“If
two lie down together, they will keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone?” –
Ecclesiastes 4:11
That portion of Scripture
jogs through my mind as the rains exhibit relentlessness on this particular
night. My nostrils are reeling from the effect of the weather already. I have
since concluded that the August Break is a climatic illusion. And no, there is
no bodily heat to gain respite from.
Cups of tea and old pictures of her are
all I have for the long dark hours, craving for those evenings when our lips
shared the fate of cakes and Bible pages did the bidding of the wind.
Our respective morning schedules
have always been unkind to our yearnings for each other, so she would usually
step in on such and such evening. The hugs are long and convey much, and I
wouldn’t even get to properly secure the locks before taking her lips into
mine, treating them like an ice cream cone which I don’t want to finish up
hurriedly. I would usually whisper “I missed you” while I did that, and those
words were true; the bulge at the front end of the trousers doesn’t lie. The
art of unhooking the slips has taken time for me to perfect, but I’m fairly
good at it now, and in no time my palms would cup those round mounds of flesh
before I would then proceed to subject them to the role of oranges. All that
obstructive fabric of ours would quickly find themselves in far-flung regions
of the room, and after tickling those moist lower reaches with my tongue, I
would get to some zealous thrusts whose fluctuating pace regulates her
breathing and lessens the coherence in her speech, until my little friend Schaft von Straffenberg spews out some phlegm and
ejects the lust out of me. It’s not always a thrust-a-moan-a-squirt-a-thon, but
that would probably be because we both get to have long days, and besides,
that’s not all that we are about, no, it’s not even the mainstay of what we do.
“Yea we were dying of frustration
Saying ‘Lord lead me not into temptation’
But it’s never easy when she turns you on
And all your defenses far away gone.”
It was not always about
swimming in the sheets though. We would talk about our busy days, our nasty
colleagues, our pending tasks, even our faith, and I revelled in teasing her
for being a “Mummy’s girl”. At such times I would wish I had studied a
science-inclined discipline so I could help her with school, but all I can do
is be the listening ear and do the “everything will be fine” cuddle. She would
ask why my heart beat so fast when she placed her head there, and I would say
that she was the reason for the skipped beats and fluctuations. She would
express fears about my heart being too slippery and my reputation for being
unserious, and I would hold her close, saying she had given me a reason to
change and stop thinking for just myself.
I
would tell her not to worry about trying to get a flat stomach, as I loved her
just the way she was. It was true when I said I loved her body, just as it was
also true that slender frames had never been my top choice. She would draw
closer and breathily ask “Baby, why me?”,and after giving a low-volume sermon
on how we can’t help it when it comes to who we fall for, I would link my
fingers with hers and extol her qualities, adding that I wanted to be with a
friend. A kiss on her forehead and a short stroking of the hair were the
answers when she expressed doubts as to the sincerity of my affirmations,
doubts I never blamed her for: there is the widely held belief that people in
my line of profession have their ways with words.
On such nights, a lot would usually sail through my thoughts as
she placed her head on her favourite part of my chest. I would think about my
budding career, the chilly water with which we had taken a joint bath, family
expectations, the values which had given way to desire over the years, the
overflowing mercy of The Creator, and then (extensively) about the one whose
short deep breaths sent warmth through my soul. She didn’t care about the
wallet or the physique, my one round pack being just fine with her. I loved how
she was focused, I loved how she was (relatively) decent, I loved the fact that
she attached importance to her faith, and I loved the fact that she was a big
fan of my work.
There was the thrill which came from groping for each other in
the dark, there was that motherly care she loved to lavish on me, and while I
was more than comfortable with the name her mother had given to her, I chose to
refer to her as “Idongesit”. There was more to that name than just those four
syllables. For me, Idongesit was not just a name. It was a feeling, a state of
mind, a sensation. Its meaning said it all: Comfort, Convenience, Warmth. And
this lady from Afang and Edika-ikong country meant all that to me, even more.
There was no way to find out whether we would ever take that stroll or whether
I would be the one to increase the weight on her fingers, but at least I had a
more appropriate and less awkward response if she ever faced me with the “what
are we?” question. Nothing else mattered when we leaned into each other. My
mattress was the only world I knew, and we were the only ones who existed in
it...
But she is not here with me tonight. She gives breath to these
sheets, and without her they are what they are: lifeless! The next couple of
hours, as if they are not ungodly enough, will be fraught with tossing,
sneezing, shivering and yearning. If the longing doesn’t kill me before dawn,
then maybe nothing will. We have exchanged four sets of text messages already,
but the mental images of her as she closes her eyes and takes me in just go on
to make me lonelier. I guess I will just grab my Bible and try to digest a few
verses, knowing that I will probably doze off before letter becomes spirit. I
will wake to a sugary text message, and that “have a great day Baby” call is
going to come in, but the warmth that comes from all that pales in comparison
to what I feel when I open my eyes to a new day, Idongesit lying next to me.
“Don’t
say a word, just come over and lie here with me
‘Cause I’m about to set fire on everything I see
I want you so badly, I’ll go back on the things I believe
There I just said it, I’m scared you’ll forget about me.”
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photo credit: matthileo via photopin cc
Labels: Guest post, Writers' Vault
