THE THINGS WOMEN DO- MEA CULPA

Chinwe, I hope you get to read this, it is about you, though I am not writing it for you. I am writing this confession to make a clean breast of the atrocity you have made me commit in the name of “good neighbourliness”.

I make this confession, aware of what reaction of repulsion it may evoke in my dear friends and family who have trusted me and would have put out their necks in the defence of my uprightness. It was never my intention to the steal apples from another man’s tree, but I found myself eating stolen apple, just to show kindness to a neighbour. I wasn’t just tempted or lured to take and eat, I did what I had to. I make no excuse to say that I was deceived into the heinous crime. There was deceit, I was of sound mind when I did.

Chinwe was my new neighbour, she’d moved into one of the flats in my compound. I never knew who my new neighbour was for two whole weeks, and I didn’t care. I began to care from that Saturday. It was the last Saturday in August, and it was a day set aside for Environment Sanitation- the day enforced by the Lagos State Government for the dirty job of cleaning the gutters by residents in their neighbourhoods. Cleaning the gutters was the task I have taken upon myself, independent of the other members of my residence. Usually, before sunrise I would have fully dredged the brimming gutter and gathered the debris into heaps for evacuation or incineration. That early morning, Chinwe had joined me.

“Good mornin’ o!” I heard as I was raking rubbish into separate heaps of organic and inorganic wastes. I straightened up and turned around to see who had greeted me so familiarly. I saw her: Chinwe- a young woman in her late 20s; up to my shoulder in height; her small head was wrapped in a kerchief, her forehead bared. The forelock of her hair, which was parted in the middle, perfectly framed the prettiest heart-shaped face I ever done seen- the narrow slits of her puffy-lid eyes were graced by eyelashes that I thought were artificial. I like natural eyebrows in women, and that face had two nicely shaped natural eyebrows I was very pleased with. The protruding stub of her nose can not be missed even if you were a casual ogler, I was no casual ogler; I see things when I look, and I saw the inviting fleshy lips too. I kept staring like someone seeing an apparition- Chinwe’s face had that effect on me that instant, but I never got tired of staring at that angelic face afterwards, for the short spell of our romantic affair. Except for the sensual lips, that kind of face could only be seen on masterful paintings of the Virgin Mary.

“Hallo?” She greeted again her eyebrows flicking questioningly, and I jerked out of my reverie.

“Ow! Pardon me, Miss, I couldn’t help staring… You’re very pretty… Do you live here?”

“Yes o, I live in this yard. I yam Chinwe, we are neighbours na” she said, extending a hand to me (for a handshake I guessed)

“Um…ah… call me Christ… pleased to… uh… make your… ah… acquaintance…” I stuttered keeping my soiled hands by my sides, wiping them on the seat of my camouflage work-short shorts. I knew the stench of gutter was still on them. I thought it was not macho to shake a beautiful lady’s hand with soiled hands. So I made the excuse, and her smile broadened wanly, parting her lips to reveal a gap-tooth, and a perfect set of dentition that belong in a billboard or magazine. There was that twinkle in her eyes too. The twinkle stayed there all morning. I liked looking into her eyes , when they weren’t shut away in passionate ecstasy.

“Is ok, shebi we are doing environmenta’ togetha”.

Her Ibo accent was unmistakable. Her accent had this grating sensation in the ear, it wasn’t nice though, but I forgave her because she was beautiful. Her other aspects more than compensated for her phonetic anomaly. She didn’t look the part of one who had come out for gutter-cleaning, and she was not dressed the part at all. The white bath robe she had donned barely concealed the pink, lacey nighties underneath. The cleavage was there for sure- Nighties, always reveal cleavages. The sash of her bath robe came undone one time, and what she had beneath the see-through nightie must have been a Victoria’s Secret or nothing at all. I was to find out later that it was a Thong and She looked great in a Thong. She made me peel it off with my teeth. But before I get to peel her Thong off, she’d pulled the strings aside to let me have a go at her saucy apple pie.

Well, even if I have a sort of repulsion for Mrs(?) Chinwe now, I cannot take it away from her that she is a delectable dish. Everything about her was succulent sweetness (except for the eardrums-killing accents). She has that kind of voluptuous figure a man could find heavenly comfort in, snuggling up to. Between her balloon-like breasts and butty I couldn’t tell which was greater. The sets could have been made from the same material Money-Makers are made from. I could have robbed a bank or sold myself into slavery to put a diamond ring on all that, if Chinwe was not hitched. But she is hitched, as it tuned out, to one Fine Officer and Gentleman.

That Saturday, after the cleaning up excercise, Chinwe had invited me to her apartment where I was entertained all morning-long, the stench of gutter and dirt clinging to me and all. We were there gisting and getting to know. I was sipping on the coffee she made me from a jar of Nescafe™ instant coffee. We had also shared a bottle of, Amarula™, feeding each other some peanuts and some Pringles™and McVitties™ . I was enjoying lots of views around the place. Some adult movies and some magazine that must be kept out of the reach of children. I also saw the colour of her under things, and what the mere strings attempt forlornly to cover.

She made me believe she was an independent woman. I guessed that explained why she could entertain a bachelor in her apartment, half naked and all. I respected that, and did not ask for too much. I never did, but she offered a lot. I took everything she offered, like a good neighbour, giving back in all the ways I could. She showed me her bedroom too, and how the four-poster bed works. I am not a stupid man, I know what a woman wants when she start to be too nice to you- giving and showing you things- pushing you down unto her bed, straddling you- undoing the fly of your shorts and expertly using her mouth to relieve you of the erection that threatens to bust you apart- allowing you to push her to the carpet and releasing a second cumming into her honey pot, after she’d kindly swallowed the first ejaculate- I am not so dumb not to know that her back has to bend downward to give her a great doggy- or to prop her backside with a pile of pillows for a good missionary- I also know enough to kiss like it was the last thing i will ever do before the rapture. I am not so stuck up to pretend I know how sex in the bath is sweet and not willing to learn more- I learnt and I learnt good.

I am not a stupid man to run after other men’s women if they were married. But I am not a saint who is above temptation. I am culpable. And Chinwe exploited my culpability. She lured me with all the things she knew I cannot resist- a pretty face, a great figure, alcohol and a cup of steaming coffee in the morning and an opportunity to explore and learn. How she knew my weaknesses, I don’t know.

Chinwe had hustled me out of her flat at the stroke of 1300hrs, through a back exit in the kitchen. She explained that her Soldier-Hubby was coming over for the weekend, and will be there any minute and she had to clean up the mess we’d made. She’d said to me “I will come to ya flat laita” And shoved me off through the doorway, out of her flat as her doorbell rang.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s