Her parents were out for work, while my mother was out to Kantamanto to sell her second hand clothes. They were not coming back anytime soon.
The day was still in its prime when she called me to get her something from the nearby provision shop. She was standing in front of their door and when I got close, she waved me to the room for the money.
“Get the money from the center table”, she said stressing the word ‘center’.
She waited, and then charged into the room when I complained of not finding the money, less than 20 seconds later. She hugged me from behind. I couldn’t describe the feeling, but she hugged real hard.
It betrayed her intentions as everything, but godly.
The memory seemed fresh in my mind as though the act was committed last night. I still remember when she reached her right hand into my pant for my ‘god’. She first referred to my pen as god when she said: “Your god is nice.”
Her breath was heavy, as if she just returned from a 200 meters race. She lowered my pant, and bent to take a suck of the god. It was not more than the inch that was required to give her a hefty satisfaction. I felt I would, embarrassingly, disappoint her because my ‘god’ looked small.
She appeared innocent, and rotten. She kept on mumbling ‘I love you. I love you. I lo-o-o-o-o-o-ve you’, as though by repeating the words ‘I love you’ I would begin to appreciate how desperately she needed me inside of her.
Her hands kept working on my pen down to my balls. She pulled my cloth open like a coat, and suck me hard that the head of my pen cocked up as it sensed danger around it.
“Stand still my love. I need it”, she pleaded in a raspy whisper while holding onto my god.
I began to feel uncomfortable, though I felt good. My hands grabbed her butt.
“What do you mean?” I replied in a slurred tone that seemed to suggest that I needed more of what she was doing.
Though my little mind could not comprehend what was happening, however, I felt entertained as she swam all around me – treating me in a kingly manner.
Her actions were theatrical, surgical and clinical.
She lowered her dress which was seething with her favorite spray, and grabbed the material of her blue panties and yanked them down. I saw her clit pulsed, as she cried out with sheer delight as I touched it with my right hand.
Her breasts, unusually standing, were heavy with juice, I was to reckoned, more than the apple my mother brought us last night. They were enticing. Her butt looked proud and shakes sensibly as she moves as if on cue. She was all perfect.
She stood before me naked as she was born. That was the first time I saw her manicured body with its many riches.
I felt words rushed through my throat. “You’re heavy my love”, I wanted to say, but I couldn’t find my voice. It failed me. Or perhaps, I wouldn’t have meant it even if I had said it.
I desperately wanted to say something to urge her on; something to make her feel saintly, loved, and cherished; something to tell her that I’d love to enter her, though that was not the truth.
The hair around her pussy had been neatly barbed giving it a clean look. No one particular thread of hair was taller than the other – they were all of the same height and size, an indication of a serious lady.
After she sucked my god for sometime, she laid on her back, and stroke my pen against her vagina. Her two hands circled mine pen as she kept stroking up and down, harder and faster. She gasped and moaned in a manner that seemed to suggest that there was nothing but this moment, this feeling, this pure perfect pleasure she was exacting from me.
She then pleaded I plant my penis inside of her. Her parents’ bed neatly laid with a white bedsheet with five pillows, added to the pleasure of the moment. The hole of her pussy was whole, smart, beautiful, reddish, and appeared delicious – I could still see its shape before my mind’s eye. It has no bumps, no germs, and not scent. It tasted sweet on my tongue, though I couldn’t say if my saliva added to its saltiness.
Something inside of me wanted to eat of it, and get a feel of its red color. She held my god and tried to insert it inside of her, but it looked fragile, and loosened at that time. She was frantic, mad and unstoppable as though her life depended on what she was doing. I haven’t seen her like this before.
I have seen her with many men, but I doubt if she had led them down the staircase in this manner. The last day, I heard Kwame proposed to her, but she declined on the ground that she couldn’t imagine herself being in love with a short man – a very short one.
I watched her as she made short moves one after the other in her attempt to seek satisfaction. Nothing could stop her, till she got what she desired. She pulled me close once more, licked the swollen head of my pen, teased it with her tongue. Slowly and firmly tried to insert it inside of her.
Her pussy had grown hotter, and wetter as my pen naively entered. It was too weak to be taken seriously. She pulled it out to give it another round of sucking squeezing my balls in the act while her hands cupped my heavy testicles, this time harder, and faster, but there was no response from my pen. Perhaps, it was tired.
She made face at me. When she was convinced I could not give her what she wanted apart from what she’s gotten from me, she called out to a girl of my age to come to the room. She stripped the girl and asked her to lay on the bed. She then opened the girl’s pussy with the help of her two hands, and asked me to gently plant my god inside her.
This time, I was successful or something like that. Her face suddenly lit up the way a baby smiles when she receives a present from her parents after several times of promise and fail. She nodded as my waist swiveled while on the girl as though a Quality Officer insisting on best practices from her subordinate.
She laid down, one more time, for us to try it. My god was drowsy – unable to stand still, and the swollen head near flatten. I saw her look – the kind impregnated with disappointment. It made many little holes in my excitement. I could see her embarrassment as she stood to dress up.
“Dress up. You people should dress up. Lazy boy dress up”, she said.
We then swore to her that this adventure would be kept as one of our many little secrets.
I left the room thinking about the whole event – the missed opportunities, the reddish apple which was offered me on a plate at no cost, and my virginity which was gone.
Although this happened a little over 19 years ago, she keeps appearing in my dreams. She was my first love, or it appeared that way. We were both crazy about each other. She was 22, and I was 10. She loved me, but I doubt if what I felt for her was love, or anything close to that word. However, I am convinced that I did not love her as much as she did. She was so crazy. I was naïve with little to no understanding about what I was doing then.
Now I do, and would look forward to such many experiences in the future. Perhaps she would show up, someday. May be she would, or maybe not. However, she was the first to part with my virginity – something I held unto as a barge of honor.
Anytime my friends asked if I were a virgin, I would smile and say a big: ‘YES’ with glee as though they would love me more if they knew. My name is Kwabena, and I lost my virginity on Valentine’s Day, or on a day close to Valentine.