chapter 12
She turned up the volume of the woofer just so they could hear Lionel Richie. Her home seemed to have given her some comfort and freedom, as she pulled up a move or two that impressed Kwame a lot.
The smirk on his face was a silly tempt.
Now that they were in the confines of a house, Ana's body was going out of control and she asked herself if he felt the same. She needed to keep her legs close. Her heaviness was weighing her bra down and she fought miserably not to take them off. Her waist and thighs did a great job holding down the position of her intimate things. At a particular point, she looked up at him in total defeat, she had failed miserably to her feelings and emotions.
'Ana,' Kwame zeused and collided his forehead gently against hers. She felt like Hera all of a sudden.
Their noses kissed.
'Up there in your room, awaits a chaste bed that has never squeaked to any intimate deed, neither has it heard your moans in decades.' She thought she heard him talk. 'Baby girl, let me take you upstairs.' Ana wanted to scream HALLELUJAH! She was losing her mind. Her lungs were failing her badly, but cold air from nowhere passed on her nose, which reminded her that reality and trance were worlds apart. She had left the world to non-existence. When she emerged from her disorganized thoughts, they were still dancing. Lucky for Ana, he was not staring. A killing disappointment engulfed her.
What in the world is happening to me?
Vodka had after sometime become uncontainable. Kwame needed to retire to bed. Too weak to move a leg, she helped him to his feet. Kwame was a building. She did not have that strength, so she decided to plonk him on Joe's bed. At least his room was closer than any room in the building.
When she finally did, she removed his shoes, loosened his tie, and a few buttons. After his tie, Ana was stuck. She could not move her sight from light pink colored, parted lips. He was fast asleep. If she went ahead to taste the rarity that hang on his lips, he would not sense a stimulus. She swallowed and scanned around, forgetting she was in her own house and they were the only people. She passed her hands on her face and settled them on her lips. She shrugged and left his side. She looked at him for the last time before she turned out the light and exited the room.
She made herself some tea, with a couple of glances at the direction of Joe's door. She could not believe that she could feel how she felt after all these barren years. She buried herself in her thoughts a few times and only realized that time was far spent when she emerged from them.
When she was about sleeping, she recounted all the euphoria that she shared with him. She went bananas with laughter all alone in her bed, wriggling and turning in her recollected peaks of their thrill.
She felt in love again after a long-time.
Lost time enjoyably been made up for. She prayed nothing went wrong between them. The last thought on her mind before she fell asleep was him. She convinced herself that she was the last image on his mind before he also slept, though he was drunk.
That night was fast, probably because she did not sleep early. She woke up and the first mental picture on her mind was Kwame. She needed to check him on if he was fine. She descended the stairs in high spirits and elate, the sources of her state, most obviously from the previous night.
She knocked but there was no response. It was first light so it was possible he was still not up. Maybe she should not have forced him to drink, but would he have been that romantic and crazy if not for the drink? She just wanted to know if he had no headache or serious hangover. She knocked again and it was just as silent as the first. After the third unresponsive knock, she decided to enter. She opened the door and the first sound she heard was music. Kwame had turned on the radio. Apparently he was up already. She cocked her head in and found that he was not on the bed.
Has he left to his house without a goodbye?
She came in and closed the door but did not lock it. She now took inquisitive steps. Blinded by love and ecstasy from the previous night, she turned to the right.
What her eyes saw bounded her to the spot.
Sweet fruits of Eden! she exclaimed in thought.
Her mouth run dry and the muscles of her stomach clenched in spellbinding reflex. She was looking at the eighth wonder of the world.
It was a golden opportunity on a silver platter.
And from her position, she needed to leave before he turned around; in the stew stood Kwame, with suds skating down every sinew and muscle of his. The golden lights made him gleam like a god, and she wanted to worship him with her all. Coincidence had also brought her to the room braless. There were abnormal fluctuations in the pleasure centres of her brain. Her nightie appeared as if they were being drilled at the breast region. A voice told her to tear her dress apart and join him. She moved a step closer, her eyes were seeing stars and golden clouds.
Kwame stopped the shower. When he began towelling off, he thought he saw a shadow in the room.
'Ana?'
There was no response.
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