my drUg!

Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on…


I always know when she is ready. Ours is a routine I know by heart, although I don’t even consider it a routine; it’s more of a rhythm that my body and senses instinctively adopts when she is around me. A reaction of some sort. I lose control of my head coordination with my body, and the trouble is, I don’t mind it. Having her here, looking at her silky smooth legs waiting, begging for my lips to kiss them. I harden a little more. I need to get out of these jeans, too constricting.

She always sits at the recliner chair next to the bed, facing the screen, leaning back against it, and in the process exposing her neck. I nervously shuffle in my seat. Watching her breasts fall up and down as she inhales and exhales. Even her breathing turns me on. I take a long puff and lean back on the bed, one hand unconsciously resting on my crotch. She looks at me from the side and licks her lips, which dries up even before she is done flicking so she does it again. She knows where my thoughts go when she does that, I have confessed before. I close my eyes as the image in my head overwhelms me and take a deep breath. I see her head poised just above my manhood with her tongue flicking playfully at the head the way she is doing to her lips, her eyes never losing contact with mine. She then bites her lower lip and crosses her legs, letting her skirt dip a little lower. Her hand snakes to pull it up but then just rests at the exposed skin, her smooth shining skin inviting my gaze. She then proceeds to make small circles with her fingers, moving slowly, her eyes on me the whole time, her lips glistening with a fresh wave of saliva and I lose it. I inhale deeply, trying unsuccessfully to get my heat heart under control. Am burning. But I will not give in. I sit up on the bed facing her and have another drag, I know how her lips will mould into mine. I anticipate how they will receive my advances with the same soft pressure that mine crave. How her eyes will close, unaware of it she might be, matching me stroke for stroke, giving as much as she receives, generously, and still probing. Leading. She likes to be in control and I don’t mind following her tempo. As soon as my hands make contact with her skin, her heat making me ache beyond belief, I willingly give in to her. I don’t want to be in control. Her pace is never rushed, each move calculated to entangle my senses in a web that I cannot will not fight. Am a willing prisoner. I go through my existence in a blur because my mind can’t grasp any detail when am not with her. I walk around having conversations with her in my head, listening to her laugh over and over in my head, feeling lost until the next time she is in my arms and it all make sense.

In that moment, I give all of me to her, for I would give it to no other. And when she reaches for my hand at her most vulnerable moment, right before her world explodes, I know am not alone in this boat. I squeeze her hand reassuringly and her hand squeezing mine back is the last straw. I let go with her. Spurts. Stars. Feeling and filling forever in a single minute and loving every instant, with all your nerves exploding in harmonious understanding of why they exist.

Hours later I watch her sleeping in the crook of my arm, thanking the stars for crisscrossing our paths. Being in her is not the climax for me; nor is it my lips exploring every inch of her body, licking, tasting, reaching into every dent, every crevice, wanting her whole being, her very essence to be absorbed into me. That is not the treasure for me, although it comes real close. My paragon comes in the form of her hand reaching for my hand; in the pressure of her hand squeezing mine back at our most connected moment. Our most intimate minute. That’s the instant my life makes complete sense.

Happily Never After!

I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her…but i knew!

That first time I saw her, she was walking down the stairs, her right hand buried in her pocket, her left swinging with each step, complementing the rhythm of her hips. She was looking down, didn’t even see me as I stood transfixed at the bottom of the stairs. I thought she might have been counting her steps, or the stairs, her face was that in earnest. Only when she reached the bottom of the stairs did she look up and for the tiniest millisecond, our eyes met! There were no jolts of electricity, or shimmers of colors at the edge of the eyesight, as I would have expected. None of that. She gave me a nod of acknowledgement; not the kind someone gives you because they know you, or they have seen you somewhere, no, not that kind. It was more the kind of nod that you give to strangers when you catch them looking at you and you don’t want to seem rude or self-conceited; the nod to acknowledge their appreciation of how you were created.
I smiled at her nod and watched her behind as she sashayed past me, every bit as conscious as I was, of how beautiful she was. I shook my head.
God created.
I waited at the stairs, hoping and praying for any small sign that this would not be the first and last time I would see her; am not going to say that I felt something deep, something that was not going to be ignored, that’s too cliché, but I did feel something. I just did not know what it was. So I watched her retreating back waiting for her to turn back, just for a second, but she rounded the corner and was gone. The only sign she left behind of her having passed that hallway being the whiff of her sweet perfume which I figured would be lost in the next ten seconds.
That is how my obsession set in. Might have been the lingering perfume with promises that drove my senses wild, or the way the baggy army pants hang on to her hips and let her slim legs be lost in the excess material that made it a trouser. Might have been her counting the stairs. Might have been her curt nod of acknowledgement, or maybe the mouth that had the look of giving so much joy if left a little bit unrestrained. Might have been all that and more. But from then on, I saw her. I smelled her perfume everywhere. I walked with dreams of meeting her, it seemed like I was always waiting for her to round the corner and walk towards me; unknowingly waiting.
I pictured and imagined our meeting so many times and on so many different scenes that I believed I had covered all the bases. My plan was simple. Bump into her. Step forward and introduce myself. Make her smile. Get the number. Once I imagined walking at night, seeing a silhouette ahead of me which unexpectedly turns out to be hers, I would watch as the moonlight (there’s a full moon in this fantasy) played with her face, its soft light falling lightly on her forehead making it glimmer, she would be cautious as I start the conversation, it being at night and all. Her hair would fall and block part of her face, which she would shrug back with little celebration. I would tell her a stupid story just to keep her engaged, and also to try and see whether her mouth can curve upwards. That should be a beautiful sight, I always think. And from there, we would gradually fall in love and live happily ever after.
But when it happened, it was in a situation that I never saw coming. A situation I couldn’t have thought of because to be honest, how can the love of my life not be part of it? For months, I have been dreaming with the same face, I have walked around looking for it in my wake time. I had hoped that when it happened, it would all make sense, the stars would align in my favor, and I would be rewarded for my patience. I would tell her of how I have been looking everywhere for her and she would be so flattered, and I would possibly get a peck. Hopefully, a date!
It happened in a robbery. Call it a case of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or call it fate! I was waiting in line at the bank, swiping left and right on my phone like everyone else on the line, which might explain why everyone was taken by surprise. No one saw them coming. But I did! I happen to be waiting for a photo to load on twitter and I was looking up the line when this pair of gentlemen walked in. Dressed expensively and nicely. Like bodyguards. Suits. Gleaming shoes. Top button of the shirt undone. Neat. And alert.
I remember thinking, if I was dressed like that, I would have guns tucked in my trouser somewhere. They looked around. Conspicuously suspicious. The guard had by then noticed them. He walked up to them, holding his soldier stick out in a menacing manner. Trying to look authoritative in the face of such eminent power. Failing miserably.
‘kuna shida gani, boss?’, he asked.
One looked at him and smiled while his friend unbuttoned his coat and drew a gun from a holster, shooting the guard just once on the forehead. He didn’t feel anything. Just sunk to oblivion. He still wore the smile he had returned. His body crumpled to the floor.
Everyone dropped to the floor. Even I. I observed some trying to capture the faces of the culprits with their high definition cameras, which was for naught as all gadgets were soon gathered. Two mores thugs came in and tried to lock the doors but the doors were automated; they gave up and joined their colleagues. The operated like one machine. Never hurrying. Never shouting. Not even using force. They had a plan. And their plan was working out. They were fast but not rushed. Focused but not vindictive. I checked the clock on the wall from where I was lying, only three minutes had elapsed since the first pair made its entry.
The door opened and no one looked up. At least I didn’t. Expecting it to be another thug, I didn’t look up from my position. Dedicating the little time I had to God, promising to move heaven and earth for Him if I made it out alive. And that’s when it hit me. The whiff. That perfume. I sniffed in the air, still with my eyes closed. And then the sound. Bang. Phone clattering. A gasp. The feeling. I didn’t open my eyes. I didn’t want to see. Nor know. In those five seconds, with my eyes still closed, I prayed as I had never before. Not for me. Not even for her. I prayed for it not to be her. But I knew. I didn’t have to open my eyes. I felt it. Without looking, I knew. She never knew what hit her. I never got her number… nor her name!

George Musings!

I am not a complicated person. so simple, I could be used to define simple. And yet I find myself in complicated situations. Time and again, I find myself in some parts of town, in the dark and lost, wondering the whole time why good things happen to bad people! But oh well!
I am a simple person. At least I’d like to think so. And this is the story, or rather, my version of how I met George. We met at a time when my loins were on fire twenty four seven! It happens to the best of us…we all should acknowledge that and move on. I was young and ‘unattached’! I wasn’t looking, well, I was looking forward to spending time with my grandmother, but that’s all! He gave me my first big O! Who can forget that!
He had this quirky way of smiling that made me want to bite his lower lip and close my eyes while at it. And when he spoke, you’d know he was talking to you, he voice was just the right volume and soft. Maybe it was the sack business that made me glow when I walked with him, stand an inch taller, and smile a bit wider, or maybe it was the tall, dark and handsome guy walking beside me who was completely besotted with the way my hips scaled the 50-50 to make 100 measure! We were good together…and we looked good together! That was the most charming part! He matched me step by step…inch by inch, and the sex was awesome!
Anyways, like all good things, we came to a sudden end too soon. But somehow, whatever happened between us has been defining us the whole time. But this happened three years ago and although we occasionally hop in the sack for old time sakes, I always feel like we are stuck in a rut! We should either let go or let each other go…but I don’t know why it’s always easy thinking about it that doing it!

P.S this was not to make much sense!

Disclaimer: Some of the things mentioned here are not meant to be taken literary…think figuratively!

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