High-Strung

Written by Nyambura

Thursday

A typical conversation goes like:

19:56 PM

Henry: Where are you?

19:57 PM

B: Why?

19:57 PM

Henry: Why not?

19:58 PM

B: Well…

19:58 PM

Henry: Hope you had a great day. Enjoy your evening.

19:58 PM

B: Heh. I’m at Westlands. Come on!

Blue ticks.

So, I call you.  You can be such a baby sometimes.

You leave me this high strung because you know what I want, and I also know what you want, and you also know very well that I am always in a perpetual state of want. And if anything, I can never bring myself to say no to you.

You get so moody when I say no, or when I start being elusive and indirect.

But I always do it because, why not. You want me, you got to skip through the motions.

You tell me you are at Capital M Residences. I have never been, and I wonder, where is that? And what are you doing there? So, I look it up.

It is a bunch of duplexes and a nice penthouse at the top. I can already tell you are in the penthouse, because you are that kind of a man. Suddenly, I feel the nervous anticipation of being with you. The recklessness of being with someone else’s man. And how malevolent you get when we are together.

I leave my house, knowing exactly what I am getting myself into.

When I come all the way to your penthouse, I see you, slightly high already, and I can understand why you might want to be high for this shit.

You look tense as well, and when we lift our glasses up with a shot of whiskey, with the dim lights deepening the red shade of my nail polish, the slight breeze through the curtains blowing on my French braids, and the city blinking shyly beneath us, you insist we make eye contact, even though you know how shy we both are. Like young delirious lovers.

When I go to sit on the couch, you follow me with a certain type of reverence that I have not seen before. You look needy, and I feel sort of powerful already. Also, I can see the bulge already displaying through your khaki pants. I am tempted to touch it, but not just yet. We have the whole night.

When I ask you how you ended up in a penthouse, you say you had hired it for your Nigerian bosses, and when I ask you whether they are still around, you say they are in the opposite penthouse, with the madam.

‘Madam?’ I ask, not quite understanding what you mean.

You say “Yes. She is around.”

I can’t believe it. “What if she comes around? Or wait, does she know? Is this some sort of fetish for you guys? Like knowing your husband is fucking someone else in the next room?”

You look at me and throw your head back in laughter when I ask those questions, as if I am the funniest human being in the world and you shake your head in amusement.

Suddenly, there is a knock on the door, and you say, “There she is, you got to hide!”

I look at you in incredulity.

You say, “I am serious!” 

I am so scared now, and I am not taking you lightly. 

In an act of cowardice, I run to the nearest bedroom on the first floor. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, a lot of things cross my mind, like the fact that you cannot possibly bring your wife around. Also, there are lipstick stains on the whisky glass I am using. So, whatever the case she will know you are here with another woman.

I also catch my face, the face of bad decisions, and I meet my eyes, and judge myself low key, and the same eyes tell me how much I want to experience you then afterwards let you go back to your wife. If it’s true she’s here, then she should get ready for the show of her life.

On that note, I decide to freshen up, and walk back to the living room with nothing but my stringy thong. If things are bad, they might as well be completely bad.

I let my hair down and it falls on the small of my back, the curly French braids looking so sexy. 

Before I even take a step back to the living room, you come into the bedroom, while I am standing by the edge of the wide bed, in nothing but my burgundy thong, against my chocolate skin, my small breasts lying on my chest with my nipples slightly hard, most likely from the cold. You haven’t touched them yet, the way you like to, twisting and pressing your thumb.

I catch your reaction. You seem stunned. On one hand, you cannot believe my audacity for undressing while the thought of your wife was lingering at the back of my mind. On the other hand, you look at me with haunting anticipation. Everything feels eccentric, and the dramatic landscape of the city shimmering behind you makes everything feel so wrong but so right. The whisky in your glass twirls, as you move one step closer to me, and I take a step back, as if I am running back to the bathroom, and I see a dangerous thought cross your mind, daring me to move further. If I do, I am sort of scared but excited at the thought of what you might do to me.

I ask you, “where is she?” 

You say, “who?”

I say “your wife, wasn’t she at the door?”

You say, “oh, that was just the room service, they were bringing us dinner.”

I roll my eyes and dash to the bathroom to grab a robe. You tease too much.

You chuckle and ask me why I am dressing up, you were loving what you were seeing.

I say I need to get to your level of insanity, i.e. I need more whiskey.

I walk past you to the kitchen area, and pour myself a neat one, while you settle back on the couch. You are still fully dressed, I note. 

Walking back to the couch, and sitting next to you, I catch a whiff of your delicious scent. My body wants so much to be close to you, but I don’t want to touch you yet; I want you to make the first move. I sit up, one cushion away, and put my knees up, such that the robe mostly covers my upper body.

There is a comfortable silence for a while, while we mull over our thoughts. I am not certain which direction this night is going to take but I feel oddly safe in your company. I have not even glanced at my phone once.

When I look up, you are leaning back and staring at me, and when I ask you why you are staring, you say that I look so beautiful. And I say, you don’t look so bad yourself. 

You chuckle, and swallow the rest of your whiskey, giving yourself one last bout of courage. And you lean over, take the glass off my hands, and place them both on the table.

I am smiling slyly because I want to see what you want to do. When you cover the one cushion space, you lean into my body as if you are going to kiss me, but you kiss my neck instead, the space where the robe has fallen off. 

My hands go to your bald head, cradling it, as my head leans back to give you more access. I love how your hands feel, gently granting yourself access to my chest, pulling over the loosely worn robe, and finally getting to my breasts, which fit perfectly in your hands. Using my hands, I pull your head, to kiss you. And your lips feel so hot. It starts gently first, and then deeper it goes until our tongues are in a tug of war.

At this point my hands are struggling to unbutton your navy-blue official shirt but failing miserably. At the back of my mind, it occurs to me that this is the shirt you wore today at work, the same one you bossed people around in because you are a boss, the same one you wore when you sent me an angry e-mail demanding my immediate response.

You hold back and remove it along with the rest of your clothes, until the only thing left are your tight boxers. I can see the outline of your hard cock, throbbing. And I am so aroused. But instead, I pick up my glass again and sip on my drink, while you settle back on the couch.

I get up and suggest that we should take a shower. I want to enjoy the bathtub I know is in the master bedroom, and I need to wrap the thick Egyptian Cotton towels around my body, and that’s just because.

I know you want to fuck me now and now, but well.

We go upstairs to one of the bedrooms, and I am genuinely impressed by the massive space and the ambience with the wanderlust view, as I skip to the bathroom and run the shower.

I no longer want to be immersed in the bathtub. I want to feel the scalding water on my skin and I want to get a sense of cleanliness before I am with you.

Obediently, you join me in the shower, stripped of your boxers, and now your dick stands attentively, responding to the pheromones being released by my body.

You cradle me from behind, and I feel the additional heat of your body, and your hard, hot head on the curve of my ass. A slight move, I know you will ease your way in. You are breathing so hard on me, and I can feel you applying pressure on my thighs, with a sense of urgency. You really want this, and now, I am ready.

In the shower I initiate the kissing, more forceful and urgent; hands everywhere, groping and pressing. Your fingers enter my dripping pussy while my two hands move to your head, water dripping down on our naked bodies.

Your fingers leave me and you grab me by my ass, straddling me on you. You press my body against the wall, but the water is too hot now which makes this position sort of impossible. Instead, you carry me to the bedroom, and you sit on the bed with me on top of you. My braids that I had held up now fall and cover both of us as your kisses deepen, and as our bodies seek to find each other.

I gyrate my hips on you, and you pause to insert your penis inside me with your right hand. The slow penetration is alluring, but you are insisting on making eye contact. I cannot look away from you even as my eyes become heavy, and I am tempted to close them and relish the feeling of you going inside of me. You love looking into my eyes. I feel such a deep connection with you when you do that, but I am so afraid of acknowledging what that means. This sort of intimacy is uncharted waters for us, and you also know it’s not like we can fly off to a happy-ever-after.

I feel my walls tremble when your wide girth is pushing in. Its force of nature, and my willing accommodation, make one hell of a combination. Before we even start moving, I feel the need to get used to you first, and so I wrap my hands around you, and lean in to kiss you. Your hands are at the small of my back and slowly as we kiss, you lift me up and down, pressing yourself deeper as you grunt in more want.

Picking up your momentum, I start to move on my own volition. I love being on top of you. I love moving in slow dance on top of you. Moving my hips, the core of my back and my thighs to you, our bodies making a perfect symphony full of passion and desire. I love how you never fail to look into me, making your presence inside of me felt.

I can feel the desire building into a relentless crescendo at the pit of my stomach. The climax of the symphony reaches its pinnacle with deep, haunting tunes, the dance of our bodies merging into it.

I move faster, knowing that how high our desire tempo is, this needs to be quick, to relieve the sense of urgency and tension. My ass cheeks slapping against your thighs as I grind faster, your grasp tightening harder, I can feel your body build up in tension. Feeling your movements inside me and imagining the lasting impressions you are leaving on and inside of me makes the knot in my stomach tighten.

Then you cum. Suddenly. Just when I was on the edge. But I ride it till you are finished with the heavy grunting. Your dick now slips messily from me. When I look between us I can see your cum trail leaving a tell-tale spot on my stomach.

Then you look at me too, smile indulgently, and give me a kiss while fondling my back.

Wrong things shouldn’t feel so great. And I tell you that, while also telling you, you owe me a couple more rounds. 

You say, ‘We have the whole night baby’.

I can see you now, touching parts of my body. Our bodies are in motion, unison, rhythm syncing and dancing, and I cannot wait to experience you again. The next time we shall do it on the balcony of this penthouse, and I hope that someone will see us.

Bliss is melting into this short-lived moment and feeling it completely, without the obsessive thought of ‘how will this end?’. I love savouring the feel of us, knowing it will leave, knowing it will return.