Animal Urges

Humans are animals. We let go of inhibitions and hangups when we find ourselves in a place where our lumps,bumps and tigerstripes are adulated. It ceases to matter where we are or who might hear or see us. 

That said,I too am an animal.

I let myself be pretzelled right on that counter and there was no need for words. There was no time for clothes to be properly removed and neither was there a need for it...ain't nobody had time fo' that shiiiiiit.
All it took was a vicious flicking of my racy lacy crotch cover and a stretch for the pack in the direction of the glass cabinet above my head and within two seconds he was covered and I had been forcefully impaled. I dug my nails into his lower back and pulled him hungrily into me. I wrapped my legs tighter about Nemesis's knees and as my heels dug into the back of his calves it became harder than ever to ignore that unwelcome pain. 

I'll deviate for a second here and ask how people pull off sex in heels. It hurts, is impractical and leaves ghastly looking gashes and scratches wherever contact is made. I find it near impossible to concentrate on manipulating the phallus balancing and aligning as I pop it, swerve ,slide or twerk on the thing. Any blue movie that makes it look like it's working is also a lie. Nothing about it looks or feels smooth when attempted by us mere mortals. 

Deviating even further, how do you take pictures and video and still take delivery of a good thwacking. My feeble attempts at recording my own trysts for posterity have been fails on epic levels. While I lie there with posterior flying high and probably oily and glistening to generate more auditory pleasure from the occassional slap- with my face crushed into a pillow and shoulders parallel to it,enthusiastically taking delivery of the phallus with my hair wrapped tightly around your wrist...IS THIS REALLY THE BEST TIME TO BE REACHING FOR A CAMERA??? 

I am open to learning; so to anyone who has surmounted this great obstacle and conquered ,please contact me with tips and whatnot my details are at the bottom. The best I have ever been able to do is pay attention to a large mirror or seven strategically placed around a room.  

Nevertheless I slid down from the sink's side and did a quick turn to profer him my ample derriere. Nemesis got the clue and gleefully stroked it with both hands as he simultaneously lifted my wet skirt up and out of the way. I felt him breathe into my ear while he slipped a hand to the front and prodded for a few beats until he found the moisture he desired. Nemesis grabbed the back of my head and firmly pressed down until I lay flat on the counter top. With a slight nudge I felt his throbbing heat sear straight through my dripping,throbbing tunnel. By now his trousers were gathered about his feet as he plunged relentlessly in and out of me. I could feel the front of his shirt coming between our skin and it was anything but welcome. I stole a glance back at him as I gathered it up and held it to his torso while still allowing him to keep me held down in position and also trying not to wake up the neighbours...in Durban...while we were in Pretoria.

Like a rabid bitch I was howling and gnashing my teeth telling myself I was a big girl and I could take it. 

Boyyyy did I take it! This was officially our first quickie and those 45 minutes flew by like a few minutes. When he finally collapsed against me in submission and pulled out,that offensive white shirt had come between our skin again. On it was a glaring red stain that seemed to report I had bitten off far more than I could chew. My poor vajayjay had taken a pummeling of a lifetime and the only thing that compared to my shock at this sight was his profuse apologising. We both knew I was nowhere near where Aunty Florence was visiting and there was no valid explanation for what we were both staring at. 

He pulled me straight and stared into my eyes asking if I was alright. I was grinning like an idiot and nodding my head rapidly  and giggling intermittently. He pulled a chair to my behind and propped me on it , still apologising for 'hurting'me. You'd best believe I was still kinda orgasming and nothing he said actually hit home. I was giddy and delirious,basking in the afterglow of a well deserved re-aligning especially after all the tension that hair debacle had inspired. 

I only came to when he asked if anything like this had ever happened to me before and jokingly inquired if I was sure I had actually pushed my child's head out of the same orifice considering her head and the head I had just been assailed by are both huge but to varying degrees. 

He gently led me upstairs and sat me on the side of the tub as he drew me a hot bubbly bath. I was mumbling to myself, watching him hurriedly fuss about getting me a towel and getting me out of the rest of my clothing.
He got into the water first and pulled me in after him. The tub is quite big it could probably accommodate 4 adults in one go. He put me on his chest and lathered up a loofah and softly washed my entire body. He looked rueful at times knowing we had a whole night ahead of us where cuddling would probably take centre stage since he had mutilated the goods. As soon as he was done I washed him over and lay back as I let him wrap a towel around himself then me and followed him to his bed. Without saying a word, I snuggled into his neck and breathed him in...feeling like an absolutely glorious, sated and divine Aphrodite. 

It was still quite early so we twiddled our fingers in unison and talked for a while about his impending trip. I begged him to stop apologising about earlier as neither of us could ever have known the plumbing would fail us when it has been through worse and least of all when it was the last thing we needed. At some point sleep took over until I woke up feeling a massive urge to empty the bladder. 

I snuck out of his embrace and tiptoed to the toilet to relieve myself. As I finished up and dried up I noticed that there was no more cause for worry. I ran back into the room and jumped on the bed like a toddler, shaking Nemesis awake and with one simple demand.

                                                          Fuck me...now!


(Follow me on Twitter -@mazituwe)

Forensic Evidence

 They say black people do not pace. 

Whoever ‘they’ are, they lie. That little toilet cubicle morphed into a vast cold, tiled white hall with glass walls and steel buttresses, devoid of décor and whose echoes were emphasised with each high heeled footfall of my pacing.

I could hear my own voice as a distant but approaching whisper drumming and shouting possibilities in my pounding temples. Those whispers were building up into a loud crescendo of howls as I spat questions out to myself in rapid succession and flung answers back in the same compartment between my ears, none of them at all convincing. All the time I was in there I was trying to steady my breathing enough to be able to walk out calmly with the offensive evidence still in hand and calmly still inquire as to what a part of the female anatomy (yes hair is part of the female anatomy) was doing on the floor in his toilet.

I remembered deceptions as far back as kindergarten. I remembered that fight in the sandpit. I remembered hurts that got more acute and amplified as the relationships I got into had gotten more and more complex. I remembered seeing things and denying them to myself and nowhere was that more evident than in my marriage. Unrelenting images of worthlessness and lies being fed to me because it wasn’t a woman’s place to question her partner’s detrimental decisions and actions especially since those actions would benefit the relationship in the long run.

 Any doubts you had were your own business to deal with and one cannot realistically expect a man to lose focus of his goals as he mollycoddles your fragile female ego. Well, at least this is how society felt when you approached it seeking to be palliated over your suspicions of infidelity or some kind of reassurance from women who have been doing the whole being a woman thing longer than you. The stubbornness of the patriarchal mentality thrown at women (even by women) will take a long time to remedy. It just screams at you to know your place, in the face of doubts, disquiet and disease and at risk of having a personalised delivery of a death sentence handed to you in complicity.

Just ignore your gut and know your place.

I have no idea how long I was in there before I heard a soft knock on the door that jolted me out of my troubled reverie. I had somehow sat back down on the closed lid and had faded off into tormented memories of how I had handled finding such incriminating evidence in the past. I decided that I had behaved like a wimp and not faced issues head on and I was not that guy anymore.

“Are you ok in there?” Nemesis’s voice sounding muffled through the door and the cacophony in my head.

At that point I flushed the toilet again in deflection and yelled above the noise that I would be out in a second, he should make me a cup of coffee in the meantime. I sat back down again and recited the Serenity prayer which goes thus:

“Lord, Grant me

  Serenity to accept the things I cannot change

Courage- to change the things I cannot accept

And

 Wisdom to hide the body of this man after I am done using my ample behind to smother the life out of his being”

He told me that my coffee was ready through the same door and only then did I exit. I sheepishly clambered on to the stool beside the kitchen counter and eyed him introspectively. Up and down. Surveying his features and again arguing with myself about how the curve of his nose can’t possibly be shaped like that of a deceiver. Surely the eyes I was gazing into can’t be eyes that would watch placidly as I self-combusted. These eyes were worthy of even more than the 87% trust their owner held. 

I took a sip of the coffee and glared at him over the rim of the cup. I was already in my Detective Clouseau / CSI mode.

He stroked my forearm, smiling when I set it down on the counter again and cocked his head to the side as he once again asked if I was ok… I stole a quick disgusted glare at his stroking fingers and he almost recoiled.

Gotcha!

Before I even formed the sentence in my head fully I had blurted out “, whose hair is in the toilet?”

“What hair?” came his confused response.

I said, “Whose hair is in the toilet of the house you supposedly live in alone that does not look like mine or yours. Whose strand of long brown hair is in the toilet?”

He looked even more bewildered, his mouth opening and closing like a drowning fish.

“Ohhhh OHHHHHHH you can’t talk now?”

Then he started laughing.

I hissed through clenched teeth, “You have some nerve…what is so funny???”

He had to steady himself as he almost slid off the chair. I still had a hot cup of coffee in my hand, this man had hair in his toilet and he was laughing at my query and anguish? Who the hell did he think he was, or maybe he just liked taking chances with his life? I settled with the latter.

As someone who is usually very quick on the uptake it startled me that he found this remotely pleasant. His jokey demeanour vaporized, no - shriveled as it dawned on him that I was livid and shaking visibly.

He grabbed my hand and pressed it to his warm cheek as I struggled in vain to yank it from his grip. He stroked my face and told me to calm down. He reassured me that my assertions (which did not need spelling out) were severely misguided. 

He had only the day before taken on the services of a cleaning lady as his schedule would not allow him to clean up the house properly as well as the laundering and ironing of his clothing. Since he was traveling and needed a solid stock of clothing she had been brought in on a temp basis to wash and iron his clothing. She was under instruction to make use of only the toilet downstairs, the kitchen and scullery as well as the laundry room. 

I stole a quick glance at the ironing board and rack of clean pressed shirts that were hung beside it. Just as quickly I planted my eyes firmly on the floor as I refused to look at him, he would see my shame.

I managed to mumble that he should have just told me if he needed to have his washing done. Surely I could have managed that!

Nemesis shook me by the shoulders and forcefully informed me that I am not his maid. He also hastened to add that I had quite the demanding schedule to deal with and it was simply not my job to clean up after him. He apologised for not having told me and pointed out that he never thought it would matter that he had needed cleaning done and that such a mundane task could cause me such consternation. I stretched the hair out to its full length and it gave after stretching to almost double its length-this pleased me immensely because it showed that this was not real hair, not a Brazilian or even cheap imitation human hair. It was proper synthetic plastic that I decided would probably be all Sisi Sophie could afford considering her station in life. MYSTERY SOLVED.

I grudgingly conceded defeat and TOTAL jumping of the gun- mentally. There was no need to just expose myself like a beached whale even though I felt like one.  I promptly got up and headed to the sink, picking up both our coffee mugs in the process. I opened the tap and grabbed a washing cloth to just rinse the cups and spoons quickly. I hadn’t noticed him sneak up behind me and only knew it when I felt his hands from under my elbows as he tried to grab the cups out of my soapy hands. I had to keep my hands busy to counter the massive embarrassment that was consuming me. Sadly, or maybe not so sadly he would have none of it.

"You are not my maid !!!" he growled.

He spun me around to face him and firmly gripped my ass in his hands as he pressed me into him in a bone crushing embrace. His lips covered mine with such urgency and fervour that I almost forgot I was holding a cup which he very graciously relieved me of. As the cup landed in the sudsy water, my sudsy hands were wrapping around his neck sucking all the bitterness of the coffee off his lips and tugging at his ears. 

Pop! Went one button off his shirt

Then two off my blouse 

I felt myself being lifted off my feet and placed on a wet, cold sink side counter and the weight of his body literally force my legs apart to accommodate him. I eagerly hooked my heels into the back of his knees and pushed my chest out for him to bury his face in as he pulled my ass in closer to him, grinding his fully clothed pelvis towards my moist punani….

(Follow me on twitter @mazituwe)

Hairy Affair

Communication is the glue that holds any situation together, I've found this to be most true when in  relationships. 

Once that glorious glow of having things in common is overtaken by the glow of never wanting to be apart and that is taken over by the glow of mind blowing sex which should normally emphasize the glow of never wanting to part.

There has to be a solid foundation it all stems from unless one or both were weaving tales of wanton wonder-lust. In short, as long as it isn't a mind-fuck there is more to it than bumping uglies.
Where a bottom line is built upon; as with buildings whose stability depends on concrete relationships' stability depends on the glue of our words and  actions. Do we keep our promises? Do we maintain and foster communication and trust? 

I won't lie. I am as cynical as they come. When we last put a microscope to my life I flippantly reeled off details about my personal life and some of the "associations" I have encountered. I neglected to mention my GROSS,SWEEPING,INDISCRIMINATE distrust of each and every single male I have encountered...even my faith in my own superman from conception was to be dashed as I grew old enough to understand.

Nemesis failed to cast many aspersions within me and I handed him the rare gift of 87% of my Trust. So bad are my trust issues that my child at the age of seven is living with the knowledge that her 100% impunity is a direct reflection of her Math grades. Should these slump as she grows,there shall be a 500g packet of salt with her name on it as soon as she opens her mouth to talk joining the 5kg already in my handbag for when everyone else talks. I am always ready with the liberal pinches of salt and it (the 500g)shall increase should the grades get lower.

Anything you say can and will come back to bite you in the arse when you least expect it. I have a memory that terrifies it's owner and an ability to recount blow by blow any occurrence that disconcerts me.
So at 87% Nemesis has a High Score right there! 

That was until sometime in September. When the wretched A-word made an unwelcome appearance again. He was due to travel as usual for work. As usual I had no problem with any of that. He was going to be gone for two weeks but we obviously had to bank some serious bedtime.
He got me over to his temporary place and as we entered the living area clothes were already being flung on the floor and furniture. It was very urgent and almost all consuming...almost I say ....until the urge to go to the toilet interrupted the pre-coital gropes.

I loosened myself from his embrace and made a mad dash for the toilet which is right next to the door we had burst through moments before. I flicked on the light switch and dived bum first on the receptive pot.
Having purged myself of a violent flood and sat there in the satisfying afterglow of the relieved bladder, with eyes half shut and humming gleefully to myself in sheer ecstasy- I wiped up ,flushed and rose to wash my hands. Out of the corner of my eye I spied a long strand of dark brown hair yelling for my attention from just under the corner of the mat. 

Firstly I hadn't visited in almost a week and

Secondly I most certainly did not have a long brown weave on but almost blonde braids and my natural hair is kinky and black.

Thirdly Nemesis doesn't exactly get his hair done beyond a clean-cut bald head and shave, he's only a fan of long hair in other people's heads. 

Fourth- Nemesis lives alone

Be it before he moved house or now when he rented accommodation on a week to week basis...
This man lives alone!

                                                 Somebody was going to die tonight.

(follow me on Twitter - @mazituwe)