I’m Curious

I’m Curious

Our hearts have turned into small African drums.

We are in your living room trying to catch our breath. Words fail us, so we watch the glistening saliva on our lips as it dries out instead. This, after sharing a kiss that had me opening my soul for you to taste.

So we met, we established that we liked each other, we went for dates; quiet ones and noisy ones. From dinner in quiet restaurants to clubs where we drank ourselves silly. We’ve danced like no one was watching, made out in your car on the way home, kissed goodnight when we’ve wanted to take it beyond second base, but figured we shouldn’t. Not just yet. We’ve enjoyed each other’s company. And now, here we are.

Now, after the stroll before dusk that proceeded to dinner, the long talk we had, the drinks thereafter; after we got into your car for you to presumably drive me home; after you kissed me while opening the passenger door for me, asked if I could get the seat belt or if I was too drunk to make sense of it; after I dared you to go ahead and buckle me up because, “Uuu, I’m so drunk, I can barely see you let alone the belt!”; after you, smiling, buckled me up, asked me to “Stay put, no sudden movements drunky!” while closing the door and getting into the driver’s seat; after you started the car, a mischievous smile playing on your lips when I questioned your ability to drive given the amount of blood in your alcohol; after you shrugged your shoulders, told me that you would give it a shot to test how far you could go before passing out behind the wheel; after you burst out laughing at the horrific expression my face gave you; after you took the right turn to your house instead of the left turn to mine, and we did not talk about it because we had some telepathy going on between us in the form of side-glances and…and flashing of teeth, maybe too much of it, definitely too much of it now that I think about it; after I leaned over to kiss you as the watchman opened the gate to your house, and you drove into the compound, parked the car in your garage, asked me not to move my “drunken self”, came round the car to my side, unbuckled my seatbelt, took your time to reward yourself with a kiss from me, “for safe driving,” laughed when I paused the kiss to ask you to stop taking advantage of a “poor drunk woman”; after putting your right arm around my nape and gathering both my legs with your left arm and without waiting for the shock to leave my face, lifting me out of the car, using your right leg to bang the door shut, carrying me up the flight of stairs to your doorstep, apologizing for having to put me down when you realized that the front door was locked and the key was in your pocket; after my “What if I fall down on my unsteady feet?”, you pausing, me still in your arms taking advantage of your confusion to chime, “Now would be a good time to take back the ‘drunk woman’ jokes you’ve been dishing out all night”, and after your “I’m sorry I called you a drunk woman, can I put you down now?” and my “But I like it in your arms” and your “If I promise to hold you in my arms all night, will you allow me to put you down for a few minutes?” where, clearing my throat, I managed a weak “Permission to put me down granted”; after you lowered me and held onto me as I planted my feet steadily on the floor; after you looked into my eyes and me into yours and I knew even before your head moved that you were going to reward yourself with another kiss; after I made the mental observation that you’d been kissing me all night, leaning back against the door and allowing myself to taste your hunger while letting it fuel mine, your hands roving like they have a life of their own and I could feel them underneath my blouse, underneath my bra and on my left breast, the one that always gets special treatment while the right one only gets some afterthought touching; after I sucked you in like a child holds hostage a lollipop in its mouth; after the noise from the banging gate reached us, bringing us back, you getting back to opening the door, insisting on carrying me into your house, lowering me down on your couch; after I hang onto your neck and forced you to tumble on top of me, the smiles on our faces fading as we listened to our beating hearts; after this wonderful night we have spent together, now, here we are.

I’m on your couch where you perched me, and you’re busy unstrapping my heels.

My eyes glide over the hair I ruffled during the kiss. The coarseness of it. You look at me, consumed with desire. Your parted lips reveal a tongue that was inside my mouth seconds ago, rubbing against mine. The softness of it. The fire in it. The fire it lit inside me. The saltiness and moistness and ah, the tingle that it – all of you – smeared on me.

My shoes are off, your hands are moving up and grabbing my hips. You’re on your knees, between my legs. I’m cradling your head between my hands. Fire burns where you touch me.

Your hands keep moving, they’re rubbing my back, my shoulders, now they’re reaching for the buttons on my blouse. Will you undress me slowly or quickly? Will you have the patience to carry me to your bed or will your living room décor become our audience? If you carry me to your bed, will you throw me on it or will you place me gently on it?

I wonder how your lovemaking, now that I am at the verge of experiencing it, feels like. How does your skin smell without cologne? How will your hands feel against my skin? What is your rhythm?

I’m curious.

Also, I’m a little nervous.


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