Serial Cheat

The mysterious equation of love is the only formula by which logic cannot be derived.

How many of you obtusely dim-witted ludicrous earthlings alleging to be in love know for certain that they will say “I do” to the person you are with at present and expend the remainder of your wretched existence on earth with her? Moderately a number, that’s the exquisiteness of living in the figment of one’s imagination – anything is possible in that extraordinary world. Yes, you can even toss out a rope to the skies and pull down the moon if her sky is too dark.

It’s factual that previous to marriage there is love-making; subsequent to that what you do can only be equated to baby-making. And the very last thing you want is an annoying peeing mini-human sneaking his way into your matrimonial bed and invading your space hence denying you conjugal rights in the name of being a new-born.

If you ask me, I think women usually abhor sex so much that they pop out these creatures to tone down men’s libidos because let’s face it, once you are through hearing the wailing thing and seeing fouled diapers being changed all night flanked by you trying to touch all the right spots of your better half’s anatomy to get her in the mood and her exclaiming that there is a little one in your midst… There is no way you can even want some… (Then women still wonder why m%* cheat?!)

Plain and simple, Love is a magic word men use to make girls’ legs part with no much trouble and on the other hand, Can you run in these??the word is a solace torch women let point them down to the ever lie-infested lands of horny m#*; Despite the fact that girls know for a fact that the chaps just say it to get to the next level, they will brainwash themselves beyond realistic uncertainty and fine-tune the frequency of their Mexican-wave brainpower to be in-sync with those intellectually-crippling nonsensical soap operas on television.

Just so she can have a picture perfect finale where they slouch on the bed afterwards and engage in meaningless palaver: In the pretext of pillow-talk.

Shut up, I need to sleep. Could you just let me do that? Or need I say ‘I love you’ so as to be permitted to drift away to slumber, especially after a really intense stress-relieving session for me and ecstatic state of trance on her part- I think of the concept as using ear buds to clean your ears… Who feels the pleasure?

After meeting her friend, I walk Cynthia to the basement, where she had parked her car. Me, I’m a pedestrian- by choice. She gets into the driver’s seat and as I lean over to bid her farewell through the window, she plants a wet kiss me on my lips and then tells me to get in.

I’m a street racer, and this being the yellow light, I wasn’t going to wait for the green light to dash my car down her stupefying lane, get her to the finish-line in decent time and eventually park my coupé inside of her refreshingly welcoming garage.

And so I got in. Not inside of her (for the perverts). Into the car.

I park myself in the passenger seat and just gaze at her for a few flashes trying to get wind of the prevailing situations. This lady’s soul was drowning in thirst and only my lust could lay her to rest. I edge closer and let my hands get locked in hers.

“What do you want, John?” She asks, looking at me straight in the eye, without as much as a flinch.

“You” I assertively say, like a form four apprentice who’d already had leakage prior to the KCSE.

“Then, are you going to just stare at me or are you going to do something about it?”

I chuckle then mischievously put across: “Could I do a little bit of both?”

Just as her lips crack to let a beam escape I hold her by the chin with my left hand and draw her towards me. My yearning lips too eager to taste her, meet her halfway.

There was necking. Terrific necking. First at the front of the car, overlooking the likelihood of being nabbed by the guards . (There is a signboard in the parking lot clearly stating: No sex in the car) My right hand lost control while trying to inspect all protrusions on her frame but finally settled on her thick quavering set of thighs and started to pace their way up to her inviting haven and with my fingers getting the finest of it all, they found sanctuary in her untainted territory right at the centre of her being… I felt jealous of my fingers as I also wanted in on the action…

So we proceeded to the backseat, by which time all clothes had dropped – I could have sworn they fell off through some telekinetic means and we were teleported to the backseat. Incredibly wonderful, frustrating pre-love making session this was indeed. She loved it. Maybe.

“But not further than just making out” (she said) “Aki Johnny, please don’t, please…”

Nevertheless, my fingers wade deeper into her and she starts to breathe heavy while her hands clutch on to my back tighter as her nails dig into me with every thrust, like she is beckoning me to proceed. Her body and mouth don’t seem to be speaking the same language. In such situations, it’s advisable to let the body triumph – as it never lies. And I did just that!

Then down to the ultimate sequence of the play, I’m lying on my back and she is on top, then it sinks in:

“Cyn…”

“What?”

“I have no condoms.”

“Seriously?” She comes. Seeming infuriated.

But then she goes on to act like she didn’t make any sense of my utterances and goes further to hold my yearning manhood by one hand… So(Despite my craving for her) I pronounce my decree again, just to make sure we were on the same page and that she knew what she was getting into…

“I have no rubber, Cynthy”

“So?”

Then before I can piece together the pieces or even say anything, she shifts position and in the process slides me inside of her. Damn…

Her hips swung and slithered with the same skill required to elude enclosing tacklers as she let me explore her inner temples.

Then amidst all this she pauses.

She says the L word.

I say I love the series. I’m in season five.

She says she is serious.

I say I’m just delirious.

And I add that she knows how I really feel about her.

She says she doesn’t.

So I tell her.

At this point in time, it’s out of harm’s way to declare that we made love and used nothing, because we were ‘in love’, the gods would watch over us