by Aisha Mohammed
The first time you sat naked on my couch I pictured the moment you would let me have you. You just got back from some guy’s house and complained that the room was hot, just before you took off your clothes. I watched you unbutton your blouse, careful not to let you see my mouth hanging open. I watched you reach behind your back and unhook your bra. I watched as you dropped the bra to the side and held your tear-shaped breasts in your palms, careful not to let you notice me staring at them. We spent the afternoon talking about the man you had just seen.
You told me the sex was good, so good that in the morning you refused to put on your clothes and asked him to massage your sore body hoping he’d get aroused again. I found myself holding back from staring at your breasts as you talked. You were calm but the slightest movement of your hands made them jiggle. I felt the heat of the room between my legs, I felt the wetness staining my pajama bottoms. When you returned to your apartment I spent the rest of that day wondering why the image of your topless body caused a tingling in my nether regions.
I’ve never been the kind of girl who picked up on cues or spoke up for herself. I struggled to ask a waiter for an extra napkin or pick-up hints when people asked me to leave their houses, so when you kept visiting and finding ways to take off your clothes, I didn’t think much about it. I assumed you were comfortable around me. I assumed that unlike me you weren’t bothered by flaws, not like you had them. Your body was a masterpiece; well-toned dark limbs framed your curvy hips, flat stomach and full bosom. I always envied how slender you were despite not working out. I can’t believe I spent so much time fixated on another woman’s body. I prayed it away hoping it was just curiosity. Every time your body flashed through my mind I would mumble astaghfirullah under my breath at least 10 times afterwards. You made me think about sinful things. The moments I let go and allowed my mind to escape into the lust, I pictured myself walking up to you on that couch, rubbing a thumb over one nipple and putting my tongue on the other just as you let out a moan with your head rolling backwards. I reign my mind back. I never allow my thoughts to wander past the possibility of fondling your breasts.
When I realized that you wanted me just as much as I wanted you, I didn’t have the chance to hold myself back to ask if giving in to this passion was a good thing. All I could do was succumb to your powerful presence and let you lead me to ecstasy.
The day I knew was the same day we let our bodies think and talk for us. You came into my apartment by 8 pm soaked in the rain. I opened the front door rather sluggishly. I had spent the entire evening in bed sleeping after having a cup of tea to chase away the cold. You wore a gray T-shirt and a pair of jeans with your hair tied into a scarf. You never believed you had to use a scarf or a hijab. You believed that modesty meant you covered all the important things which included your hair on some days. You stared at me saying nothing but breathing hard like you had been running in the rain.
“Come in, you’re wet. Why didn’t you use an umbrella? Do you want a cup of tea?” I asked.
“Leila I want to tell you something,” you said, as you walked past me into the apartment.
“What is it?”
You sat on the couch staring at your fingers placed on your knees. They were stained with patterns of henna. You were meant to travel to meet your parents in Abuja for a wedding the next day. You told me later that the wedding had started in town and you had run from the bride, your cousin’s house, to see me.
“Leila, do you think I’m beautiful?”
“That’s a funny question to ask by this time Asiya, but yes of course. I think you’re very beautiful,” I said, while arranging the blanket I kept on an armchair in the living room over your shoulders.
“I don’t feel beautiful tonight.” My hands were on your shoulders when you said this. I squeezed them. I thought about all the things I could tell you to make you feel beautiful but I wanted to show you instead. So I stepped in front of you and took off my shirt.
“Look, you have a finer body than I do” I didn’t know what I was doing. But you did. You put your hands forward and cupped my breasts.
“Don’t ever say that. You’re beautiful,” you said and kissed me.
It was the softest I had ever kissed before. You took my bottom lip in your mouth and sucked gently on it. My hands found their way to your breasts as you did this. I rubbed your nipple through the shirt. It felt better than anything I had imagined. You moaned into my mouth and buried your fingers in my cornrows. I broke off the kiss and trailed kisses on your neck. You tossed your head to the side and whispered with a shaky breath “Yes, my ears too please”.
I obeyed and took an earlobe into my mouth sucking on it lightly as you sighed in relief. I moved my tongue to the base of your neck, circling it lightly with every heavy breath and moaning was an indication that I was doing a good job.
You held my body to you, rubbing my back as I worked your nipples. It felt a little too surreal living my fantasy. I raised my head to your face and kissed you again. I was not sure what to do with my hands but I wanted to make you feel beautiful. So I kissed all the places where you had told me were imperfect and you smiled through a moan. You took over and sat on top of me on the floor. You took off the skirt I wore and trailed kisses on my stomach and to my clitoris. I exclaim as you kiss it lightly. Shocked at the confidence you have to do this, I was put in your hands. I quivered as your tongue slid tenderly over my pussy from between the lips to my clit. I was still uncertain about what more I could do to you when you placed your index and middle fingers and rubbed my clitoris hard. I let out a scream as my legs shook. And just when I thought I would cry from how good my body felt, you curved one finger deep inside me and moved it upward.
“Asiya what are you doing to me,” I said, fighting to catch my breath as you moved your fingers inside my pussy. You slid the second finger in and moved them like you were beckoning me. In a few moments, I covered the tiles in front of me with my juices. The storm outside raged on adamant about stopping.
I had to return the favor. I couldn’t let you make me feel this good without making you feel the same way. I moved, got on all fours and buried my face between your thighs. I inhaled the musky scent you gave and l moved my tongue upwards and downwards. Making sure to put pressure on your clit. I move my hands to your nipples as I do this and rub on them slightly. Your moans motivated me. I moved my tongue faster and attempted to suck on your clit. This made your moans louder. You threw your head back and I could feel your legs shaking as you orgasm. We lay on the floor next to each other afterwards and listened to the storm slow down to a drizzle. I couldn’t enjoy the warm buzz of the orgasm I just experienced as the rain subsided. The adhan for Isha became clear. I listened with regret. You turned to face me.
“I know you think what we did was wrong. But it was amazing. It was the best sex I’ve ever had.”
I didn’t answer. It was the best sex I had ever had too. I got up and walked to my room. I had to do a ghusl before I prayed again.
“Astagfirullah” I mumbled several times as I bathed and prayed. I never thought myself to be a very pious woman. I had my bad habits. But I had never done anything this drastic in terms of sin. You always called me a prude; said I should be more adventurous and have fun. But I never found drinking and talking to different men fun. I was more focused on my plants and my cats and painting. That was fun to me.
Days after I refused to call you. I was too scared about having sex with you again. Giving in to the lust that refused to subside. I buried myself in work, in movies and snacks but none of it took away the images of that night and the goosebumps it gave me.
The word bisexual isn’t something I would have described myself with until that night. Even though I spent the month before dreaming about your breasts, I did not think it meant that I was attracted to women. Perhaps a little more space from you would have made me get over those lustful thoughts.
We were twisted in the sheets. We moved our bodies against each other in an awkward rushed dance of pleasure, uncertain of what we were doing. How did we end up there in your bedroom fighting for breath and basking in simultaneous orgasms? I couldn’t escape what we’ve unleashed. By the third day of not speaking to you, I walked outside of my house and took a keke across the river to your house. It charged me 1500 Naira to Barnawa. All I wanted was to see you. All I wanted was to hold your face in the palm of my hand as you fucked me. I don’t know what I’ve become. Astagfirullah.
When you held me down on your bed and lifted the jilbab I threw on, I forgot to ask for forgiveness. I begged you to stop teasing me with your fingers rubbing my nipples.
“This is punishment for not returning my calls,” you said.
I look up at you. The light from the bulbs in the ceiling cast a glow at the back of your head and made your eyes appear whiter. You looked so ethereal like a goddess or an angel. I strain to reach your face with my lips and you back away.
“No, not yet.”
With my hands held over my head, my jilbab bunched up at my armpits, you started to kiss the exposed skin, and you put my nipples between your fingers and squeezed.
“You naughty girl, you wore nothing under your hijab to come and see me. You were so horny for me weren’t you.”
I nodded yes and let out a whimper. You put your tongue on one nipple as you rubbed the other, still holding my hands up with the second arm. A surge of pleasure coursed through my body. I felt my pussy grow wetter as you nibbled gently on my nipples.
You let go of me just as I thought I was about to cum. You sat in between my legs and grinded your clit on mine. I felt the heat of your pussy on mine. I felt your wetness mix with mine as you wound on me. I reached out and cupped your breast just as I was about to climax. I let out a sigh as I experienced it and fell back on your pillow. You rested your head between my breasts as your orgasm came. I felt your body quiver slightly as you did.
“I hate what you do to me, Asiya. ” I said.
“That’s where you’re wrong, my love. You don’t. You love it” you replied.
I stared at the patterns on your Plaster of Paris ceiling and remembered the goddess Eris in the movie “Sinbad: Legend of the Seven Seas”. I remembered my 8-year-old self enthralled by her beauty, the darkness in her eyes and the swirl of her hair. Her voice, the curve of her body as she slinked around Sinbad. She was the villain of the story but I was mesmerized by her presence and her beauty.
I remembered watching porn for the first time and not taking my eyes off the actress, her moans filling my body with pleasure. I remembered looking for more pictures of that actress later on. I remember following her on Instagram and swiping aggressively through her photos as I rubbed my clit in the middle of the night.
I couldn’t keep pretending that this wasn’t who I was, that somehow all these things meant that I didn’t like women. That I didn’t like you. I decided to bask in the aftermath of the orgasm you just gave me.
It made sense that I would want you. It made sense that every man who had the energy to chase me was met with nothing but disdain.
There was no use being guilty about this. I had done it already. There was no use fighting what might be a permanent part of me.
“You’re right, I love what you do to me,” I said, while my eyes were fixed on the ceiling.
I saw you turn to face me in the corner of my eye.
“I loved it the first time too. I don’t know what to do anymore, but I can’t pretend I don’t have these feelings for you. But I don’t know what to do about them.”
“You don’t have to do anything, we don’t have to do anything, let’s just enjoy it,” you say and help me out of my hijab.
We spent the rest of that hot afternoon in your bed. Kissing and touching each other till we got hungry. As we cooked lunch you would spank my ass and kiss my forehead occasionally. While we did this I felt a peace I had never felt before. I didn’t know what we would do the next morning. I didn’t know if it was worth all the feelings of guilt I had locked up that afternoon; if they would resurface again the next week. The next time I would hear you moan and watch you go into a bathroom afterwards; the next time I read about homosexuality being haram; the next time I had to do ghusl before I prayed before I begged God for forgiveness. But at that moment in time, I was happy with you. I was free and I knew who I was.