Quality Over Quantity

Written by Naomi

Having men who were attracted to me has never been a big deal. I mean, if it were a matter of quantity, I would probably be in a relationship with all the men in the markets and on my street. I liked to look at quality when it came to men, and no one stood out to me like one man in particular. 

I met Mario on one of my many trips to Lagos, and although I’ll never admit it, he became an event to look forward to whenever I found myself in the city. 

Despite being from Delta state, he had the rugged charm of an Italian and the stories of a man who had lived for longer than his supposed 40 years. We flirted here and there, but there was nothing concrete until I complained about having a bad back and he promised a massage. 

After a long time away, I was in Lagos again and Mario invited me over to fulfill his promise of a soothing massage for my aching back. He started by lighting up a blunt for us, and while he was still as sober as the day was bright, my face burned warmer. With every sliver of smoke that left my mouth, my anxiety and doubts followed. 

I was so blissfully elated that when he placed his palms on my shoulders, I almost melted into a puddle right at his feet. My goofy grin melded with his into a needy kiss that left me breathless and wanting more. Instead of obliging to my little pleas, he stripped me of my clothes and spread me out on the bed like I weighed nothing, oiled hands rolling over the skin of my back and down my bum in fluid motions and earning labored sighs from every knot he undid. 

He knew what to do with his hands, teasing my inner thighs and getting a rise out of me. One second, I was laid flat on my stomach, and the next, I was on my knees, arched like a feline against the mattress as he slid into me almost effortlessly. 

Our groans were resounding as we morphed into one, my walls squeezing around his length as I tried to get used to his size. He was patient, pushing my hair away and kissing down my back until I pushed back against him, letting him know that I was ready to take more. 

Mario moved with the fluidity of a man who knew what he was doing and exactly how to do it. His hands molded my skin like playdoh, twisting and turning me around like his little plaything. 

“Good girl“ he grunted when he turned me around to face him, sending a flurry of emotions straight south while he fucked me mercilessly into the bed. We were one rabid, sweaty creature as our hips gyrated together, our sinful dance becoming messier and more uncoordinated as we neared the end. 

He rolled small circles onto my clit, coaxing me towards an orgasm with his words and salty kisses, still thrusting into me until my legs vibrated and I cried out soundlessly. 

He came soon after, spilling out every curse word on the face of the earth and then slumping on my body. 

“Fuck.” We sighed together after a long minute of heavy breathing, laughter following after. 

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