by Bitsi Shar
I stretch downwards to kiss him but all I can taste is myself. Not sure if I think I smell and taste sweet. But, hey, each to their own. And who am I to complain if the guy I like thinks I have the best smelling cunt in all the world. More happy orgasms to me, I say! I am flipped again and he has officially entered me again.
“Ouch!” I protest. My vagina is sore, tight, and not accepting any further entries. But obviously he didn’t get the memo. He is bare!
“What are you doing? You are not wearing a condom!” My protest voice sounds too weak to me.
“No, I am not. I just wanted to be bare in you, baby. Just skin on skin. You feel beautiful, beautiful.”
“Don’t worry, I will be careful. I know how to be careful. I just want to stay inside you for as long as I can without spilling.” So he stays in, keeping my cunt warm and juicy. As I drift into a second sleep, I feel him slowly leave me. I feel bereft suddenly but am too tired to protest. I sleep.
I feel warm again, inside and out.
“Good morning, beautiful.” His voice is a whisper in my ear. I resist waking up for this is stuff straight off the pages of a mills and boons romance.
“Hi.” I say without turning my head to look at him. It comes out as a croak. I don’t have a morning voice, I realize or maybe it’s the him-affect.
“You want some more shut-eye baby?” He whispers again.
“No,” I say ignoring what my body is asking for “more sleep, more sleep.”
“Good. Do you want to make love for a while? I feel this need, you see, to put my cock in you, in your warm, juicy cunt right now. I know you want it too. I know how much you like it. Let me make you happy baby. Daddy really wants to make you happy again.” My body went into high alert at “good.” Now sweat was pouring out from every orifice in my body. My body was practically weeping.
“Yes, no? What baby? What are you thinking?” I manage a slight nod of my head.
“Is that a yes?” He prods.
“Yes.” I croak.
“Good girl.” He slowly turns me. My eyes remain shut.
“Baby, look at me.” I try but my eyes are really jammed tight. He gently pries them apart for me. His face is just above mine, his eyes are boring in as if trying to see the other side of my soul. I am sure a part of it was bared already to him since last night.
“Hi there, beautiful.” My smile ought to be tremulous.
“You afraid of something, baby?”
“No.”
“You’ll tell me if you are, right?”
“Yes.”
“And you really don’t need to be afraid of me, baby . .”
“Ok.”
“ . . . or my dick.”
“What?!”
“Just making sure you were listening.”
Dammit, he has a sense of humor. This is killer. I am in grave danger—of falling in love with him.
And before I can think another word, he has slid inside of me, bare and hard. I must have been totally juiced up not to feel him slide in that fast, so easily.
“Oh, baby, you feel so good, so good,” he exclaims as he hooks one leg of his shoulder to drill in deeper.
I must be like the longest tunnel in the world for his longest in the world penis to slide through and fit like a glove! I was full, blissfully so. So close to a morning orgasm that I never experienced but only read of. Now I was on the verge.
I thought I was a good minute away from it when I saw him unhook my leg from his shoulder, spread my legs as if I were a frog, get into a squatting position while still inside me and get into a slow slide in and out of me. It was so erotic, this amalgam of positions and movement that I nearly came from it.
And then he gathered his spit on his index finger, lots of it, trickled it over my nub and began to rub it with an urgency—all this while slowly pumping me.
“Oh, daddy.” I couldn’t help it.
“Yes, baby. You like what daddy is doing to you? You be a good girl baby. Daddy likes to fuck his little girl. Mommy isn’t here today. So we can fuck as much as you want. I want to make my baby feel good. I want my baby so much. You keep daddy so hard. Your tight little pussy keeps daddy hard baby, all the time. Sometimes I think of stripping your panties and have you sit on my dick in my office while I work and you finish your homework. You are my good girl. Such a good girl. Look, how you spread so well for daddy. Not even a protest. You know how to please your daddy, don’t you? Who taught you to behave like a little slut, baby? Is it me? Is it my cock? You like me inside you baby, don’t you? Tell me.”
He smacks my bum. Not too hard just enough to sting a little. My body jerks off the bed at the contact. No one has ever smacked me. And no one has every called me a good girl or himself daddy. He smacks me on the right bum now and the next second I am getting to my sweetest spot.
“C’mon, baby, come for daddy. You are the best little girl with the tightest cunt, the juiciest cunt ever. Daddy loves you, baby, so much!” And there it is. I come.
My body roars off the bed as my vagina climaxes into million shards of beauty.
“That’s right, baby. Good. Keep it coming, baby. Daddy loves his little girl. He does. You are the best little girl ever. Give it to Daddy. Take all you can from daddy. Squeeze daddy’s dick baby. Take all the pleasure you want. Take it, baby.” His words just keep the orgasm coming through the tunnel, shaking its wall to the core, cracking in some places I am sure. I don’t know how long I am in a state of sheer Nirvana but when the storm starts to abate, I pass out.
I have lost track of time—my dreams have no context, no temporal hook, no conscious meaning. My dreams come in many colors and no shapes. Suddenly from flying headlong from the top of a familiar staircase, I am now floating wearing those diaphanous floating materials that I have seen other worldly creatures wear in their flights of fancy, disorienting the mere mortals.
And a voice keeps saying softly, “Hey, baby. Welcome back.” I open my eyes. He is still here.
His voice comes back, “Hey, baby. You passed out on me. Welcome back!”
“Sorry,” is the only word I can muster.
“Don’t be sorry. What are you saying sorry for?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then don’t.”
“Ok.” He smiles as he stares at me for a second before loudly kissing my forehead. I giggle. He pulls back to check if the giggle really came from me. I giggle again to confirm. He smiles and proceeds to kiss my forehead again and again and again as if I am the child and he the parent taking absolute delight in this silly activity. I keep giggling and he keeps kissing. Till he reaches my mouth. His tongue slides in. I resist, horrified for him finding out how foul my mouth smells in the morning. I turn my face to the side. He pulls it right back to align with his waiting mouth. I turn it to the other side and he again pulls it back. I try again. This time he is ready. He keeps my face still, gives me the look that stills me, and then slowly covers the half-inch distance between our two mouths. His tongue wars with mine as he goes in deep, trying to suck all that is foul or not so foul inside of my mouth.
He rolls his kisses making loud sucking sounds every time he turned left into this full roll. He intersperses his kisses with tiny bites on my lips—just tiny but sharp enough to shoot through the core of my being. And I am yet to be fully awake! Suddenly my stomach rumbles, loudly. He stops and I am fully awake now. He pulls back and looks at me. And we both laugh out loud.
“Ok, time to get you fed. I wouldn’t want you passing out from lack of nourishment and too much sex. That would be so wrong.”
“Right. But I don’t have anything at home. So might need to go shopping or order in. I don’t know where or how to order in breakfast, though.”
“Do you have eggs and bread?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Then two breakfasts coming up.”
“What?”
“You heard me. Go do what you need to as part of your morning ablutions. I’ll go make breakfast. We can eat in
bed. Go.”
He smacks me hard on my bum as he hauls himself out of bed and saunters to the kitchen butt naked.
Thank god the man has the best-looking ass in town and looked good sauntering.
Thank god for butt mercies.
Thank god, period.
I walk to the bathroom butt naked too but no one is watching me. But I feel and know I look good, at least this morning of all the other mornings since I came of age. I splash my face with cold water, instantly coming awake. I feel like a shower, feeling all hot and sticky and achy.
“Breakfast is ready, your highness!” He calls out.
Okay, no shower then. Breakfast is ready. I walk out the bathroom expecting to see two plates of somewhat together eggs and nothing else. No Indian man knows how to cook. He doesn’t either, I have assumed naturally.
I still.
On the side table, next to the bed, I see two plates of perfectly cooked omelets (!), two slices of braised tomato slices each (!), two perfectly browned toasts each, with cheese slices and butter on the side. There are two teas and two glasses of orange juice to round off a perfect offering. This is unreal. He couldn’t have. He didn’t. Did he?
“Did you order in?” He looks offended.
“Babe, ordering in would have taken at least thirty minutes. No, I didn’t order in. I know how to do eggs and the rest was just organizing and pouring and presentation. Voila!”
I feel frozen. I am unable to move or respond.
“Babe?” Still nothing.
“Babe!” This time I connect to his eyes. He looks concerned.
“Sorry, I wasn’t expecting a full spread. This is . . . nice. Thank you.” I choke out. He still looks concerned when he walks up the two steps separating us to tilt my face up to brush off a tear that has apparently fallen unbiddingly to my cheek. Damn! He takes the teardrop, looks at it like it’s the most fascinating thing in the world, and then looks at me as he licks it away into his mouth. I shudder. He pulls me in his arms before burying his head into the side of my neck. My eyes are closed, my body is again wound out, and I am not sure what movement means anymore.
He suddenly looks up to whisper “let’s eat” and we both squat on the bed with our plates. We dig in. What does a hunger-ravaged stomach want but a magical spread of everything you haven’t lifted a finger to make! I don’t even look up from my devouring. I know if I do I might freeze again. That would totally ruin my hunger and a plate of very good food would go wasted. That would indeed be a total shame. So I continue till the last morsel has settled into my stomach. Only then do I look up. There he is looking at me. His food only half-eaten. He is slowly sipping his orange juice. I feel like I am an object of contemplation and inquiry—like he is trying to figure me out or if he had, to solve another puzzle that I might have presented him with regarding the breakfast issue.
“What?” I decide to be rude to hide my nervousness.
“Nothing.”
“I know its not nothing. Why are you staring at me this way?”
“What way?” “I don’t know what way. You know what way because you are looking at me in that way.” He suddenly smiles.
“Come here, babe.”
“Why?”
“Come here, baby.”
“No.”
“I said, come . . . here”
“Don’t need to.”
“Come here, baby, I need you to.”
I say nothing, stubbornly refusing to go to him. He sighs, sets his plate down, reaches an arm’s length, grabs my hand, and pulls me very easily to him. I kind of fall into his lap, quite inelegantly. I hate inelegance even in emotional skirmishes that are by definition inelegant.
“That was so ungentlemanly.” I scoff.
“Then you should have come to me when I asked you to.”
“I am not your pet poodle, you know, who jumps every time you ask it to.”
“Oh, baby, you are definitely my pet, not a poodle though. I hate poodles. They are ugly. You are too beautiful. There is no comparison.”
I am desperate to smile but too stubborn to let it show. So I bite it down.
“Ok, baby. Enough is enough. Let it go. This is just you and me. You have to let me in. You have to let me say things to you without you going into a huff and puff.”
“Huff and puff? What are we playing? Thomas the train?” I can’t help exclaiming and then I burst out laughing. It is a release and a relief to let it all out. I slowly become hysterical. I lie on my back laughing like I can’t stop. He is suddenly over me, trapping me with his hardness. I stop immediately. My breath sticks in my throat at the wild expression on his face. His kiss this time is not gentle at all. It is fierce. It is abrasive. It is rude. It hurts. It is meant to hurt. It hurts. When he is done expending his emotion on my innocent lips, he lifts his face ever so slightly and speaks.
“Babe, I am giving you this straight. I am into you. I am so into you that I can’t see straight sometimes. I have bided my time with you. I have waited, patiently. Now that I know that you are indeed what I fantasized you to be, I want more. Hell, I want everything. I want us to be exclusive. I don’t want you dating anyone, not even think about anyone else. I am yours and you are mine. This is how it is going to be for some time to come. We’ll take it minute-by-minute, day-by-day. We’ll take it slow but not too slow, ok? You feel the need to speed it up, we will. You want me to tone it down, I could do that, for you. Anything for you, babe. Anything. I am not sure how this all happened but we are here now. I am all in, if you are. I sincerely hope that you are. I really want to give us a bloody good start and see where we end up, finally. I will tell you this now. I cannot predict the future. I cannot predict what might or might not happen. But then I never imagined this would happen—you and me. But it did and here we are in your bed, me kissing you senseless and you accepting it like you didn’t care for anything else but my lips. I want us to learn each other—to know each other’s bodies, what pleases us, what doesn’t, what times of the day, what times of the night, what positions, what combination of positions, what words, what food, and the list is endless. But I want to know baby. You have talk to me, let me in, tell me what you need every step of the way. I cannot read your mind. And neither can you read mine. So we have to share what we are thinking. No holding back. If we are to be happy, we have to communicate. The rest will fall into place. Are you with me?”
I am speechless. I think I can feel a lump growing in my throat.
“Are you with me, sweetheart?” he repeats, softly this time.
I nod.
“Okay.” He lets out a huge sigh—as if he was holding it all in for the longest while. He smiles—it is all dazzling and all consuming.
I smile back but tears have gathered in my eyes so he is all hazy and blurry.
“Don’t, baby. I hate to see you cry. I am sorry to have laid it all out so thick and so quick on you. But I needed to get it all out before I left here today. I needed you to know so you had the chance to decide for or against us. It was a chance I had to take and I am so happy that you want this as much as I do. This is going to be so good, babe. You and I will have the best time of our lives. Like I said, minute-by-minute, day-by-day. Ok?”
Before I could agree, the house phone rang. Neither he nor I moved. It was all so anti-climatic. Finally, on the fourth ring, I pushed at him to get off me so I could go see who it was. He just rolled to the side, put his hands behind his head and watched me pick up the phone. I gave him my back as I said hello.
“Hello, Bitsi? Bitsi, please if he is there give him the phone. Its an emergency.”
It was his brother! How did he get this number? Did he know we were together? He said it was an emergency. Okay, all the other questions could wait.
“Hey, its your brother. He says its an emergency.”
He is on his feet and at the phone in a nanosecond. I step away from him to give him his privacy. I go sit on the sofa in the living room as he finishes his call. Instead of walking up to me
, he returns to the bedroom and starts packing his stuff. I am concerned. I walk to him.
“Hey, what happened?”
“I need to get home. I need to take care of something like now.” His lover persona has disappeared. He is all business.
“You don’t want to say?”
“No.”
That’s it. He is on a different autopilot now. He is ready in ten minutes. He kisses me on the forehead and leaves. I am standing in the middle of the room, not understanding what happened in the space of fifteen minutes. How did we go from love confessions to emergencies? Life had turned on a dime. I wasn’t even sure which side the dime would fall, if it did at all. It didn’t look good.
There was no temporal gap between him expressing himself and the call. How could that be a good sign? The universe reacted so antithetically. I hadn’t made sense of the first offering when the second was presented so unexpectedly. It was not a good sign. I forced myself to move. I needed to do something. I could hardly wait for him to call me. God knows how long that would take or if at all he would do so.
I switched on the TV. I needed noise in the house. I needed voices. It was too quiet for my liking. Lata’s singing brought some calm. It distracted me. Suddenly, there was a news flash, “Bomb explodes in downtown Lajpat Nagar. 20 dead and many others injured.” Oh! Shit. Another one of those random bombings. This is crazy. I watch the carnage on the screen. I couldn’t after a minute. So I switched off the TV. No point in changing the channel since every channel was reporting the same thing.
I got busy with laundry, cooking, cleaning. I gave myself no freedom to think about what had happened some hours ago. At around 6 p.m. I decided to call my mom. She was happy to hear from me. We chatted about inane family matters when she said, “Have you heard?”
