Lust

Staring At Death

What if Eve had refrained from eating the apple? 

What if we walked away from temptation? 

As humans, there's this temporary satisfaction  derived from succumbing  to temptation than from walk away. 

'The only way to get rid of temptation is to yield to it'  - Oscar Wilde. 

 

  You watch them with the corners of your eyes, seeing but pretending not to see. You flip lazily through the pictures on your phone, stifling the urge to roll your eyes at them, they were kissing again. Kissing and necking everywhere like teens. You walk out of the sitting room, into your room where you shut the door and closed your eyes, leaning against the door as you felt your heart go thump thump in your chest. And for the umpteenth time in the last few days, you imagine his lips, pressed against yours, you feel him go lower, nibbling at your neck, lower and lower, till you feel his fingers deftly undoing your belt buckle. You shake the mental image from your head; he’s your sister’s husband after all.

     By evening, you realize that no matter how hard you try to shake him from your mind, he still fills your thoughts, clinging like slime on a snail.  You know what they say, when one is hungry, everything one sees appears as food so you tell yourself that maybe it is because you haven’t had sex in a month. You pick up your phone and call him, he is at home. You wear that grey gown, the one that accentuates your assets and makes your butt look like it can stand a bottle of champagne, your swing your hips provocatively as you pass them, still wrapped around each other on the couch. A part of you wishes he will notice your butt as you swing pass them but he doesn’t seem to. Your sister gives you a cursory glance as you ask for the car key, but he doesn’t look up. No he doesn’t.

  Idowu’s eyes nearly pop as he opens the door.  ‘You are breathtaking,’ he whispers, drawing you into his arms.

You smile. At least someone appreciates the goddess you are. Idowu is attentive; wine, dim light, slow music in the background. You don’t want the romance, you are there for the wham-bam-see-you-later. But you wait patiently while he puts the moves on you. Sex with Idowu is like meeting with an old friend, there is usually no surprises, well, maybe one or two, nothing shocking enough to curl your toes. He is like a ballerina performing a well known routine, he does that thing where he kisses you from your head to your toe, then sucks on your toes till your back is arched, he comes up higher, till he is at your core, his tongue seems to have a life of its own, probing, licking and making you squirm like an eel, just when you think you are about to explode, he slides in. There are no surprises there. So you pretend Idowu is your sister’s husband, with every thrust, his face is replaced till all you see is him. You bite your lips to stop from calling out his name – Henry.

  You drive back, momentarily sated. That night, you can’t sleep. Idowu wasn’t the answer, sex with him was more like a stopgap measure, ‘if e no be panadol, e no dey like panadol.’ He fills your thoughts and you find yourself plotting ways to get him. You build up scenarios in your head and you are certain that if you remain in that house with them, those scenarios will no longer be confined to your head. With that realization, you decide you have to leave the next morning.

 

 

 

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