AMELIA

- June 15, 2019

The night had been fairly silent. The serenity was way beyond amazing; save for a few crickets which made incessant sounds all through as if they had nothing to do. Well, of course they didn't. Its not like they would just decide to make out on damp grass like we were doing. And anyway, it is for humanity that they were created; to make the dead nights such as those alive, at least.

The sky was clear as well. No moon, no stars, no clouds;no nothing. Just the cool breeze and us; Amelia and I.

Nobody was saying anything. Each of us was engrossed in separate thoughts - largely she though. Honestly, at that time, I was not thinking. (I never think when there's an aura of femininity close to me.) Maybe she was thinking of me; how shy I was or maybe how amazing I was. I didn't care about that. All that mattered then was that I had her by my side.

Well, about the silence. Its not that we had nothing to talk about. Actually, we did. I had a lot to say to her, Amelia did as well. None knew how to begin. None wanted to make the first move. Deep down in my heart, or wherever affection is felt, I knew that I wanted her, and her alone. Maybe she also knew that she wanted me, and me alone for that matter. The few inches that kept son and daughter of man apart though were too wide a rift to be bridged then, or so it seemed. I could not figure out the perfect way to engage that true daughter of the finest of African soil. She thought so too - I could tell.

As such, we opted to lay back on the grass which gently pricked our bare feet; staring blankly at the empty sky, secretly wishing for the return of the stars so that we could count them one after the other, while we waited for the night to fade away.
Outwardly, I looked okay. My face was not pale, no goosebumps on my skin, no shivers. I was okay. Inwardly though, and in my mind to be precise, thoughts were brewing and almost intoxicating me. I could not explain the nervousness. Sijawahi lalisha fom hivo. I mean, Amelia was not so different from other chics. I was just shocked that she had seemed unnerved by the devil's charm. Who the hell did she think she was? Nobody resists Lucifer's charm. Even Chloe Decker gave in at last.(I'm not saying that I'm the devil; its just metaphorical.)

I decided to man up and do what I do best; whatever it took.

Hitherto, I stretched out my arm to reach for hers. I didn't know where to find it. I was like the proverbial kid who dipped his hand in a beehive in search of honey not realising the perils he was subjecting himself to. Unlike him though, mine was not a leap of faith, for there were no bees in my hive;only the honey.

After a few misdirected taps on Amelia's flesh, our hands met. Our fingers interlocked. The grip tightened. None wanted to let go. Then we turned our heads, simultaneously. With the aid of the faint lamp that lit our afro date, I lucidly made out her face. She was glorious and seraphic and glorious than ever, almost like Eve...(Assuming she was ten times prettier than the young Queen Victoria.) There I had been, thinking I had cast the charm on her, but at that point, it became apparent that she was the devil incarnate herself.

Just about then, my left arm found its way to her right upper arm. I felt her skin, so damn soft, so velvety. I knew I was trapped then, and there was no way out. She drew closer to me;real close. I could hear her slightest breath. It was seductive. Our lips touched. She gently bit my lower lip sending a quick spasm of excitement through my body.

The tension barricade was long gone. We had each other at dispensation. That was all that mattered.
The cold began to bite. We could not stand it. We moved the action indoors.

The slow opera from the deck tempted Amelia to a ballet but no, we were not there for the dance. Greater things were up ahead, or so we hoped. The deck was paused and an eerie silence assumed. With my right arm, I pulled her closer so that her body was pressed on to mine. Then with my left, I rounded her waist. She held up her head and lecherously looked into my eyes. She killed me then, for I knew what such looks meant. (Rolling eyeballs, low eyebrows...) It was not rocket science to decipher that she was in the game.

Then softly, like one of the romantic Alehandro's in telenovelas, I gently pressed my lips against the nape of her neck. She cooed a little, like a young dove. It was amazing. From the look of things, she was beginning to see the fun part of the night.
Suddenly, though largely intentionally, we lost balance and fell on the fluffy coach just a few inches away. I went first, then she after me; squarely laying on my chest. She didn't wait for a prompt as she began undoing the cuffs from my braces. I then pulled up her mini. My hands grazed up the unchartered waters. The thighs were flaring hot. The moans of excitement were tempting. I was trapped. She was my only way out.