I think it was the way she bites the side of her lips every time she looks at me that has me tripping. For good reason, I just couldn’t stop kissing her every chance I got. Lips always glossy, soft and very inviting. I’d kiss her for days and be content with just that. Her eyes had a way to flatter the heart and prompt you into bad decisions. I can honestly hope that no one ever ends up with someone who they can’t kiss randomly for no apparent reason. There is something it does to your soul especially if done between slow strokes as she rides you or when her lips turn all pink under the hot shower.
She, however, felt a little rough on my palate. It’s one of those feelings you just can’t shake off about someone. Like that soft and thick peanut butter, you can’t just stop scooping. The kind you can already visualize sticking on your palate at the end of it all but it is totally worth all the trouble. One flick of the tongue and she leaves an aftertaste that kills all the appetite I may have for anyone else. She had a way of creating a longing for her. The kind of cake you eat and still have.
This night was special, we went for some drinks and one look at her drew me closer to madness. Every impediment to the kisses I longed to give her was a sworn mortal enemy. One look at her and I suddenly realized that I do have a type. It’s probably something people don’t say out loud but we tend to be creatures of habit. We look for just about the same traits and end up either with a new version or an outdated version that still somehow works.
That karaoke night, I sang Lazizi by Sauti Sol and I got consumed by the raging urge to kiss her on the interlude just before Chimano’s part comes on. I fought it and waited until while she was clapping after the performance. The tequila shots and Pilsner had my head ringing in a tune that sounded too familiar. I ignored it but it somehow gave me an ear worm. Love Galore by Sza kept coming to my mind and every time I hummed the chorus, I spun her around to kiss her. The soul sucking kind of kiss that has your lips and jaws hurting right after.
The askari tried to warn us not to run into cars and raise unnecessary alarm but we were too engrossed to listen. She walked backwards tip toeing the whole way with her ass cheeks cupped in my hands in gentle squeezes. The silence in the darkness was far from ominous. It felt like walking at zero gravity in space just staring at the galaxy with our minds’ eyes. The club banged in the distance and we knew that was the cue. My fingers ran around the circumference of her rounded bum and the sun dress lifted even higher as I parted her cheeks.
I couldn’t tell if she shivered amid the kisses because of the cold or because of my wandering finger. Her gasps rang free in the night air but were muffled by the music back at the club. She had one of her legs around my waist and her lips drew heavy breaths around my nape and on my neck in turns. She was moistening up and the temptation to go on a knee and clean her kitty up was interjected. She grabbed my collar on my way down and turned around with my crotch over pouring in her hands.
My belt and zipper were undone and she couldn’t resist the allure of running her tongue on it to match the damp in her nethers. One suck and I was hyperventilating wishing she had lead with this. She came back up and kissed me to let me have a taste of what I was about to serve her and partly to bring me back from reeling in ecstasy. Her hands took a trip under my shirt and back down to my pecker. I cannot overstate the chill that ran down my spine in that cold, jet black parking lot darkness. I could barely see her but she guided me all the way in with her left leg resting on my right arm.
I pinned her on the wall like the masterpiece she was. My Monalisa. The kisses never ending. I may have smudged her into some form of abstract art. From a Da Vinci straight into a Van Gogh and right back again. I could tell by how she flew free like a dandelion in the wind. From how she smiled and looked down at my lips with the most sinister smirk to how she rolled her eyes and her head followed like an exorcism ritual. All these paintings with their unique strokes: in different measures and technique.
She pushed me away and I almost tripped on my trousers around my ankles. She made enough room to turn around and backed it up on me. She guided my hands to her bossom and did a half turn in an impossible reach for my lips. I could feel my toes curl in my shoes, my knees weaken, and my pulse hasten. She encouraged my climax and increased her tempo. Her rhythm was as if like she didn’t want me to finish first but all her efforts were betraying her. I relaxed and let her get me through the finish line. My body was too heavy for me. I let it hang dripping with a little support from the wall as I gradually convalesced.
She lifted my trouser and let me do the zipping up and lifted my face for one more kiss before anyone got us. The whole place was deathly silent now. We were lucky the Uber we ordered was already there so we drove off into the dark night hoping no one witnessed the nuclear fusion that just happened in the parking lot. Two random atoms with a high affinity for each other and a highly volatile and effervescent fusion.
At the back seat, I looked at her, smiled to myself and slowly approached her until I felt her warm breath on my lips again. I am not superstitious but she is definitely black magic. She is too fly for an angel without wings.