MAGICAL MONDAYS WITH 'KREATE'

CHAPTER XII

Sumbo

***

‘I’m glad someone has finally been able to make you feel like a woman again,’ Akin said with unmasked happiness. 

‘Don’t be cheeky. I am a woman. Always been.’

‘Sure. When last have you been on a date, hey?’

 I ignored his sarcasm. ‘I invited him over tonight,’ I said into my mobile phone.

‘So soon?’ he asked incredulously. 

‘Opportunities should be exploited.’ For some reason he chuckled. ‘I really would like to meet the guy that has made you Miss Spontaneity.’ His voice turned serious.

‘Be careful, will you?’

‘Yes, Big brother. How’s Beatrice?’ Akin had been spending time with Beatrice, the English brunette from Edna’s birthday.

The tone of his voice became grim. ‘Fuck, Sumbo. I think I have got feelings for her. Perhaps it’s a rebound feeling. My divorce is only a few weeks old, for Christ’s sake.’

This was the second time he used the F-word. It reminded me of his demeanor when he informed me about the separation from his wife: Helpless. ‘Does she feel the same way?’

‘I believe she does.’

‘Then let nature take its course, and stop worrying,’ I stated.

‘Besides, I like her.’

‘Whatever you say, boss.’ 

His tone had regained its humor so I assumed my word had struck the intended cord. ‘Well, I’ve got a guest in a couple of hours. I’ll keep you posted.’

‘You’d better,’ he replied. And the line streamed into stasis.  Tubosun would be here in a couple of hours. I went to the kitchen, opened the shelf underneath the sink and rolled out the small wooden mortar used for pounding yam. I reached blindly for the pestle and retrieved it. Joyously, I whistled a tune while fastidiously examining the two, and then concluded they were still functional. I knew the other items were present but double-checked for certainty. Yams – check. Vegetables – check. Palm oil – check. Assorted meats – check. Spices and seasonings – check. Juices and red wine – check. 

I was looking forward to dinner. But I was also slightly on edge. The doorbell rang and it sent my heart pumping flustered blood. He was on time. I took one last look at the dining table and was satisfied with the layout of the dishes. I unhinged the latch and pulled the door to a grinning man. He looked fetching in a grey knitted turtle-necked sweater, faded blue jeans, and red snickers. 

‘The blue dress suits you,’ he said, checking me out, ‘and I now feel a tad underdressed.’

‘Don’t be absurd.’ He was underdressed but I didn’t mind.

‘My Oh My! I see you are responsible for the aroma I perceived a mile away,’ he said, twitching his nose.

The action reminded me of a rabbit. I couldn’t hold back the urge to chuckle. ‘Guilty, Bugs Bunny. Please come in,’ I said, still laughing, and ushered him in, then closed the door. 

‘You have a lovely place here,’ he said as I ushered him through the passageway into my small living room.  ‘I try,’ I replied. ‘Dinner is set.’ I said and pulled the cotton over the wooded arc that led to the dining room.

 ‘Wow.’

I could tell he was impressed from the gaze he gave the table, and it gave me a warm sense of achievement. 

‘Have a seat,’ I said.  As he sat down, I served the meal. Words were not exchanged as we ate and drank in the placid atmosphere of the room. The only sound came from utilized cutleries and gulping throats. I liked the way he ate with his hand, neglecting the cutleries at his disposal; there was something supremely manly about it. Or perhaps my nervous, magnetic attraction to him had clouded my perception.  When our eyes met, I blushed and he smiled. 

He wiped his mouth with a napkin. ‘That was a lovely meal, and I would have belched in satisfaction if I were at home,’ he announced jovially.

Somehow, I knew he meant the compliment. ‘I’m glad you like it. Did it measure up to your expectations?’ 

‘Surpassed it.’ He pushed the chair back and stood up. ‘May I use your sink?’

‘Please do.’ 

I was done eating too so I started clearing the table. He joined me when he returned, without asking for permission.  We cleared the table and placed its contents on the kitchen’s worktop. I grabbed a bottle of wine and two glasses from a shelf in the kitchen cabinet and led the way to the sitting room.

‘So what part of Nigeria are you from?’ I asked, uncorking the wine as he settled into the long sofa. 

‘Ogun,’ he replied. ‘You look Osun. I’m right, aren’t I?’

I poured some wine into a glass and handed it to him. ‘Ondo actually,’ I replied, picking the other glass from the round stool beside the sofa. I repeated the wine process, settled the half-filled bottle on the stool and sank into the same sofa, tipping a spot of wine on my dress in the process. ‘Drat.’

He laughed. ‘Sorry. That was mean of me.’

‘I don’t mind.’ I loved his eyelashes. Men usually had pretty eyelashes but his was something else. ‘So what do you do at the moment?’ I asked and then realized the vagueness of the question. ‘Work, I mean?’

‘Did I misread this situation?’ he asked, grinning. It was charming and his voice seductive. ‘I thought you were intent on seducing me?’ I downed the remaining contents of my glass. My heart was racing again, and my grip on the wine glass weakened so I settled it on the stool. When I met his gaze, his eyes now looked enchanting. He had completely surprised me with this direct question. I didn’t know he had it in him, given our previous encounters. If the desired effect was a turn on, he had succeeded.

Did I want to seduce him? Did I want to be seduced? It occurred to me that I hadn’t considered this. Now that it crossed my mind, I knew it was what I wanted. I wanted to be kissed. I wanted to be closer to those eyes with terrific brows. I wanted his hands on my bare skin. I wanted what came next.  I matched his gaze unwaveringly but uttered nothing. My chest was heaving now to an invisible rhythm.  He slowly settled his empty wine glass. ‘I want to be seduced,’ he said, leaning closer and closer, like a deft lion closing in for a kill. 

When he was within reach, his fingers caressed my cheek. They were cold but that they felt like ice on flesh running on sexual fuel. Like a douse of refreshing, cold water after a heated summer afternoon.  And then his lips touched mine. At first, I did nothing, only savoring the tender sensation of his lingering, soft lips on mine. And then I could feel him pulling back. Afraid that he misread my hesitation for disapproval, I opened my lips and took his upper lips in mine, my hands wrapping around his neck. Then I pulled him in so that his chest was pressing against my bra, his heartbeat in sync with mine.  Our kisses were steady and unhurried, like aristocrats kissing publicly. Then horse hoofs in our chests began galloping and I wanted him to explore the depths of my yearning. My lips parted and my tongue was offered. He took it with virile dexterity, slowly sucking in and out, the breath from his nostrils now in waves of excitement.

Suddenly, he stopped and pulled back. His spelled, lusty, pearly eyes gazed into mine. He wasn’t smiling now. Everything about his face had culminated into raw desire. To be wanted like that, and by him, made me feel like a woman. Perhaps Akin had been right with his earlier statement: …make you feel like a woman again. I realized that I was now lying on the sofa. The faint sound of someone’s phone ringing from a distant location played through my ears. But he ignored it and I wouldn’t have had it any other way. 

He advanced again. This time he didn’t go for my lips, but for the upper curve of my right breast. A moan escaped my lips as he kissed one and then moved to the other. My nipples were alert now as electrical currents permeated the scarlet veins of my boobies. I could feel the hot thickness of the man between his thighs lightly brushing my moist sex. I wanted him. I wanted him to take me now. Please take me now! And then out of the blue, he stopped, grunted and pulled back. I couldn’t fathom the rationale behind this. All was going well. And then the sound of my phone came to life, growing louder until it was blaring like an annoying car honk. The ring tone indicated that it was mine.

Tubosun scrambled off the sofa. ‘You had better get that.’ He was smiling now. I swore below my breath, making no effort to mask my disgruntlement as I fetched my phone from the dining room. The number was unknown. I touched the receiver icon and placed it over my ear.

‘Hello,’ I said peevishly.

My eyes widened and I recoiled slightly as the voice at the other end relayed her message. Akin had just been in an accident and had sustained minor injuries. I had to get to the hospital right away. 

‘Is everything alright?’ Tubosun asked. He was looking handsome at the entrance of the dining room.

‘A friend of mine has just been in an accident but his injuries are minor thank goodness.’

I watched as the calm in his eyes changed to dread, something registering at the back of them. He was my friend and I wasn’t half as scared as this guy.

‘I’ve got to go.’ 

I was bemused. ‘Hey, he’ll be …’

He interrupted, ‘I have to go’.

Tongue-tied, I watched him disappear through the passageway, the sound of a shut door followed afterward. What just happened?

Kreate is a budding Nigerian writer with a flair for fiction. Writing for him began sometime in secondary school where he dabbled in poetry and plays. He has authored two self-published short novels.
He is a banker and lives in Surulere.