Lifestyle, fashion, fiction, creativity and the lot…
What better way to wish you a happy new month than this juicy delectable short story? As much as I would like to take credit, it was written by my very talented friend, Chineye and if you enjoy and in so doing send feedback, we plan on featuring her stories every week, for your reading pleasure😉
About the author
Chinenye Yvonne Ikwueme is an avid reader who loves experimenting with words and thoughts alike until she can create stories out of them. She hopes to someday discipline herself enough to write on a daily basis. She loves hiking and mismashing ideas with creatives. When she’s not in solitude reading or writing, she’s wine shopping and inhabiting online. Instagram as @chinealz
SEX AND WORDS
Habits enjoyed usually became a routine, that’s what it was at first, some casual sex with a man who interrupted my quiet ritual of drinking and sober reflecting alone. I should have said the empty seat beside me was taken. From the moment he sat down, he began spurring words that spewed into long sentences that continued into the night. He almost talked me to death that lowly evening at Secret Garden. He took my number that day, after much hesitation from me. I called out the digits in a hurry hoping he would mix them up. Unfortunately he didn’t and he called four times before the next day was over. He also sent a lengthy text that I must admit made me chuckle a bit amidst my tiring day at work. We sat out two more evenings at Beer Barn, a favorite spot he had bragged about the entire time. He did most of the talking, while I was the listener who nodded, stretched the contours of my face into a necessary smile and gave cursory replies of Yes, O!, Really?. And sometimes I was just aloof, stirring at nothing in particular. By the time I saw him one week after, we were in his apartment, talking about Empire, arguing about what not… Cookie is the star of the show, I think Jamal is, his voice is out of this world, but he’s gay. Lol, I see someone is homophobic. Well you might as well hand it to Lucius, I have always had a crush on Terrence Howard from his Best Man days, those eyes though… we continued our desultory chat. Within minutes we were kissing, fidgeting our hands at each other’s chest. I didn’t like the taste of his lips, I could taste the bitterness of the Guinness he had just drank minutes back. I skipped that part by pretending to pull away. He pulled me right back and suspended his arms on my waist firmly and started kissing my ear lobes down the streak of my neck. Then I relaxed, enjoying the seduction of his moist caressing as his kisses orbed my neck. He snapped the buckle of my trousers, sliding it down my thighs. I should have said wait, no, but or something stupid enough to make him pause before he unlaced the ropes of my underwear. The unyielding word I was searching for hung in my throat, drying of sound. As he burrowed his head within my legs, his tongue sliding between my most secret place…He dug his tongue further deep, till my eyes began to blur from tears. My head exploded of a cascading excitement. I moaned his name softly, ‘Jimi’, as the wetness between my legs continued to steam. It’s safe to say Jimi murdered me that night while he pushed my chest against the wall of his apartment, my back peeking out towards him. I screamed to accommodate him within me. At the end, we both yelped in unionism as we climaxed the peak of the night.
This fun routine of ours continues serially for weeks, gradually building into a month. Weeks of optimum pleasure that makes me feel like I wasted seven years of my sexually active life with the wrong guys. Finally I didn’t have to fake an orgasm or let out a rehearsed moan for a man that has climaxed while am still unfolding myself, spreading myself wide to take him all in and there he is, crooning like a sheep lost in a mission. Then at the end he stands up glorious like he’s done the impossible. The impossible here is a sex lacking in both wetness and passion. It’s finally happening to me. This right here is my sexual awakening, I mumble to myself while I lay on Jimi’s bed naked, my breast falling apart from each other. Jimi emerges from the bathroom looking once again all too ready. He’s ready to drive me crazy till I scream his name. After two rounds of sex, my back feels a bit sore but I won’t mind one more for the road. Rather than devouring me, Jimi wants to get all chatty, which am in no mood for. Dude I am not here to talk. I roll my eyes and turn my back against him.
‘You know talking doesn’t take much energy as sex. I thought we could just talk, you tell me something about yourself. Anything. It doesn’t have to be your life’s story entirely’, Jimi says as he tries to get me to face him.
‘Talk about what exactly? I thought we were both down with this routine. It’s just sex dear. Don’t get ahead of yourself. Am not a talker, stop trying to turn me into one.’
I dig out my clothes from the ruffle of mess we both made on the floor.
Two weeks of bad mood. No Jimi. No sex either. Am seriously reconsidering my idea of not mixing sex and words in this rebound phase. Just maybe I could have them both.