08/05/2022
22:42
I’m in the front seat of this trosky drinking a can of ice-cold Heineken and deciding whether or not I want to submit for an anthology whose deadline is about an hour and twenty-two minutes away. I should be perturbed because I spent the last month agonising over my essay, trying to ensure every word was rightly placed. I swore I would submit but it’s ten thirty-two p.m. and my fingers are still sticky from cum and the breeze coming off the sea is delicious. Why rush? There’d be more anthologies to submit to.
I am on the way home from Tema, having left my house at around three p.m. to go and screw the brains out of a girl I had met on Jodel the day before. Technically, I wasn’t even the one who met her. So, here’s what happened; on Saturday afternoon, I told my friend I was bored and he took it personally. Though I’ll turn up and party hard when the need arises, I’m usually home all the time procrastinating or watching anime. I had nothing new to watch and I wasn’t in the mood to buy the amount of data needed to commit to a new series. I was procrastinating on the essay I wanted to submit the following day, and I needed a distraction from the voice in my head shouting at me, you need to write!
Later that night, my friend told me he gave my Snap handle to someone and she would text me. Who was it? He said it was a girl he met on Jodel. She was “down for stuff” and I said I was bored. So, he figured we (the girl and I) could have a little fun. Ei! Approximately thirty seconds later, someone new added me on Snapchat.
I really don’t accept a lot of requests on Snapchat because it’s one of the few apps where I’m unbidden. You can’t be witnessing my crazy if I don’t know you. Snapchat is cool but the anonymity it offers can be annoying. You can’t check out profile pictures, peek at photos and all the low-key investigations you do before you accept a request on other social media apps. To make it worse, people have all sorts of weird names on Snap. You really can’t be sure who someone is if they just added out of the blue. Plus, texting on Snap annoys me. It’s not my go-to app for communicating but it does serve ashawo purposes quite well. So I added her back, which was the beginning of this tale.
We exchanged pictures. She liked my smile, I liked her eyes. She asked if I could come over. I checked the time and it was past midnight. Nah, fam. A year or two ago, I would have gone. These days though, I can’t be arsed to leave my house after nine pm unless someone I know is picking me up and dropping me off. Have you seen the fares on these transit apps these days?
Whenever I feel too lazy to deal with the hustle of troskies, I check the fare in a transit app and the laziness immediately dissipates. Plus, I had never actually been to Tema. Yes, I’m down to hoe, but after midnight, in a place I don’t know, which, did I mention, is far from where I live, and with someone I’m yet to meet? Nope. I have toys for a reason. Besides, I am always perpetually tired these days. I can’t handle the stress of moving around at night in Accra.
Anyway, all the above is rendered almost quite pointless because this was me on the way to Tema around four p.m. the very next day. I’d stopped procrastinating and attacked my essay, but I still wasn’t quite moved to write. Nothing I tried was working. After a few hours, I gave up and asked her for directions to her place.
The person I met wasn’t the person I was expecting. Don’t think catfish. It was more like I’d seen a picture of her from the shoulders up and my mind had already filled in the blanks and added its own flourishes. For one, I thought she’d be taller. I have no idea why. However, I could see over her head comfortably. She was also more svelte. I don’t know if it was the angles or the light in the photo but she looked thicker. She was much smaller than I expected. Somewhere in the course of the evening, size and weight became a topic and I lifted her with one hand to make my point. Plus, she looked younger in person than she did in the photos she showed me. Wild, I know. I thought she’d be older than me but I found out later that I’m four years older. The final difference in my expectations and reality was her manner. She exuded big dick energy over text. Frankly, it was hot. Sometimes, I like brash. In-person though, she was quite mild.
Her place was a small one-room in a corner of a house that I assume is a collection of other one-rooms. I could describe the room but it isn’t pertinent to this story. She offered me food and I declined. She kept offering and I kept declining. I was hungry as shit, truth be told. I hadn’t eaten in two days and I didn’t realise it till she asked if I wanted something to eat. I was declining because I don’t much like public washrooms, and the one in her house was communal. I didn’t want to give my body an excuse to expel waste. She gave me beer but it wasn’t cold. I only recently learned to like beer. The first and only important thing to know about beer is this; if it’s warm, it’s nothing but a bottle of piss. Warm beer is the devil. I avoided drinking that by making an excuse about temperature and she put it in the freezer.
We wasted a lot of time flipping through channels and talking about random shit that had nothing to do with anything. Well, she did most of the talking. I find that you learn more about a person if you just let them talk. I lay there and listened to her tell me about the stress of National Service and how she’d spent the money she was supposed to buy a bed with. We were lying on a small mattress on the floor of the apartment. It would have been hard for two people to sleep comfortably on the bed but she didn’t even try to find space. She just lay on me instead.
We would have watched something, but her TV screen was busted and only worked when the spirit gave it permission to. It was getting increasingly late and I wanted to leave, considering first of all, that I was starting to need the bathroom. I had also decided that I was going to submit my essay, regardless of my dissatisfaction with it. I needed to put finishing touches to it. To submit, I needed an ID card and I had none on me. The deadline was midnight, and I had to get going if I wanted to submit because I had no idea where my ID was and I would have to search for it. Finally, the following day was Monday, and I would need to go to work. Hanging with her was fun and all but chale, were we going to do this or not?
She was okay with touching me, but it was nothing explicitly sexual. She implied while we spoke that while she was usually down to “do stuff”, she was usually scared to make the first move. That’s the basic problem, J. I never make the first move too. No matter how much I like a person and no matter how intimate the mood may get, I would never make the first move. I am terrified of rejection! Unless I hear, “fuck me”, we’re all going to be lying here talking about mundane shit that has nothing to do with anything.
This time though, I mean the woman was touching my boobs. Over my shirt, but that still counts. So, I kissed her. And that was how we went from talking to her pushing my face into her pussy and cutting off my air supply. I wasn’t complaining though.
She didn’t try to return the favour and I didn’t ask. I really didn’t want her to anyway. I checked the time. It was ten p.m. Damn! I needed to leave. Sis was having none of it though. I had to repeat all my arguments over and over, while mentally locating all my stuff. That wasn’t hard because I went with only my phone, my charger and my glasses case. I was still fully clothed. I had to almost swear I would come back again before she let me leave. She gave me the beer to leave with though; a can of Heineken and a bottle of something Spanish.
I put the now ice-cold beer in the pocket of my shorts and got into the front seat of the trosky. Hopefully, no one gets in and makes me scoot over.
So, here we are along the beach road, my beer nearly dry and my entry finished. I think I shan’t submit for the anthology. After all, it’s an annual thing. There’s always next year. If it isn’t going well this year, why force it?
