Posted in A Life Less Ordinary

My Aké 2015 Review

I realise this is coming years after the actual festival, but: I lost the initial review due to “technical hitches” so you must take this remake in good faith.
So, this year’s Aké Arts and Book Festival took place at the June 12th Cultural Centre in Abeokuta, Ogun State from 17 -21st November. It was attended by art lovers, writers, (published and blogging), and what I’ll call bold youth courageous enough to question the mundanity of things. It was a forum for discussion of literary, political, educational and somewhat taboo topics affecting the global community. It garnered a lot of support and attendance from across several continents, and was the perfect place to be geeky in a completely comfortable way. If you want to know more about Aké Festival, please go here http://www.akefestival.org or https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=JJlVzqX-ju0

Continue reading “My Aké 2015 Review”

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Posted in Flash Fiction, Randomness

Birthday

laveudafrica.com
laveudafrica.com

It was her birthday, but she wasn’t excited about it.
Somehow, this neighbour of hers with whom she’d only recently begun talking had convinced her to go hang out with him. She guessed it was ok, he seemed funny and he’d definitely drop her off home since he lived a few houses down from her. She smiled sweetly as he pushed his head against hers for another selfie. They were currently in a club, after downing a few bottles each at a popular joint in the heart of town. He pulled her up when his song began to play, and she had to admit, his enthusiasm was infectious. They danced and sweated and drank and laughed until everything became a blur.

They left the club around 3.30am and drove back to the neighbourhood in relaxed, companionable silence. He stopped at his house and offered her some more beers from his personal warehouse. She went in with him. They sat on the couch drinking super-chilled bottles of Snapp, and making fun of the actors in the Nollywood flick on tv.
So where’s your wife sef, in all this, she asked finally. She’d scanned the walls and there was no sign of wedding photos or a wife anywhere.
Hmm, he said, taking a swig from his bottle. She could tell he was stalling, trying to decide whether or not to tell her the truth.
I have a girlfriend, but she’s not here… actually, our parents are hell-bent on marrying us off. There’ll be a family introduction soon.
Ah, that’s nice. She wasn’t surprised, everyone carried more baggage than the cargo hold of a commercial airplane these days.
They continued talking, the gist flowing easily between them. She looked towards him to catch what he’d just said, and suddenly his face was right there. They kissed and it was the most natural thing to have happened. She turned back to the TV, and it was a few minutes before they faced each other again and really kissed. A deep reconnoitre of a kiss that told her; he was a bad boy. He was a very experienced bad boy who had no shame and no regrets. He dragged the breath from her throat and busied his hands with her breasts. He guided her hand to his crotch and her eyes flicked open, a moan of appreciation escaping jaggedly from between her lips, losing itself inside his mouth. He stopped suddenly, laughed and sheepishly said, gosh I have to go pee.
The minute he got up, she drained her bottle, shook her head roughly and grabbed her keys from his centre table. She crept to his front door and let herself out, then set off at a fast trot to her flat.
She was trying to find the key for her screen door when she thought she heard someone coming. Shit! She hastened her search, fit the key in the lock and let herself in. She slammed and locked the door in the nick of time like the classic inappropriately dressed blonde in every horror movie ever.
She heard him walking around the side of the house.
Hey, what’s wrong, I went into the bathroom and you ran away?! What’s going on. His voice was soft and low, to avoid attracting attention from the neighbours.
Why did you leave?
The moonlight and security light from a neighbouring flat allowed her see him frowning at her in concern.
Because… she shrugged limply.
Ok, open the door.
No, I’m not opening this door!
Why!
Because if I do, we’re going to fuck.
She could see his breath catch in his throat, watched him swallow and scratch his head.
Well… so let’s fuck, then!
But you’re committed to someone. I can’t deal with all that.
She didn’t know if it was all that beer finally kicking in, or the effects of the full moon but she felt a familiar mood descend on her and she smiled, wickedly.
She stood directly in front of him, only the sturdy mosquito netting between them. Slowly, she pulled her dress off over her head, and flung it away.
Fuck! He was prowling around outside now, like a dog inches away from his lunch.
Come closer, he rasped, coming to a stop in front of her.
She unclasped her bra and dropped it on the floor, pushing her swollen breasts against the net. He stuck out his tongue and flicked it against her nipples. She pushed her head back and laughed at his very evident frustration. Are you still wearing your panties? He asked.
In answer, she stepped out of her panties, held them up for him to see, then let them drop to the floor. She stepped into a slice of moonlight so that he could see her naked.
Good night, she said, unlocking her front door.
Come back, he hissed. He wanted to yell but couldn’t, because it was late and he didn’t want to be mistaken for a thief or something.
So he stood there paralysed as she went into her house and locked the door behind her. He stood there a while, hoping she’d reappear and yell, sike!
No such luck.
He walked back to his house, glad there was ice in his fridge. He’d need an extra cold shower to survive till morning.

Yours,
@MsMeddle

Posted in A Life Less Ordinary

Fat Girl’s Guide

20-12-2014

The logical thing any (skinny) person will say is, if you’re unhappy with your weight then do something about it. Then the slow motion montage will begin to play with inspirational, heroic music going on in the background. You will see it like it always happens in the movies; young, fat, usually painfully plain girl with no visible skills or talent, suddenly fed up with being the butt (harhar) of mean jokes, takes a stand and decides to change, jogs up and down wearing different coloured t-shirts until she’s suddenly this curvy, lanky, sexy and talented thing. Continue reading “Fat Girl’s Guide”

Posted in Randomness

Plastic

I open my eyes and squint, caught in the shard of violent sunlight sneaking in through the curtain. I wonder, as I often do, what actually woke me up. Like, at what point did my subconscious jerk awake, and why?
I heard my neighbour open a door, heard footsteps and waited for more information so I’d know if it was the husband or the wife. This house is eerily quiet, so quiet I once heard the husband pee, every uneven second of it, up until the shaky fart just before the flush.
I hear the crude sound of a broom dragging along the concrete floor of the compound and I know it’s the wife this time. She’s out for her morning sweep. I wonder why she bothers. The weather is dry and not at all windy. Added to that, we’ve no trees shedding leaves in or around the compound, what the hell does she feel she needs to sweep every damn morning?
It’s like she needs to pretend to her husband and all concerned that she’s a good, hard-working, well brought up woman, or some such shit.
My main issue with her sweeping is the fact that she sweeps the same area every day. Yet, when I come out on the way to work, there’s this same strip of green plastic sitting on the floor; what does she sweep up every fucking day?!
I listen to her absently, as she performs her punishment straight out of Hades; doing the same thing and making no difference and wonder…
I wonder if she has trouble conceiving. I feel she’s doing something wrong as far as sex with her husband is concerned. I think to myself how maybe he’s sexually frustrated, and she’s plain frustrated because she keeps shagging the guy but fails to get pregnant.
And how would she get pregnant with these sweeping patterns, I ask you.
I stretch luxuriously when the sweeping sounds stop, and mentally prepare myself to get ready for the day. When I rush out of my door right in the nick of time, as usual, I sidestep the green plastic in its usual place and sigh deeply.
Who am I to judge this poor woman, I think, hastening my step so I don’t get to work late. After all, aren’t we all like her, going through the motions, with that one aspect of our lives we’re not willing to change?

Yours,
@MsMeddle

Posted in A Life Less Ordinary, Randomness

Turning a New Age, Keeping the Old Leaf

So it was the birthday on Wednesday, and I’ve decided to share some life tips, goals and general updates today. Yes, I’ve grown into a kind, wise and sensitive lady, I know this. 
I’ve stared long and hard at my reflection and am pleased to report no wrinkles. There are a few things I insist on calling laugh lines, but no actual wrinkles for now.
Well, the bucket list of a couple years ago is still there, not that many items have been ticked off it. Many items on that list have become unnecessary to life as well. I’m still pondering the real need to draw up a revised bucket list. 
I have decided to get a house plant which I’ve pre-named Larry. I have deep feelings of affection for Larry and have what I consider a super witty sign to hang around his stem; “Don’t feed the animals.” Of course, none of my neighbours and very few of my friends here will get it, but that’s a post for another day. It is my hope that when I do get Larry, I will remember to water him enough to keep the poor guy alive. The logic behind getting a plant is that I can be an old cat lady without the cats.
Recently, I acquired a pet when I discovered that a female Agama lizard hangs out around my back door to eat flies and other juicy insects. I’ve named her Sally, and usually hail her whenever I pass by. I discovered that she brings a couple of her friends around as well (apparently my pet lizard has a more active social life than I do). I call all of them Sally because I really can’t be arsed to identify and name the others.
Of course, there is the back/waist pain to contend with. I can’t quite recall the last time I had a bath with water out of a bucket that was on the floor. Nah, you gotta elevate the bucket. Reduce incidences of bending over completely and throwing out the old back. I do, after all live alone. Who will fly to my rescue if I’m prostate on the cold bathroom floor, rendered immotile by a malfunctioning spinal cord? Hopefully the mental exercises I do will actually begin to happen at some point, and that will ease out the creaks in my waist.
I’m glad I had a couple videos made of myself dancing my one dance (flexing and twisting my waist in snake like fashion) because these videos comfort me when I have sudden realisations of how old I actually am.
Also, I have pictures stored up somewhere depicting my body in various peak moments. What I’m trying to say is, there is nothing like a young body, no matter how hard plastic surgery tries. That being said, fingers crossed that Dr. Ray comes to Naij and offers HUGE discounts sometime soon.
Um… Lemme see, what else?
Right, love life.
Recently I saw a picture of a jumbled up ball of yarn with the caption “What the hell is happening?” right underneath. Yeah, that sums up that part. Sometimes I get out a really long piece of wool out of that jumble, but… no… wait… darn, it’s all tangled again. So… yeah. Work in progress.
Also I’ve come to observe over the last few months that all the cute guys are babies!!! How did this happen. It’s either Married or Underage, there are shockingly few In-betweens.

As for my hopes?
Well, maybe I should list them, to avoid rambling on. In no particular order:
– Buy a Larry
– Pay Sally and her guys more attention
– Maybe someday go jogging again. Yes, I said “again”, it actually used to happen in the old days, what do you guys really take me for, I’m so hurt by your judgement.
– Be a teensy bit more ballsy when it comes to putting myself out there in life.
– Stop being apologetic for being myself.
– Curse a tiny bit more, I hear it relieves stress and reflects an honest personality.
– Somehow stop people’s daddies from saying inappropriate things to me at work or chatting me pervily on Whatsapp. Curse you, Whatsapp, by the way. Just work on your privacy settings, plix!
– Err… etc, etc, because you guys never get enough of amebo *eyeing you pipu upandan*
As for what I did on the birthday? Oh, you know. Went to work, came back home, was asleep by like 9pm, slept this wonderful, like-a-log sleep straight till morning, so that was great.
Right. I have said too much.

Cheers,
@MsMeddle

P.S.
I’m including that song because it tells me there’s hope; I can still be young and carefree and parry dan mehn, kimon!

P.P.S.
I’m so grateful for my foolishness, and for those who love me; family (they don’t really have a choice :p), friends (those guys could walk away if they want but they’re still here. So touching 😥 ), and the well-wishers, most of whom I don’t know much about…
Anyways, God bless all of youse!

P.P.P.S.
You guys know I’m not really that old, ba? 😦
Please invite me to your parties and sturvs, I’ll totally fit in.
Thanks in anticipation.

Posted in Flash Fiction

Smitten

It’s hard sustaining a relationship these days. Especially as a woman who gets no appreciation for all her sacrifices.
Imagine me forfeiting my sleep (everybody knows I love my sleep) just so I could watch you sleep, and make sure you’re comfortable through the night. Remember that one time you forgot to leave your key under the fake rock by your door like you usually do, and I had to break the glass with my bare hand? One of those cuts needed three stitches, but I didn’t complain.
I never complain.

Continue reading “Smitten”

Posted in Flash Fiction, Jaded Musings

Ex

I decided to clean out an old box of my stuff, you know, burn what I don’t need and look for somewhere better to store the other things.
I found a little plastic bag of photographs, and promptly dropped my good intentions. I spent almost an hour sitting right in the middle of the rubble, giggling at how skinny I was in the photos, and remembering what led up to each of them. Then I saw some pictures of you.
Back when we were dating.
I think I froze for a short while, because… I don’t know, I just froze. And then I began to remember everything. Continue reading “Ex”

Posted in Randomness, Single & Dreaming

Seven Things They Didn’t Tell You About Love

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Premise: you’ll float through life humming your “relationship song” which is mushy and sweet and describes your love perfectly.
Reality: You’ll walk around singing Stereoman’s Sample Ekwe under your breath, because that’s what the guy you love loves.
Sample Ekwe.

Seriously.
(Meanwhile, he was the original Iyanya, lookit some of those moves.)

Continue reading “Seven Things They Didn’t Tell You About Love”

Posted in A Life Less Ordinary, Confessions of a Disturbing Kind

Aisle-land Blues

It was two weeks before her wedding and she was depressed as hell.
It was so hard putting up a smile, so hard concentrating on the last minute arrangements, so hard keeping it together.
It had all started the day she went to pick up her gown. They’d had to make some minor adjustments and fix a tear in the veil, so she went back to the shop to check if it was perfect and take it home with her.
She got into the changing room, put it on and stepped out, feeling every inch a bride to be. Staring at her reflection, she knew she’d made the right choice because the dress looked like it had been made for her, and crowning it all was the cathedral-style veil. Her smile cracked a little, and it was all she could do to keep the tears in until she was back in the changing room, safely hidden from the concerned shop girl’s eyes. It was difficult to cry quietly with a broken heart, but she had no choice because these tears couldn’t wait .
She cried, that kind of release where you’re conscious of nothing else, save how to get the writhing ball of hurt out your body, through your eyes.
She cried till her eyes were swollen shut.
She cried till her chest  ached.
She cried till she was wheezing like one in the throes of an asthma attack.
She cried till she couldn’t breathe and the panic pushed all the blood to her head till it roared in her ears.
She realized that she was on the floor some minutes later, and hoped to God that she hadn’t torn the veil again. She carefully stepped out of the dress and hung the veil over the door. She felt miserable.
She had everything. Her friends and family were super psyched that her big day was coming up, and the excitement in her mom’s house was palpable. The man she was going to promise forever to? Honestly, she could never have imagined a better man on this earth. She loved him so much that when he proposed, her girlfriends had to beg her to cancel the thanksgiving mass she had planned. He was everything. The kind of man she knew would help her be the best person she could possibly become. The kind of man who loved and accepted her as she was. The connection between them was such that he seemed to know when she wanted space and when she needed his arms around her. He was a flawed mortal in all the perfect ways.
And she didn’t want to tell him what was eating at her inside, for fear she’d see that look of hurt helplessness in his eyes. Because there was nothing he could do to change things. Because this time, he couldn’t give her what she craved.
She wanted her dad to walk her down the aisle.
She wanted him to walk in on her getting her makeup done the morning of her wedding, and hear what affectionate, teasing thing he’d say to express how beautiful she looked.
She wanted to look up at him through her veil, and see the love and pride and poorly concealed tears glazing in his eyes as he handed her over to the love of her life.
She wanted him to assure her, as she tried to control the tears, “You’ll always be my little girl.”
She wanted to dance with him.
But she couldn’t.
And she’d never hear him say all those things.
Because he was dead. And nothing could bring him back.
Ever.

P.S.
This year, we “celebrate” twenty years of life without the head of our family. You can read more here.

P.P.S.
May his soul continue to rest in peace.
May God continue to keep my family united in love, and may His favour help us hold on to laughter, even in the face of tears.
Amen.

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Posted in Randomness

I Know I Bashed Your Car, But Have You Eaten?

The question has logical origins, I suppose. We Nigerians have always had near-maniacal levels of hospitality etched in our culture. I mean, you have a guest coming from far away, guest gets to the house by say, 2am. The first thing you ask is, “Have you eaten?” then proceed to offer him a wide array of “light” food to “manage” with. Like pounded yam and afang soup, correct jollof with heavily peppered snail, or the complete package; fried rice, chicken and salad.
You know, stuff one can “manage” by 2am, for quick digestion.
At some point, the hospitality got a bit weird though. Now it’s used in all kinds of ways :s
You get a call, goes something like this;
“Hello? How you dey? Enh? You had an accident?!! You’ve been in the hospital since yesterday? Oh my God. But have you eaten?”
Because food cures everything. Jilted at the altar by your lover of seven years? Tragic story, but have you eaten? Make sure you eat, you’ll feel better. Should we get you pap and akara?
And of course, you know I have to go there, this random post wouldn’t be complete if I didn’t… Nigerian men cannot apologise. Even when they’re obviously wrong, and have had an argument with you spanning three days. When it becomes glaringly clear that he was at fault the whole time, your average Nigerian man will clear his throat, pause awkwardly for a few seconds, then grudgingly ask, “Enh, have you eaten?”
Ladies, sorry to break it to you, but that was your apology. Yeah. Right there. Just take it, and keep praying for patience, not strength. Because if you had strength, you’d have strangled the guy by now.
Same thing with Nigerian parents. You know how you watch Hollywood flicks and you have touching scenes where the parents admit their fault and say sorry to their kids?
Pah!
It is easier for our friend the camel to pass through the eye of a needle, brethren. You can have a quarrel of epic proportions with your parents. Such a huge fight that you are not on speaking terms with them for weeks, and even your siblings pick sides and only talk to you when Mom and Dad aren’t home. Only for your mom to walk into your room one fine afternoon, pretend to read the blurb of the novel on your table, do the awkward cough, then ask “Have you eaten? There is rice in the kitchen.”
This means that all is well again, and she and her spouse have seen fit to leave your name in the will after all. That thing she said is actually equivalent to the turn up arranged for the prodigal son in ancient times.
And of course, the most annoying one. When a guy is struggling to claw his way out of the friend zone, this is all he will ask you. Breakfast time, lunchtime, dinnertime.
Have you eaten?
Have you eaten?
HAVE YOU EATEN??!!
Until a girl gets irritated and insults the guy and he’s all, “But I was only trying to be caring…”
*EYE ROLL*
I liked when it was used to shut down voltrons arguing passionately about something that didn’t concern them in the least on Twitter. After their endless numbered tweets, one calm soul would retweet with, “Yes, but have you eaten?” Meaning; please go quietly away and do things of direct benefit to your existence.
Of course, the “Have you eaten?” question is closely followed by “When will you marry?”
But that’s a post for another day.
In the meantime, it’s already afternoon, and

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Yours,
@MsMeddle

Posted in A Life Less Ordinary, Confessions of a Disturbing Kind, Single & Dreaming

Life, Camera, Toast!

Once upon a very weird Christmas time, an uncle of mine came over, and took me and a couple of my siblings to the zoo. It was a cheesy stab at “family fun”, but it exposed me to…well, the zoo.
So after then, I would go to the zoo from time to time, stare at the animals, give them names in my head and imagine them doing rather Dr. Seuss-like things.
It was a great idea (on paper), because I got to be on my own, cultivate some kind of a personal habit, and just be on my own and think.
It worked only once. Second time I went, I was accosted by this young chap. Senegalese, abi from Niger Republic, I can’t for the life of me remember. He stuck to me like a cow tick in a well fed dog’s fur, and wouldn’t let go.
How I was so beautiful, he was sure I could sing because I had such a lovely voice… Dude sang a couple bars of a song from an album he was allegedly working to drop real soon.
Sigh.
My girlfriend’s bf was competing in that Maltina Dance All show one year, and we all went to cheer the guy on. Seemed like a legit enough thing to do. During a break, I moved away from the “pack” to make a phone call, turned, and there he was. This wet-eyed Igbo boy, offering me a hanky because I was sweating from the heat and excitement inside the hall.
Toh, feeling a large drop of sweat on the cusp of splashing dramatically into my eye, I accepted the hanky and pushed aside thoughts of how weird it all was. And that was how I accepted a major stalker into my life.
There is nothing I didn’t do to shake off that guy, but even at that, it took a few months.
This one time, I was innocently walking from the house to the junction to get a keke. Suddenly I catch sight of a guy and girl standing outside a shop. The girl goes, “Ah, see this fine geh!” and in no time, the guy is coming up after me. Long story short (I never learn, I know this) I give him my number because it’s embarrassing; he has my bag and won’t let go, so passionate is his pleading.
That guy once gave me thirty – something missed calls and like four text messages ranging from “Why won’t you pick up, hope you’re ok” to “I’m very disappointed in you, why would you treat me like this, I’m never calling you again “.
Then he left some more missed calls.
What about when they fixed traffic lights at this roundabout in town here? There I was one bright Saturday morning, perched rather youthfully on a bike, heading to the tailor’s. Now, the light turned red so I was there o, only for me to hear, “Hello, baby, long time.” A slimy smile accompanied this fond greeting, after which the MAN in question proceeded to tell me how I was “his colour”. Mehn, I was Ray Charles to that guy and his teeth until that light changed and I moved on with normal life.
Right from secondary school, there was the (older) guy who’d show up in the mornings with cards and other related love-practices.
Same thing in Uni. The only time I was safe was when I hid in a particular corner of the library…
NYSC camp? Oh God. It was annoying, because I couldn’t be rude to the ones I didn’t like just so I could hang out with the interesting ones, like I would have wanted to 😦
Only last weekend, I asked an electrician to come fix a faulty outlet in my house. Now, I hate having handymen around because, small talk. I will never get the hang of talking for the sake of it, and to strangers, no less. So I hid somewhere with a Charles Dickens and waited for the guy to finish, abegs. I should mention that right when he came in, I was holding a half – finished pure water sachet in my hand. I asked if I should get him some water and your man smoothly took the one in my hand, wordlessly putting the edge I’d been drinking from to his mouth, like a promise… the chills, guys. The chills!
Anyway, your guy finished and I paid him off only for him to ask, just before I closed the gate:
“So… you living in this area, ba?”
You working…where?”
I was all like, hell nah, nicca, and closed the gate behind him.
So far, I’m still waiting for the type I see in Nollywood; that will sweep into my life, wash away my financial and material sins, expose my skin to the best creams and polish me, generally. And all this without thinking to ask for any kind of gratification in return.
In the meantime, though, this one guy said he loves me and he buys me pens from time to time…
That counts, no? 😦

Yours,
@MsMeddle

Posted in Flash Fiction, Single & Dreaming

Forever

Suddenly, Rachel felt extremely shy… It’s not like they hadn’t done this before, but this time it would be different, she just knew it. This time, it’d be more intimate, more of a promise, more forever. So she let the hotel bath robe fall to the floor, then slowly raised her eyes to meet his. Her breath caught in her throat because he was strikingly handsome in this moment. His boyish face filled with a kind of intent expectancy. Plus, the eager I-will-chop-you-raw look in his eyes right now made him so darn hot!
He raised a hand and casually, confidently waved his fingers, beckoning her closer. She took a few unsteady steps and came to a halt right in front of him. Ross was already ready, in every sense of the word. He was naked and damp from his shower, his D at half mast, in honour of the bountiful goodness of the land awaiting his pillaging. He reached up and cupped her left breast, moulding it gently in his palm, his thumb and forefinger rubbing on her nipple like it was a magic lamp. Her lips parted in acknowledgement of his ace move, her right arm reaching out to tweak his right nipple, the sensitive one. He pulled her down and kissed her on the lips, a kiss that wrought out a ragged moan from him. A kiss that took her years back, to that first breathless kiss all those years ago. Yet here they were, still eager, still knowing how this would end yet nervous nonetheless.

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Holding his gaze, she firmly pushed him back on the bed, then dropped to her knees between his legs. Her smile was one of wicked enjoyment when she saw the dewy drop of precum spilling out of him. Using only her eyes to touch him, she lowered her mouth fractionally until she swallowed him into her mouth. The groan he let out was tortured; pleasure, impatience, the need for more, and a desire to make this last. She wondered if it made her a sadist, the fact that she enjoyed toying with him this much. His next move was unexpected.
She had her eyes closed, and her tongue languidly stoking the length and width of him when he sat up, grabbed her by the waist, turned her around and lay back down. The implication was, while she continued molesting him orally, he could now do the same to her. It was an evil plan because now she couldn’t keep still and interrupted her ministrations frequently to scream out. She was almost sure she felt his lips against her lower lips, curling into a smile whenever she screamed.

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Rachel was soggy as a dish rag and quite frankly needed more, so she flipped around until she was straddling him and looking into his eyes. Those eyes that had done everything imaginable to her. Eyes that had stripped her naked, flashed with anger, crinkled with laughter, widened in appreciation, latched on in serious attention, rolled in exasperation and winked in a shared joke countless times. Those eyes closed momentarily now as she lowered her wetness around his thickness, sloooowly, until there was no more of him that wasn’t inside of her. He opened his eyes and chewed on his lower lip, his hands on her hips guiding her up and off, then pulling her sharply back onto him.
She rode him slowly, her body tilted back, eyes closed and hands cupping her breasts as she bounced up and down. He hugged her to himself, then rolled her over until he was on top and her legs were wrapped around his waist. He stroked her hair and caressed her face as he drove into her gently, whispering any and everything that came to mind. His heart rate quickened when her breathing became more and more ragged, then peaked in an uncultured shriek. Her body froze, eyes closed, mouth open, he felt the heat of the liquid coming out of her and he lost it then. He exchanged his gentle strokes for rough, hard, irregular ones, and soon he too had his eyes closed and animal growling mode on fleek.
He rolled onto his back to allow her rest on his chest, the light from the open bathroom glinting softly off their matching silver wedding rings.

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Yours,
@MsMeddle