The Adventures of Fast Joe (5)
She lay quietly on top of him. Her breathe was shallow, quiet. She had just experienced the most momentous sexual orgasm of her life. She was in quiet wonder as tiny tremors ran through her body. She mused that this was the first time that the fifteen year old below her had had a woman. What a man! What a male! None can compare, or even come close. She thanked the god that had led her to tumble into that bathroom to discover this jewel for herself.
As she lay there, with his length still buried in her wet womanhood, she began to experience a new wonder. He was still hard, and he was moving slowly inside her. Very slowly, almost imperceptible, but still moving all the same.
Just as slowly, she began to respond, slowly forward, then just as slowly backward with her monumental bucks.
Somehow, his palms had learned to cups the cheeks of her two handsome mounds, and he was helping her to push back and forth like a pro.
For several minutes, quietly in the dark room, they kept at this, until a frenzy took them over and they were panting heavily towards a second monumental orgasm.
That one shattered into her with a force even bigger than the first one, and she almost shouted out aloud in pleasure, but caught herself in time and bit her lips, actually drawing blood.
She fell off him and lay panting beside him, too shaken to speak for several minutes, her eyes closed.
When she finally opened her eyes, the first thing her eyes fell on, was that monster of a tool. It still looked suspiciously turgid, aroused. She breathed in sharply and looked up at him. In the darkness, he could see that his lips were curved in a smile.
He asked softly, “Are we going to do it again?”
She could not believe her ears. A third time in less than an hour? This, is heaven, she thought.
“Yes,” she whispered, “but let us wait a little bit. I am tired.”
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Two hours later, she watched him sneak back into his mother’s rooms, laughing in her mind. They had done it a record breaking five times, and he had been pushing for a sixth, but this time, she was too tired. When she checked the time piece it was a little past three a.m., and in just one hour, people would start waking up. There were a lot of traders living in the compound house. They slept deep, but often woke up quite early to try to catch the first buses out of town or to go to farm to gather goods for sale. His mother was one.
She tiptoed back to her bed, to muse at her discovery. Even as she lay there, too tired and a bit sore between her legs, she started missing him.
When Joe opened the outer screen door/mosquito trap to step into the outer room he shared with his siblings, there was a slight but very audible squeak from the door, and the querulous voice of Auntie Afua, Joe’s mother, floated from the bedroom.
“Who is that?”
Joe whispered back, “It is me, mother.”
“What is it? What are you doing at the door? Is it dawn yet?”
“No, mother. I am coming back after going to the bathroom.”
“How many times should I warn you not to go out after dark? Anyway, call me when you hear the cock starts crowing,” she said.
“Yes, mother,” Joe said, as he fell in the three-seater cane chair that served as a bed for him.
He was thinking about the hours he had just spent, the scented body he had left in her room. He was in awe. And he had totally misunderstood the chatter when his friends boasted about the girls they have ‘done it’ with.
All his life, Joe had associated sex with something that happened in the night, accompanied by hot whispers and pleas, or stolen in squalid bathrooms.
The first time he was consciously aware that something called sex happened between adults was when he was about six, and sleeping on a mat on the floor next to his parents’ bed. One night, he was woken up by harsh whispering. His father’s guttural voice, forced to a pained whisper, too loud in the quiet of the night, was demanding something from his mother.
“Oh, you too, please, only one,” said his father’s voice.
“The children are still awake. They’ve not been asleep for long enough,” his mother replied.
“It has been over two hours,” the hot male voice replied angrily.
“You like it too much. We have three children now, and no money, yet you always want it,” the female voice was sharper.
“So what do you want me to do? Look at it, waa look at it!”
“Try and sleep,” clearly, now mother’s voice had a dismissive edge.
“Nonsense,” said his father.
Suddenly, there was some struggle on the bed, Joe heard her mother give an audible but low shout of pain, the bed, made of cocoa sacks filled with straw mounted on wooden stilts, started bouncing furiously for several minutes accompanied by male grunts and female squeaks, a loud male grunt and a groan from the female, and all was quiet.
Joe, afraid of his father as soon as he became conscious of a threat, knew that his father viewed him as an enemy. He was frequently punished, especially when his mother was not present.
Joe heard the experience repeated several times over the following years as he grew up, and in time, he realized that his three younger brothers also knew. They shared glances in the dark when the grunting was taking place just above their heads, but they kept quiet. They disliked their father intensely, and did no hide it. He drank, had no money, and stole from the woman he attacked every night once the lamp was low.
Joe thanked his stars the day he left the house, with the claim that he was going to look for work in the city. That was five years ago. Soon after, their mother moved them to this bigger set of rooms, where they had their own room.
His father had been back only once, was forced by his wife to spend the night outside with mosquitoes, and left the following morning.
He had not been back since.
Joe’s other experience was from tales recounted by his age mates, many of which tales were lies, he now knew. Sex was not all nasty smells, grabbing girls by the breasts and buttocks and squeezing, or chasing them in communal bathrooms for confused fumbling, and other such unpleasant confrontations.
He turned when he heard a cock crow. He told himself that this night had been sleepless indeed, but it was worth it. Already, he was planning the next assignation with Sister Ama.
To be con’t.
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