By Emdee David
The real meal of love
There are hundreds of sensitive nerve endings and blood vessels in the earlobe of a woman which transmit sexual messages to her brain. Thelma had them in the double. I knew how she felt whenever I ran my fingertips through the edges of her ears. And when I stroke it lightly, the shudder was magical.
But I deliberately didn’t do that to Thelma. We had not been on talking terms for over a week, since the day I went to quench the fire burning in Kate; no, the day I entertained my accidental date. When I got back that night, she chided me for not picking her calls. She accused me of being with another woman, and that that was the reason I ignored her calls. Was she right? I got angry and accused her of unnecessary suspicion and distrust, which was capable of destroying our relationship. Was I not right? I guess. I lambasted her so much that she started crying. She said horrible things but I didn’t respond to her. That night I slept in the sitting room, chatting with my other friends on social media. And of course, I sent the ball of romance rolling for a new catch, her name was Hope King.
The malice lingered, not because I was truly angry with her, but I needed more reason to stay out late, sleep out and flex with some other girls. After several apologies, she gave up and also stopped talking to me for some days. The cold treatment favoured me. I was having so much fun while she was in so much pain. And I didn’t care. I hate it when a woman wants be only to herself. Selfishness is not a good thing!
But now, her ears desperately wanted to hear something sweet and romantic. She was tired of the rancor, but I was not. I wanted it to deteriorate so I can use the excuse to leave. I already knew I had no future with her – or rather, I didn’t want one. I wanted her to take all the blame, to be responsible for my leaving her house, and of course, her life. But for Thelma, any word or action that would suggest I was leaving pained her to her bones. She wanted none of that. She would rather plead, with tears, cry and, sometimes, apply seduction – like this day.
We sat together by the dining table; first time we would be in that position in days. I came to the table reluctantly but at the end I was glad I did. She had prepared my favourite dish, accompanied with a plate of pepper soup. Guys love pepper soup. And of course, a bottle of Red label was staring me in the… mouth. It was Sunday morning, early. The doors well secured, I thought it was just to hinder me from going out – the previous Sunday, I left early to church to worship my God. Well, she later found out it was a church with only one member, a female congregant. And he worship was under her pants.
“Once again, I’m sorry for everything,” Thelma said after a long contemplation on how to start. I still wore a long face. Shakara. I couldn’t afford to miss the dishes on the table.
“You know how the devil works, trying to put us apart.” She added. Devil? … I wished she knew it was Kate and …, what was her name even? I never even asked… Bad me!
By this time, emotions had piled up and ready to explode. She looked at me, and tears were running down her cheeks. Characteristics of her, if the cry persisted, mucus would run out of her nose. I didn’t want to see that today, not at this table set before me, in the presence of my…. friend? For that reason, I said, “Let’s eat.” Must I be so heartless? No.
“I will feed you,” she said, wiping her tears with napkin and trying out a smile I guess she had rehearsed.
“I will feed you,” said I, then opened the plates as she stared at me flabbergasted. The aroma from the food was romantic. The meal was rice, stew, plantain, coleslaw… and then fish pepper soup. Was it Christmas? My stony heart suddenly melted. My eyes were wet, but I refused to shed tears. I stood up and held her hands, helping her to stand too.
But then, I my mind wandered. This special dish, was it to appease or to kill me? Or was there some love charm in it? Ah, God. Food and women are two things I know the devil can use to trap to hell. And I have always prayed never to be led into such temptation. I swear, I will fall. Today, this pepper soup, I must eat it. If I perish, I perish.
“I am sorry,” I said when she turned around and stood face to face with me. More tears flowed from her eyes. I moved her away from the dinning and hugged her tightly. Her tears now became uncontrollable. She was collapsing on the rugged floor and I helped her down. I lay besides her, watching her with that empathic look that truly meant compassion. Her hands were covering her face, as if in shame. I removed her hands very gently.
She stiffened in resistance, but I applied force and her face was bare before me. I bent down and began to lick off her tears, from the cheek to her eyelids. My hands were also on her earlobe, stoking it. I didn’t quickly notice the emotional transition from cry to moaning. She pulled my head and kissed me passionately. She’d really been so hungry of something more than rice and fish pepper soup.
It then came to my mind that women like their wrists nuzzled. After a few minutes’ pause that created sensual suspense, I sat up, took her wrist and nuzzled it. I could feel her desire getting hotter. I kissed and caressed just her wrists and it turned her on. She was so impressed and was so exhilarated. She saw a new Tony Marcus. She laughed and giggled during which I pulled off her pink transparent night gown.
“Did you go for further training all this while?” she asked and I couldn’t help laughing.
“Yes,” I said, “and I have a certificate to show for it.”
“Where is it?”
I pulled down my trousers and she saw the real meal she had missed so much. She screamed so loud neighbours could have been attracted. Thank God it was a Sunday, sinners had gone to church.
“I told you I’ll feed you, didn’t I?” I spoke. She raised herself closer and I tucked it into her mouth. At first, she held it with her two hands like a baby’s feeding-bottle. Later, she held it like a wireless microphone.
My hands were massaging her neck and shoulder. Going further down, my fingers traced her back down to her sacrum. I massaged that too, after which she jerked.
“Baby, I love you so much,” I heard her say, with a desirous voice.
“You know I love you too.”
“I know, but you have starved me for too long.”
“I am sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she said, as she laid on her back and raised her legs up and wide. Her hands where pointing to her vagina. “Do it!”
Of course!
I held her left leg with one hand and with the other rubbed the inner of her thighs. Then she was sated and set for the real meal. The copulation was like we had never had it before.
“You always make me cum,” she said after orgasm, and then she cried again. Then we went to the table and she fed me, I mean with rice and the pepper soup.
Till next week!
