It was not just the way she gently swayed her hips when she walked, the way she lifted her lithe frame off the ground, the way she walked with the perfect gait of the ballet dancer that she was and moved with the deliberate slowness of a cat that I found irresistible. It was the way she talked; the way words rolled off her tongue so quickly in that American accent that I loved, the way she threw her head back when she laughed, the way her thick, full, healthy hair bobbed back and forth on her head whenever she was having an animated conversation, like she was now with the tall, lean man standing with her.
“Hey, dear, remember to add the tampons this time,” she said to me with a smile, reminding me of the last time I forgot to pack her tampons with the other items she had purchased.
I caught a whiff of her perfume as she leaned forward, its delightful fruity flavours of raspberry and grape tickling my senses. It was the same perfume she always wore; the same one I had grown to love. Thoughts of burying my nose in her neck to enjoy its sweet mixture with her sweat flashed through my mind.
“Sure thing, Adeola. Are you paying cash?” I punched numbers into the small machine sitting on the counter in front of me, wondering if the man with her was a ballet dancer, too. The ballet dance company she was registered to owned the building across the street and it was where she went for rehearsals every other evening. Since the day she discovered that I was Nigerian like her, she never failed to visit the supermarket on her way home from rehearsals. She was the only Nigerian ballet dancer at the company, she once revealed to me, and I was one of the few friendly Nigerians she had met here in the US.
“Oh, yes! I am.” She waved a few dollar notes at me before turning her charming smile on the good-looking man beside her whose hugging white sweat shirt revealed strong, bulging biceps. With arms draped casually yet possessively around her shoulders, he stood and watched her like a hawk who wasn’t about to let his prey out of his sight. I recognized him now, not as the man she had been wearing on her sleeves these past few nights, but as a man who exuded overpowering charm and confidence.
“Okay,” I said shortly, picking each item on the counter and carefully arranging them into two neat plastic bags. My cheeks flushed as I counted ten condoms. Suddenly angry and jealous, I looked daggers at the man. If he noticed, he pretended not to and placed a random kiss right in the middle of the ballet dancer’s head.
I wondered what it felt like to have her? Was she as beautiful without her clothes as she was with them? Would her full, firm breasts be as lovely as they looked now? Would her nipples stand erect when I took them in my mouth? Would goose bumps break out on her skin if I traced the outlines of her body with my tongue? Would she squirm, writhe, moan, cry or scream? Would her pussy be tight and wet? Would the muscles of her pussy contract around this man’s long, thick cock? I pictured him slamming his cock right into her while pinning her to the door, his hands grabbing her hips and his tongue trailing kisses from her neck downwards. She, in turn, arched her back against the wall and spread her legs as wide as possible to accommodate him. Her moaning started soft and low, and continued to rise till it became thick and high.
“This weather, though! The rain won’t just let up.”
I started at Adeola’s voice, ashamed of my thoughts.
“Yea, the weather,” I replied simply.
“Hope the rain stops soon.”
Her luscious, glossy lips moved seductively as she talked. I imagined kissing them, my teeth nibbling gently on the soft lower lip and my tongue teasing and exploring the insides of her mouth. I saw her completely naked and beautiful in my mind’s eye. I thought of running my fingers through her hair, letting them linger on her soft, rich, velvet skin and tracing the outlines of her perfect breasts, caressing and pinching her nipples. I imagined using my fingers to stroke her cunt and dipping them inside her, withdrawing them and dipping them inside again, poking and stroking. And with each new stroke, I pushed harder and farther, holding firmly onto her hips with a hand and grabbing at her breasts with the other. Then guiding her fingers to my pussy, I let her stroke my wetness before sliding her fingers into me. I gasped and touched my breasts, squeezing them till my nipples were as hard as rock.
“Yes, I hope so,” I replied, ignoring the violent throbbing between my thighs. Something warm, wet, and fluid dropped onto my pant and left the white lacy briefs sticking to the folds of my vagina. I rubbed my thighs together as surreptitiously as I could, the friction of one jeans clad thigh against the other causing tremors to run through my veins. Some more throbbing between my thighs and I shivered.
“Are you okay, darling?” Adeola’s voice startled me once more.
I nodded with a small smile. “Yes, never better.”
“Must be the cold,” she offered, tucking some stubborn strands of jet black hair behind her left ear.
All I could see was a woman moaning, with her head thrown back, her lips parted, and her breathing heavy, as I shoved my fingers inside her. Her breasts looked gorgeous as they bounced up and down to the rhythm of my thrusting and shoving, so I grabbed them and placed one after another in my mouth, even as I continued to push my fingers deeper inside her. Climaxing, she writhed and screamed wildly. I buried my face in her cunt, licking what was left of her orgasm.
“Thank you, Tinuke.” Her hands brushed against mine, making blood rush to my temple and my heart beat faster, as she collected the bags I had just finished packing.