Skip to main content

WALKING IN MY DELIGHT!

With my towel tied round my chest
I walked carelessly into the sitting room
I had forgot my phone there earlier on after watching my favorite show on TV
There he was, the one I admired but whom never seemed to look at me
I was a little embarrassed because I was in my towel and was not expecting to meet him there
Our eyes met, my body shivered and I let go
My towel dropped...
His eyes were all over me like a desperate lion looking for a prey
I quickly picked my towel and dashed into my room leaving my phone out for the second time
I had come over to my Funke's place to spend some days
Funke had been my best friend since secondary school
I came into Lagos few days back for an interview at KC foods limited
Funke had left me with her elder brother for Abuja
He had been quite cold to me since my arrival
I could tell he was running away from something
I had  all that it took to make a man go crazy
My experience with my past 2 boyfriends had proven it
My boobs complemented my ass, two round, big, firm oranges in front for two round, big, firm, soft paw paws behind
The doggy style had always been my preference... it sent me to heaven straight away
I knew he would come after me
For no one ever saw and remained the same
As I dressed in my nightie, I heard a knock on the door
That was the first time someone had knocked on my door since I came
I opened up, he stammered, saying he came to give me my phone
I collected it thanking him and shut the door
I  had already cuddled up in my bed to sleep when I heard another knock on my door
I knew who it would be and what he wanted
But was I going to just allow him freely?
I stood up to open the door
He came in claiming that he had been unable to sleep
He rattled down how his feelings for me had been building up since I came into the house
He came close and I allowed him do the rest...

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Dressing for Others: Lawrence of Arabia’s Sartorial Statements

Left: T. E. Lawrence; Right: Peter O’Toole in Lawrence of Arabia (1962) In the southwest Jordanian desert, among the sandstone mountains of Wadi Rum, there is a face carved into a rock. The broad cheeks and wide chin are framed by a Bedouin kuffiyeh headdress and ‘iqal, and beneath the carving, in Arabic, are the words: “Lawrence The Arab 1917.” If you are visiting Wadi Rum with a tour guide, you can expect to be brought to this carving. You may also be shown a spring where Lawrence allegedly bathed, as well as a mountain named after his autobiography, The Seven Pillars of Wisdom, whose rock face has been weathered into a shape that does, from some angles, look a little like a series of pillars. I am familiar with the legend of T.E. Lawrence—fluent Arabist, British hero of the Arab Revolt of 1916, troubled lover of the Arab peoples—as well as with the ways the Jordanian tourism industry has capitalized on this legend. Nevertheless, I am still surprised when I hear someone mentio...

23 Notable Kiswahili Novels

Kiswahili is spoken widely in Eastern Africa and parts of Central Africa. The language has morphed into different dialects spoken in these countries and is well documented in a rich literary tradition. Even though this collection centers on 20th century fiction, the Kiswahili literary tradition spans various genres and time periods. Swahili novels known as […] from Brittle Paper https://ift.tt/2TFnCfP

The Beautiful Faraway: Why I’m Grateful for My Soviet Childhood

At 10 I wanted to be an artist, practiced a hysterical form of Christianity, talked to trees, and turned a sunset at a local park into a visionary experience. My great-aunt lured me to Evangelical Christianity with the strangeness of Gospel stories where Jesus always ended up angry at his disciples’ failure to understand. I sympathized with being misunderstood, and latched on. Besides, Christianity was a forbidden fruit in Soviet Russia so I had to worship in secret. This was unnerving but also alluring. I was a breathless romantic who wanted to be surprised by a knight on a white horse. From the early ‘80s to the early ‘90s, my childhood was formed by the images, atmosphere, and allusiveness of Soviet songs. I grew up in an artistic family where emotions flew high. I was the kind of imaginative child who could spin an entire tale from an oblong stain on the kitchen table. But there’s more to it than that. My family was not always idealistic or romantic, especially not in New York in...