It was obviously not the first time we were making love, or should I sincerely say making out- and it certainly wasn’t the first time she was all over me like I was about to go on exile. But something was very different this time. Unlike the other times where I would just get bored, and maybe ask to be excused, this time I was exasperated and unequivocally astonished at the way she had started the whole process or more like routine.
Firstly, I am not really a guy that’s into the whole long time thing, and if I must stay in bed with a lady for more than 30 minutes, it must be that I have nothing else to do, or that I needed maybe about another five hours to think of the most hideous thing I had just done. Some find it annoying, most especially those for whom because of natural mistakes have been in such positions with me more than twice; others just have concluded that I cannot last long. I really haven’t found it necessary to concern myself with the assumptions a hit and run makes, all I think about is the next in line- like ‘who’s next?’
Secondly I get easily sick of too much closeness, or should I just say, I get scared knowing that someday I would have to show concern to whomever I shared my bed with more than twice. Not because I do not possess the material or physical skills or as my people would call it ‘well without’, but this I have decided to adopt basically because I at one point have concluded that no lady is worth my worries.
But this like I said earlier was different. It was the exact kind of love making I had read in one of those American romance novels, and it was really breathtaking. At a point I could feel my legs getting weak, then my heart seemed like it skipped a beat, and another time my eyes were beginning to get pale and I started to see blurred lines. She had gone down on one knee like she was about to propose, but the difference was that my shorts had to go down, and she didn’t recite any memorized wordings or even say a word, she touched me, and I started to feel blood run through every part of my body, so fast like I had taken in too much sugar.
‘What are you doing?’ ‘Wow!!!’ ‘Common’ I had started to speak different things almost at the same time. I was in another world, I was in cloud ten, and I wished I never came back to earth, especially now that I started to feel like I was been elevated, and my legs were no longer on the ground. Countless times I look down to understand the magic she was doing, countless times I had urged her never to stop. At one point I threatened to burn her if she stopped, she looked up with a fearful face but she still managed to say she would never, despite having a huge and important part of me inside her food consumption channel.
‘So there is more to love making than making love?’ I though in my lost and filthy mind.
How on earth did this come about, and how in human history was this act of total bewilderment discovered? It was like showing a child how to fly a kite, I was so ecstatic and filled with awe. The kind of pleasure I got that day was a life changing one, and it seriously has over the years consumed and overtaken my sense of judgment that I now seek any female not minding the age who will satisfy me. I lure the young ones, and the older ones who would do anything for money always come in handy, but what shocks them most is my desire not to lay in bed all through the service period, but to be taken into a realm that alternates the feeling one gets while been tickled with a feather. Never caring, never minding the consequences, or the harm it might probably cause to my supposed preys.
Five years after I adopted that route, turning back seemed like a very lame thing to do. What exactly I benefitted after the whole act is one thing I just couldn’t comprehend-because I noticed that special feeling, that cushion and sweet experience ends immediately the female detaches from your object of life formation. So why the stress?
I stopped lying down because it didn’t leave a lasting feeling on me, and my search for something that last propelled me to like the oral part of intercourses. Countless nights went and I couldn’t find a way of making sleep my buddy. I started to slim down, I felt foolish, I felt cheated because what I indulged in couldn’t satisfy me. And so I continued my search, my search to what satisfies, my search to that kind of feeling that stays like a leach sticks. And so I started a new search, I vow never to relent until I find that which satisfies, that which leaves more lasting stints, that I hope to find where it is, that I know I will find because those who have seen say it does exists, and yes they say I can find it anywhere. I am so excited, because unlike how I make them look foolish and sweetly talk them into something that last for just a while, what I seek I hear is capable of making me foolish, just so I am able to find it for life, and find that which although eyes haven’t seen, but I sure know I will be convinced when truly and really find God.
Years gone and I have enjoyed a sweet romance with him, more like a highly classified sort, one that leaves me numb, wanting more, and highly satisfied. Every moment, every section, every time we spent together, has always be one that leaves me hungry for more. For the first time I found a partner I can have more than twice, one I never can’t stop admiring, and one I can never bored of, or give an excuse as to why I have to leave the room. I found that which I searched for, I found him who would always be there, and never judge my disposition.