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!

…reviving a dying blog!

*takes a deep breath* hey, how are you doing? I trust that all is well with you this beautiful Sunday afternoon. That is how I begin most of my conversations; of course I change the day accordingly. I never change the line though, cos it gives me time, or rather a text-flow that makes me comfortable. Now that am comfortable, let me align my thoughts. I mentioned in my last post that I have been away from the blogging world for a while and on my return, I noted some changes with some blogs that I have been following. Not most, but some. I was disappointed to realize that some have been killed…am not sure that’s the right phrase for this context but nonetheless I choose to use it. I was going through a personal dry spell of ideas; this is where I get so many different ideas all at once while am busy and when I sit down to jot them down, am blank! Or when I start writing and get through the first paragraph and then nothing…I can neither find my flow nor connect my thoughts to a flow, at least not in the way that make sense. Sometimes I get ideas that I over think till I bury them. It’s a difficult phase and I was determined to get out of it. The question was how…!
For the last two months or so, I have been thinking of how to rekindle my writing fire and I have finally gotten a breakthrough. I started with the basics; i.e. trying to remember why I started blogging in the first place, was it cos I love writing? Or because I love reading? Was it the attention? Or did I simply want a personal platform to express myself? After a lot of thought, I realized it had a lot to do with free Wi-Fi. I was in campus when I started this blog and it was mostly to try and see if I was any good at it (finding thyself). Facebook writing has a way of making you believe in your absent abilities, but I turned out to be better than most. I watch my grammar, I punctuate properly, I flow my ideas in a rhythmical (musical) manner, and sometimes, am downright vulgar (as per my standards). And that is where the answer on how to revive my dying blog lay. I love the feeling of knowing someone out there will read this and smile, or someone will read this and find it helpful but enough of all this. Getting to the point.
I never researched on blogging before I started blogging and that was a mistake. I corrected it and afterwards unfollowed blogs that were followed out of obligation. That was the first step, finding my interest. From here henceforth, I will read and follow blogs that interest me, and if the interest fades, I will unfollow, no compromise. I asked myself…did I read what I wanted, or was I being a dustbin, taking all the crap people threw my way in the name of blogging?
The second step was to engage with my readers. Did I get back to everyone who commented on my posts? Or did I just smile and ignore? Did I follow up on blogs I commented on, or did I hit and run (comment and forget)? That has changed…I want my thoughts to be heard, and for that reason, I should want to read what others have to say about my thoughts.
The third step was to rebrand. Yes, I love how my blog is, serious but entertaining. But there is always room for improvement. I had only two categories, food and uncategorized. Almost all of my articles are uncategorized. Yes, I know…dumb! But with rebranding, that is about to change.
Let me introduce “what do I know about love?” where I will be writing about love. Every one blogs about it, and am gonna join the bandwagon. The most universal feeling in this world and at the same time, the most misunderstood! “I mean business” is another category where I’ll be dissecting the part of my brain that thinks of nothing but money. “…after campus” will be where I tell you of how life is after campus. I started “opinion” and “memoirs” a while back. There is “big and beautiful” which is where I will be writing about my fashion, my music, my movies, my books, my series’, my friends…in short, this will be about my life!
The fourth and final step is appreciating my readers. There are those that have followed my blog and have been patient with me throughout the dry spell period, and there are those who pass by occasionally to see what’s new. There are the new readers who just Googled something and got redirected to followtheriverflow.wordpress and got a peak into my mind; to all of you, I say a heartfelt thank you. Thank you for visiting and thank you for waiting on me. Most of all, thank you for all your support! Tell a friend to tell a friend!

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