Written by Nyambura
I might remember an oddly hot afternoon, for a July. A Friday. Perplexing emotions. And now that I have gotten this far, I should have been able to feel the spaces. The motions. The atmosphere. I should have felt the perspiration and the tentativeness that was going to constitute that night. Now that I have swum this deep, sometimes I can predict the eventualities.
At first, it was building up steam. It was hot; dancing and making out in the club within everyone’s glance. Me drinking through him. His Martell, sipping it directly from his mouth. Grinding, hands on my bare boobs. At some point, his fingers were inside me, moving, squeezing, pinching. Then we were dancing. Mad misbehavior.
And later, when I felt his keys in his pocket, I told him we should go to the car. But I needed to pee first so he waited for me outside the bathroom. And when I took too long, he sent someone to find me. When that lady came, she was like, he is waiting for you. And yeah, he was. I took his drunk self, and by that time, I was sobered up, or almost sobered up and I was aware of what we were going to do. Tipsily, we walked to his car. I know we had a conversation, I do not remember what about though….and he opened the back seat, and the backdoor. I got in first. The seats were cold to sit on, and there was no heat. I had an off-shoulder blue flowery top. He scooted towards me, and you know how he normally wants to do this stuff quickly. The feel of his lips on mine felt like thirst being quenched. I had missed him. Heavy intentional making out. Hands on hips, hands on breasts, pinching almost painfully, but erotically.
And we started making out. I remember holding his head, him quickly grasping my breasts, and me trying to remove his belt. I wonder now if he remembers, because he was so drunk. He spoke as if in a stupor. But I did not mind. Actually, I fancied it. I asked for his help to pull down my jeans, and he did. But he forgot one thing; to pull down my panties. And when he did, he was so ready. I can never forget spreading out my legs for him, the welcoming feeling between my legs when he entered me with a deep sigh. The way my stomach clenched when he started to move, and when his pubic hair was rubbing on mine, his drunk heaviness on me. The rising crescendo, fast throaty breaths and tightening holds. I am not sure if the car was moving, but he had switched off the alarm on his car. We fucked senselessly. Like wild, unhindered animals. I know him all too well now – the feel of him, the gasps, and the familiarity that he brings to my whole self.
And that was it, for that time. When he finished, we were so tired, and he sat back and told me to give him a minute. He sat back, pants around his knees, naked, his dick sticking up wetly and when I tried to cover him up, he could not move. I have just remembered at some point I was in his hat. A black suspicious-looking cape.
While we sat, time moved as if it was tired. To me the night was so brief; too much had happened in such a short span.
Sometimes I look back and I am like, really, we got that far? Serious lines were crossed and it is impossible to ever go back to before. Like seriously impossible. Because later that night he was still between my legs, on top of cushy bean bags in Debbie’s house. He was kissing me too until my lips were raw, fucking me too till my vagina was swollen, and wet, and sticky.
