She isn’t beautiful in the way Genevieve is beautiful.
But she is the kind of woman you walk past and even if you are with your wife or pastor, you do a double take.
She had on black pants that clung to her like they were sewn on to her skin and her sparkling white shirt had two loose buttons that allowed a peek of a lacy black bra. I liked.
I was leaving a client’s office when she walked into the corridor and I just stood there in her path, not moving until she was standing so close to me I could smell the mint on her breath.
“My name is Oshoko,” I said like she had asked for it.
“And you are telling me this because?” she asked and even though her tone was serious, there was the shadow of a smile around her lips.
“Because I have been waiting for you for,” I began then paused to lift to check my wrist watch. “32 minutes.”
“Me?” she asked, baffled but clearly curious. “I just got a call from the dentist. I had no plans to come here.”
“Wow, my bad. I thought you were the CEO I came to see. So, sorry then. My card,” I said flashing one.
She took it, hesitated for the briefest second then she dug in her bag and gave me a card too.
“Cynthia. Nice to meet you,” I said and stretched out a hand. She shook it, the smile now full blown.
“If I called, would you pick?”
“If you called…” she said and left it hanging as she brushed past me and headed for her appointment.
I watched her sprawled, all limbs and breasts, on my bed and remembered that meeting and how when I had called she had said “You are a big liar, you know.”
“Good afternoon to you too,” I said and she had laughed.
“You just wanted to get my number,” she said. “And I fell for it.”
When I didn’t say a word she asked “Are you still there?”
So, why are you quiet?”
“I am in shock. I haven’t been called a liar in a while,” I said.
“When did some one last call you a liar?” she asked and then burst into laughter when I said “Last night.”
It was easier from then on because, in my experience, once you can make a woman laugh, you are half-way there.
I asked her out for a drink. She works in telecom. I work in public relations. She is Igbo. I am Kogi. She studied Chemical Engineering. I studied Communications. She is single. I am searching. She likes kissing. I love kissing. So we kissed a bit.
After dinner the next night, we kissed some more and then somehow we ended up at my place because it was a Friday.
Now wide awake and just looking at her svelte body lying naked in my bed, the tattoo of a star above her left breast rising and falling in tune with her breathing, I can feel my need rising.
I reach out to part her legs and she flutters one eye open.
“Mister Man don’t you get tired?” she asked that same naughty smile playing around her lips.
By Oshoko Bushushu