[Recently, I was lucky enough to be selected as one of 22 writers to participate in a Farafina Trust workshop led by Chimamanda Ngozi Adiche, a writer whose books I love. The workshop helped me realise that I want to specialise in writing creative non-fiction. This is my first creative non-fiction piece]
It was one of those hotel rooms where men who work in the lower ranks of Ghana’s civil service take their newly acquired girlfriends to for a ‘short time’. The walls were a strange shade of white; the bed had sheets that must have been white once upon a time, and the cleaner consistently missed the rat dropping that clung stubbornly to the wall beneath the air conditioning unit.
He had spent two nights in my bed, and on this third day I lay alone amongst the sheets thinking:
I miss him in my bed. Why do I miss him in my bed? Its not like we did anything the two times he slept over.
The first time he came over for a chat, and because there are no chairs in this room the only logical place for us to sit was on the sprawling bed that dominated this short time hotel. We had only met three days ago and I detested him on sight. He was one of those good looking men that seems to coast by on good looks, well cut suits, and his use of big words. Everything about him had rubbed me up the wrong way. Why was the workshop trainer simpering at him when he had gotten to the workshop a whole hour later than scheduled? We had all been told to check in the previous evening so that we could start the workshop promptly at 8am and Kofi Asante rolls in at 9am blaming traffic for his late arrival. Mtcheww. I guess he couldn’t sense my irritation because at lunchtime he sat next to me although there were plenty of seats available at all the other tables. I can’t even remember what we spoke about now but minutes later I found myself laughing at a joke he told even though it wasn’t very funny. And three days later I found myself saying, “make yourself comfortable”, which somehow led to us lying side by side with 10 inches of space between us. He fell asleep mid conversation. He looked so innocent lying there. Not a worry crossed his brow. I fantasised about closing those 10 inches until I too fell asleep. In the morning we were strangely comfortable with each other
Sorry I crashed here last night
That’s completely okay
I didn’t rush off to the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth like I normally would on those days that Michael stays over. We chatted for another half hour about I don’t know what, and then at about 7.30am he left for his room to get ready. Both of us were late for that day’s workshop.
On the second night we ended up in my room to discuss the intricacies of ‘Transformational Leadership’, the reason for which we had left our families for a week and retired to this short time hotel in the mountains of Aburi. Kofi must suffer from narcolepsy because after we had discussed the difference between leaders and managers he nodded off once again. I went to the bathroom to change and settled back besides him maintaining a respectable gap of 10 inches, and immediately fell asleep.
On the third day he slept in his own room. I felt strangely lonely. We chatted over Black Berry Messenger:
Kofi: What are you up to?
Nana: Lying in bed…was just thinking I miss you sleeping in my bed.
Kofi. I miss you too. A little
Nana: Only a little? 🙁
Kofi: Lol. I’m being a hard guy
Nana: 🙂 If you say so…
On day 4 he came to my room and we talked till 3am. “I definitely want us to stay friends,” I said. “I want that too” he responded. “Sex always causes complications”. How did we then end up agreeing to have sex on day 5 knowing full well that our workshop ended on day 7? “That way there won’t be any awkwardness”, I eagerly agreed with him.
On day 5 for the very first time we sat next to each other during the workshop. We sat in the last two chairs right at the back of the room. The facilitator carried on about the leadership style of Shackleton. Why are we talking about the leadership style of Shackleton when we could be discussing Yaa Asantewaa’s inspiring leadership I wondered? In between half hearted attempts to listen to Ms Facilitator I traced a path along Kofi’s thighs. He had firm muscular thighs. I slipped my hand under his shirt and felt his love handles – he had none but he gasped and returned my hand to my own thigh. “Stop it” he whispered but I don’t think he meant it. “I want to kiss you,” he said. “We could go to the bathroom round the back but everyone will notice if we walk out” I said. So we sat in the workshop, answering questions when we were called to do so, and holding hands underneath the table.
That night I had a shower and came back to the bedroom. Kofi was already in bed with the sheets riding low around his hips. My Genius Mix was playing whichever artist it had randomly decided to settle on. “That’s not sexy time music,” he said. I laughed and went over to my computer. Who could I play I wondered? I love Maxwell but Maxwell is too much for plain old sex. Oh I know, I’ll play Robin Thicke, he’s the right mix of sexy without being overly lovey dovey. He started singing along to “Got 2 Be Down”, and I got back in bed. He had big strong arms and a broad chest. I rubbed my hands over his arms, and over his chest. He kissed me deeply, and suckled on my lower lip, I nibbled back. He touched my boobs, one after the other and I lifted my right boob so he could suck on it. I touched his thighs and made my way to his dick. He was huge. Big dicks kinda scare me. I’ve never been one of those chicks who lusts after the mythical Mandingo dick but here I was with one in my sheets. He drifted down my body and parted my legs. He traced the outline of my clit with his tongue. I clutched his arms. It felt like he was tracing the figure of 8 on my clit. I started to breath faster and clutched his arms even tighter. He tossed his head from side to side. “Ah. That feels good. That feels really good”. He grabbed my arse and opened me up even more to him. I bit my lip and felt my orgasm starting from my pelvic area and spreading throughout my body. “I’ve cum, I’ve cum, I’ve cum”.