Wet patches on my boxers jolted me up from the bed this evening. I opened my eyes and stared at the thatched ceiling, unable to recall the last time I had the experience. It must have been in my high school days or so I thought.
The digits on my phone displayed 10:30 p.m. I got up observing the parabolic curve between my legs. Outside, the wind spoke men’s languages; it whistled and rustled giving warnings of impending showers. I peeped through the window, but saw a clear cloud.
I had slept earlier than usual after returning from school tired. But I couldn’t return to bed as my eyes remained wide open. For the first time since my arrival in Glenmore, I wished a woman stayed by my side. I sat up thinking about my stay in Port-Elizabeth.
The biting evening cold got me doubting if I could survive four weeks without seeing Yenzo. Back in Johannesburg, such bulges meant it was time for her to visit. Being nowhere around, I held on to memories of the good times we had.
“Should I travel Friday evening and return Sunday night? No.”
It would be stressful travelling such a long distance to be with her for one day. The bulge would soon flatten out, and all would be well.
That I lived alone didn’t help matters. A ladies’ man like me was going through the test of endurance; a test of loyalty. Female delicacies lined up in my front, yet I lacked the appetite to consume them.
Not the type to joke with ladies issues, the promises made to Yenzo and the desire for good appraisals kept me in check.
I’d since learnt a lot more about myself here. I could adapt to different environments without hassles. When not teaching at the school, all I did was sleep, boil water, read and prepare for the next lessons. Watching movies was my other favourite activity.
“Hand over the laptop to Mr Mutetey for entertainment,” the principal said to his secretary the other day and she promptly did so. The school laptop had since served as my home TV.
Movie clips to watch weren’t an issue. My external hard disk had them stored in style. Sometimes, BBC or VOA blared from my MP3 player. But that only came on when I wanted to get a hang on the political issues around the world.
The radio did a good job linking me up with civilization. I always left it on whether or not I was home, as a sign that someone lived in my room, just in case an intruder wanted to pop in.
In the last three days or so, soft knocks bounced off my window. I’d assumed the sound came from the radio station. This evening that I was up and alert, I heard it loud and clear. Someone lurked around my hut knocking on the panes. Why anyone would stay out there in the cold puzzled me.
When the urge to pee gripped me, I made for the urinal. On my way back, a lady stood by my door at the same familiar spot. Covered all over, her outfit was the same as before. It should be Funeka or Deliwe, I imagined. Those were the only girls living in the compound. “I will talk to her this time.”
“What are you doing outside by this time of the night?”
“Can I come inside?” she asked, looking pensive.
“Sure, why not?”
My reply was rather impulsive. I couldn’t stay outside in that cold and start questioning her. Since sleep had eluded me, I saw an opportunity to chat with someone, even if late in the night.
She got into the room, waited for me to step in, latched the door and sat on the bed. Before I could utter a word, she uncovered her face partially. Just as earlier assumed, it was Deliwe, one of my landlord’s daughters.
I switched on the light and stood back to the wall, ready for a talk. “What do you want to do in future?”
Her eyes roamed around the room as she said: “I want to be a lawyer, but can we please talk about something else. I’ve waited for long to be in this room with you.”
“You scared me the first time I saw you, you know. I thought you were a ghost.”
“I’m sorry about your first day here. I’d never seen a man like you before around here. Your looks and height are not common, so I wasn’t thinking clearly when I came around. Since that day, I’ve been waiting for you to come out at night again, but you never did until tonight.”
With brows twisted, I listened as she expressed herself confidently. I wasn’t expecting her to be this bold, going by the manner she put on her traditional attires most times.
“From the window, I watch as you leave for school and return. You are a man I want to be with, and I have a request to make. A night like this might not come again, so, please make it an unforgettable one for me. I’ll forever remember you.”
I swallowed hard to be sure it was the same girl whose mother always spoke to me in Xhosa. The smoothness of her voice, the clarity of her speech, and even the sincerity with which she laid down her demand all got me mesmerised.
I sensed a tinge of innocence in her voice, and she sounded like someone who’d been denied attention for long. Her determination showed that she was sure of what she wanted.
In trying to make out her request, I didn’t have much to think about. A young and ravishing girl, radiant in her youthful glory, busty like deployed air-bags, asked me to take her to bed in the middle of a cold night. And I didn’t have to convince her to do so.
“Can this be a trap?”
Having seen her outside my hut before, I dispelled any suspicion about her motives. She couldn’t have been there at somebody’s bidding.
The whistling from the winds urged me to get close to her. My bed stared at me telling me to dive in. The duvet looked smooth and lush like Wembley soccer pitch. An invitation came from all angles and I suddenly found myself in a dilemma.
Should I ask her to return to her room like a responsible teacher would do, or must I fall for the temptation that lay before me? With every passing second, the resistance within me crumbled in bits. As if telling me not to worry, a cow mooed outside, “Moooo.”
Deliwe stretched both hands forward confirming to me that I had nothing to fear. My legs wobbled towards her, as I extended my hands to meet hers.
She stood up slowly, removed the shawl, unbuttoned her pyjamas and placed her head on my chest. Her hands wrapped around me.
I wasn’t only shocked by her courage, but also at the quickness of my body’s reaction. Floods of adrenalin engulfed me, and my head hummed liked a Lexus sedan. Every sense of morality within me flew away with the wind, as the hairs on my chest stood at attention.
Thoughts of the last time I cuddled Yenzo came to mind, and a part of me wanted to pull away. My head wanted me to back out, but my body urged me to move closer and honour this call. I didn’t have much time to think, anyway. The bulge between my legs answered all questions as it stretched out and threatened to tear off my boxers.
Wondering what held me back, Deliwe raised her head and looked into my eyes. The freshness of her youthful face, the whiteness of her beautiful eyes and her luscious curvy lips all queried if I was a man or a mannequin.
As the wind picked up outside, so did my urges spurred me on. I lifted her off the ground, moved closer to the bed, placed her gently on it and curdled her up. The heat from her body unnerved my muscles as my bones creaked in response to the rhythm of her heart which stirred me at the loins in a defiant manner.
The guilt within me vamoosed as I attacked her with kisses on all the flanks of her face. Soon, we ate voraciously into each other’s jaws.
“How old are you?” I lifted from her suddenly.
“I’m in grade-eleven,” she replied, gasping. She snaked her hands around me, urging me to continue what I had started. This wasn’t the right time for asking questions.
Did her age even count here? From the succulence of her body, and the sizes of the oranges pointing at me, I could tell she was of the proper age. Moreover, lying on the same bed had put us in the same age bracket and grade levels.
I threw away all sense of caution as my hands went all over her body. I’d thought kissing her would be enough, but my body vibrated in rhythmic tunes, and house music played in every corner of my brain. “Jack, you can’t hold back now.”
My lips aimed for the peanuts on her defiant oranges sending her to raptures. At that moment, I knew there was no turning back as she lay docile, vibrating in sensual bleeps, allowing me to explore her the way I saw fit.
With clothes yanked off, we gasped heavily in the ensuing tussle. But as my hand stretched downwards to remove the rope blocking the highway, she held it, straightened up, and looked into my face.
“What do you want to do?” she asked, gasping, her eyes glossed.
“Let me in, girl; my body is on fire!”
“I didn’t plan for this,” she flinched. “I just wanted you to touch me.”
“I didn’t plan for it either. Let’s go all the way,” I said, as my hands got busy pulling off the rope. In no time, she was unclad. My vest and boxers got yanked off in two seconds. Evidently, I’d missed feminine contours.
Right then, I paused. “Rubber? Raincoat?”
If I knew a day like this would come, how could I have thrown Yenzo’s packets away?
As I stood thinking of playing it safe, I was drawn to her luscious figure: no stretch-marks, no freckles, no fissures, no bumps; just smooth flesh like a toddler’s. With the manner my bones irked, I felt like I hadn’t touched a woman in six years.
Unfazed, I lowered to her, ready to insert my SIM card into the slot. But she grabbed it and yelled:
“What is this?!” her eyes widened in surprise.
I was taken aback by her question. Did I have to explain to a grade-eleven student about a man’s body part?
“Is this the weapon you want to put inside me?”
“No, it’s not a weapon,” I cajoled, “it’s a joystick. Just be patient let me put it where it belongs, you’ll thank me for doing so.”
I recovered my organ from her and looked at it. It was seething, agitating furiously.
“But, it’s going to hurt me,” she said, looking worried.
“No, Deliwe. It won’t hurt you. You are wet already.”
“Wet? Listen please, I haven’t done this before!”
“Well, they always say so. I haven’t tried it before. You are the first…bla bla…” I wasn’t interested in arguing with her. My eyes were set on the act.
“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt you; I will put the cap only, not the whole thing.”
She rolled her eyes. “Just the cap, you said?”
“Yes, just the cap.”
Despite the initial resistance, she soon let go. True to her words, the road was bumpy. A toll-gate barricaded the entrance and sent me back each time I tried to move on. After repeated attempts to negotiate the bend, I still couldn’t get on the freeway.
But with skills and tact, the type that only came with many years of experience, I managed to get through the barrier as the road became clear.
As I traversed the pinkly highway with the agility of a hungry lion, she let out a scream: “Yo! M-a-t-h-e-m-a-t-i-a-n.”
“Wooah! This is new.”
Well, she wasn’t wrong. I taught Mathematics, even if we were solving a different kind of equation at the moment.
I intensified my effort and unleashed the full energy around my loins, hoping that she might soon shout ‘Yo! T-r-i-g-o-n-o-m-e-t-r-y.’ But she started stammering in rhythmic, high-pitched sensual outbursts. The sound track was amazing, and I wished I’d recorded it on my phone. It wasn’t everyday one came across a lady with such jazzy sounds.
Of course, I didn’t just put the cap. She demanded the cap, the shaft and the milk, and I graciously obeyed.
When I got to the point of no return, it came to mind that I wasn’t protected, so I tried to reverse. But she held on firmly with both hands, almost making reversing look like a crime.
When I arrived, I wanted to stay mute, but passion gripped me and I let out a scream: “de de de, deli deli, deliwe.” As I spoke in Latin, she listened carefully and chuckled.
This girl had been aptly named. Did she say she was Deliwe or DailyWay? The rookie girl wanted it all, and I simply indulged her. It was the kind of experience girls recalled for the rest of their lives. I made it a memorable one.
In a little while, the act was over. I disengaged and began to puff out heavily.
“Did you say you are Deliwe?”
She lifted her torso off the bed, looked at me teasingly, shook her head, and covered her face with both hands. “Yes, please. Thank you.”
“You are definitely Deliwe – the delicious way.”
Laughing shyly, she dressed up to leave. As she stepped through the door, I stopped her.
“Are you the one who placed the ‘Worried Girls’ note on my door some time ago?”
“Yes, I did,” she said, laughing. “Forget about it, please. We are over that now.”
She left, looking exhausted. I dozed off soon after.