Jollof, Turkey and Tears

Cartoon illustration of a black couple kissing in bed

I’m in my favourite restaurant in the city. It has two floors. I like the second better. There’s a clear view of the hustle and bustle going on outside and I enjoy my meals in silence. Today, I’m in no mood for rice, spaghetti or swallow so I order shawarma and head upstairs. My ears are plugged. The music is soothing. The shawarma is like Disneyland in my mouth. I could spend hours here.

Some guy asks if he can share my table, I say yeah, sure. Then he wants to start a conversation. I tell him I came here to have a quiet time, thinking he’ll get it. He says “that’s very good, do you live around here?” No, genius. No. I plug my ears and get back to my world. I edit my shopping lists as I eat and strike through things I’ve done on my to-do list. I’m pretty much done here, I think. I should buy takeaway so I can warm it up later. No, it can’t be rice, I had a lot of that yesterday. Ohhh yesterday!…

I visited babe and we had Jollof rice. Mine came with a piece of turkey. One minute, we were eating meat off each other’s mouths, the next – his dick is so far in me while I’m on top and it feels like we’re squashing what’s left together. Smashing/squashing, there have never been more befitting words.

Oh boy, it’s all coming back. The handholding and support, sort of like team work in the ride to utmost pleasure. Haha! All the agreeing I did in response to every move he made. The instructions to ‘stay like that, don’t move’ and the rewarding well positioned thrusts that followed. The slippery kisses, sweaty bodies, the tears in my eyes that kept flowing.

There is a feeling a bit too overwhelming to express when our eyes meet, it’s heavily present in a kiss and bare chest hugs, in wrapping my legs around him as he lifts me off the bed, the solace in lying on his chest, the smiles in between kisses and warm pecks on the nose and forehead. It’s a connection bodies understand in a way words may never fully cover.

He passes me a sachet of water to refuel and we get right back to the exercise. Bed, chair, floor… gasps as he goes in…gasps as he comes out. Hands on boobs, hitting it from behind and I’m clawing on all bedsheets till there’s nothing to claw at. My moaning gets louder and louder and tears flow like a river. My optic nerve might actually be in my vajayjay.

Babe says there’s a lot more to explore. Right now, we have an hour of foreplay unchecked on our to-do list. Loveee the dirty talk that it all comes with! I’ve always wondered how people balance themselves on walls or how doing it in the shower really works. I wonder how ‘anal’ can be pleasing, if people who say ‘it’s an exit not an entry’ ever convert. Other times, I wonder how different sex would be with a person I’m not in love with.

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