your breast, squeezing them gently first, releasing, then squeezing a little harder. They feel so soft and full in my palms, I probably will not use this hand for any other thing!

I sit up, removing my shirt and exposing my skin and body. The room is cold. I couldn’t wait to get you to feel it, and then warm you up, but I will savour the moment and take my time with you, I am in no need to rush a masterpiece like you. I sit you up as well, removing your singlet and lying you back down.
I get down from you, from the bed, and place our tops on the rest of the chair across the room. I notice you looking at me, I look back at you, taking in your body’s architecture. It is a work of art, it is such a pity that I am about to ruin it.
I see you biting your lips, looking at me so invitingly, as you grab one of your breasts, also a very inviting sight. I smile and press a few buttons on the remote on the table. Good For You by Selena Gomez and Asap Rocky starts playing.


I turn off the bedroom light, only light in the room coming from the television that we just realised had been on the whole time.

I walk slowly towards the bed with strong carnal intent, your body can feel the sexual desire in the air sky rocket.

I get on top of you again, this time not wasting time to grab hold of your neck and kiss you like a lover I had not seen in ages.

I kiss your neck.

I kiss your chest, at the space between both your fine breasts.

My left hand fondling your left breast, I take my lips to your right breast, make sure my tongue is wet enough, and slowly run it over your nipple. Your reaction tells me I am doing the right thing. I then make slow, gentle, circular motions around your nipple and areola, before finally clasping them between my lips and sucking on them.

I start slow and gentle, later becoming just a little fast and aggressive, putting a little bit more of your breast into my mouth now and then, until none can get in anymore, my right hand holding onto the rest.

I bite your breasts gently, and bite it again, this time a bit harder, I suck on it, my tongue running over your nipple while I do so, I bite it again, then I suck on it, run my tongue around, every thing engineered to follow the rhythm of the song that seemed so distant in the background.

I move my mouth to your left breast, repeating almost everything that conspired between my mouth and your right breast, leaving no spot untouched.

I move to your belly, kissing it slowly and gently, going downwards to your honeypot, until I meet the resistance of your jean. I stop to unbutton your short, the light in the room enough for me to see the pleasure in your eyes.

I drag down your shorts, revealing your red, lacy thong. I smiled. I could feel my testosterone spike. The red went so well with the tone of your fair skin, and you could never go wrong with lacy thongs with me. As much as I wanted to leave it on, I had a job to do, so I pulled it down as well.

The moment it left your ankles I held it in my palm, brought it to my nose, and took a long sniff of it, all the while keeping eye contact with you, which I could see both weirded you out and turned you on. I loved the scent of it. A part of it was wet, and its smell told me it was alright to go ahead with what I was about to do next.

I drop the underwear on the pillow beside your head, went on to raise both your legs and moved my head down to your cookie jar.

I first made it aware of my presence by breathing warm air on it. I see I made you aware of my presence as well with how heavy you breath in.

I then use the tip of my tongue to find the clitoris, licking it gently first, because I cannot just barge into a house, I must introduce myself and be welcomed as it rises.

At this point, Get It On Tonite by Montell Jordan is playing, and all I have to do is let my tongue dance to its beat while you give the most satisfying of vocals.

My tongue was moving up, down, up, up, down, up, clockwise, half way clockwise, anti-clockwise, a strong, slow up. Draw a letter A, O, P, Q, H, H, A again, Q again, up, down, up, up, down, another strong, slow up, and suck. Repeat.

My tongue was having the time of its life on your clitoris, and your body loved every bit of it, your legs curling on my back, your hand reaching out to the top of my head, dragging it, one would almost think you were in agony.

As it intensifies, I take two fingers and slip them slowly into your vagina, my tongue still doing what it does best. I start by slowly taking them in back and forth, the speed increasing with the rate at which your body begs for air, until it finally gave in and you pulled away from me, your body trembling as you fold like a shivering coward.

I get up, open a drawer not too far from the bed, and bring out a condom. I take down my grey shorts and briefs underneath, finally allowing the engorged, red penis out.

You turn around and watch me stroke it, my palm slowly running over its length, as I walk towards you.

I get to the foot of the bed close to where you’re laid. You take your hand to the tip of my penis first, then run through its length, almost like you were inspecting and registering all you felt and saw. You bite your lips, look up at me, then took your mouth to its tip.

Tongue first, introducing itself, I could feel my heart beat jump, it was electric. Then you held it in your mouth with your lips and sucked on it slowly, almost feeling like I was in your vagina already.

You move your mouth away, pour a little saliva and proceed to gobble my penis down your throat, sometimes almost going the whole length, which made you choke and your eyes water. Sometimes you would withdraw and use your tongue to lick the penis from top to bottom, bottom to top. You were so good at this.

I stop your beautiful work and slip on the condom. Nothing Without You by The Weeknd is playing now.

I part your legs and get close to you. I use my penis to rub over your labia majora, attempting to build anticipation. You fold your lips, almost like you wanted to order me to put it in.

I stick the tip into the opening of your vagina, slow initially, making you moan so softly, then quickly filling your insides with it full length, making you let out a loud, stifled moan.

Your insides are so flooded and slippery.

I let you get used to the feel of it in you, while I lean towards your face and we start to kiss. Soon I start thrusting slowly, barely removing any length, still allowing you to adjust and adapt, and setting the foundation for everything to come. I place my palm in yours, just in case you needed to hold onto something for the ride, and like reflex again, your fingers fold into mine.

I start to thrust a little faster, we could hear the slimy sound your vagina made with every entry, which made us smile a little.

I start to go faster, not going too deep at first, then I take out the length of my penis down to the tip and slam it right back into you, making you leave a loud moan to fill the room. Now I am going faster and very deep. We are in full throttle at this point, my penis going in and out of you like a machine gun.

I lift your legs and pin them to your sides in one deft move, while still dicking you down. Now you feel the penis in all its girth and length, rubbing and grazing the inside of you, along the walls of your slimy, greasy, wet vagina.

It gets a little overwhelming, you start to look for anything to hold on to. First you reach out to the sheets, squeezing them tightly in your hands, then you reach out to the headboard. Now your heart rate is going high, your breathing is fast, and your moans are louder and less interrupted. You almost feel like your soul is about to leave you. But no, you were only about to orgasm.

You push me away trembling, almost like you are in seizure, seems almost like the first one, but this is more intense.

“Don’t be a coward. Come here!” I say to you, dragging you towards me, putting you on all fours.

I put my penis in again and start slowly, building up momentum. The sound of my pelvis hitting your beautiful butt and your moans are music to my ears. I take both your hands behind you and pull your body up, leaving your knees as your only support as I now ram and toil with your insides. You seem to enjoy this position, because you begin to sound out loud the cliché “yes! Right there!”.

I go in, and out, and in, and out, release your hands and pin your chest to the bed in such a way that your butt remains faced up. I slip a pillow underneath to make it comfortable, and then I proceed to give you the product of the carnal intent you saw in my eyes earlier. This position gives me the view to see how wet you had gotten; everything was white, wet and slimy…and I loved it.

Soon afterwards, you have a third orgasm. This one leaves you weaker than the first and second, you ask me to give you a minute to catch your breath.

I turn you around, kiss you gently on the lips for a few seconds, and put my penis into you again, making sure you felt every bit of its hardness along your vaginal walls.

I start by giving slow, shallow thrusts, then slow, deep thrusts, so every entry leaves you without breath.

Then I start to give you fast, shallow thrusts, the type where you want to moan but you try to hold it back so it comes out like you are about to cry. But I wasn’t having any of that. I want to hear you moan, and say yes, and right there as loud as you should. So I start to take my thrusts deep and fast, making you give me all I want to hear.

I could feel the tension in me start to build, and your moans tell me you are almost there again. I have to last long enough to make sure you get there.

I set up mental walls to help stall the inevitable and wait till I could hear your moans distinctively tell me “I am about to cum”, after which I pull down the mental walls, give off a few jerk-like movements and deep gasps of air and collapse onto your body.

Your breasts feel so beautiful against my chest, they could almost give me an immediate boner, but man’s body isn’t allowed to do that.

You use your hands to massage my head and my back, almost like I am your child. I am still breathing heavily. It was such a beautiful thing what just happened.

I finally muster the strength to move to my side of the bed and remove the defiled condom atop my penis. I keep it in a nylon besides me because I am too lazy to leave the bed.

You come towards me, placing your arms and legs around me. You are obviously happy. We look at each other and laugh, then you rest your head on my chest and looking at the television, you realise the movie has ended. You don’t care anyway, you are too happy and tired to care. Your body has been pumped with oxytocin, so nothing could bother you at this moment.

“Junior! Junior!”

I stand up quickly from my bed, realising that my mother had probably poured a gallon of water on me to wake me up.

“What were you dreaming about? Why is that your thing standing like that? and it is even wet!” My mother exclaimed.

“No mommy, it’s the weather, it happens normally when the morning is cold.” I reply in my defence.

“This is 2’oClock in the afternoon so what are you saying?” My mother replied. “Only God knows what you have been doing with all that internet that makes you keep pressing your phone like an idiot!”

Hei! How did I sleep for this long kwanu?

“Before I open my eyes and close it you are in the kitchen helping Amaka pound the yam we will eat for lunch!” She commanded.

Before she could even finish her sentence, I had already galloped to the kitchen to help my sister, ignoring the “anuofia” my mother threw at me while I went.

“What is remaining?” I ask on getting to the kitchen.

“I haven’t started yet o!” Amaka replied. “I just gathered the yams now. Let me peel them so you will help and pound them, since you are the one with the “big akpa obi””.

She realised what had happened to my shorts and chuckled, trying to hide her amusement.

“What is it?!” I ask vehemently.

“Nothing o!” She retorted, letting out another restricted chuckle.

“Better respect yasef!” I reply almost angrily, my thick Igbo accent slipping out.

“Sorry o!” She replied as she started to peel the yams, doing a bad job at hiding how funny it was to her.

Chai! See what this Chidimma of a girl and her big breasts has put me into now. Come and give me, she won’t give me. Now I collected inside dream and I will not hear the last of it in this house. Nna eh Konji na bastard!