Ogbonna stood at six-two with broad shoulders and narrow hips, his body lean
and hard beneath tight fitting jeans, a polo-shirt and a fleece jacket that
wasn't quite enough to keep the chill of the night out. His soft-soled trainers
barely made a sound on the pavement as he shortened his natural gait in time
with hers.Amaka was small in comparison, only just clearing five feet without her heels. She looked fragile and tiny next to him, and her slacks and sweater didn't do the sweeping curves of her slender frame any justice, nor did the way that she wore her long hair pinned tightly back in a ponytail, but then she tended to dress herself down, to avoid receiving the attention that she so desperately wanted.
Their outing had been the result of some lunchtime banter in the office where they both worked. Amaka didn't usually get drawn into the flirting and baiting that frequently happened between colleagues, and though Ogbonna could flirt and tease with the best of them, he never showed that side of himself at work, preferring to keep business and pleasure as separate entities.
He had been sitting eating his lunch in the staff room when Amaka and two of her colleagues from Accounts had joined him, the other seats at his table being the only ones free at the time. The two women with her had been teasing her somewhat, as they discussed the latest movie out, and Amaka had innocently expressed an interest in seeing it at the same time admitting that she wouldn't go on her own. 'Ogbonna will take you,' one of her friends had said jokingly, and it had all stemmed from there.
The thing was though, that Ogbonna really did like Amaka, had done since he had joined the firm some months previously. There was just something about her, something that he couldn't define, something that he wanted in a way that he never had before. Likewise, Amaka had admired Ogbonna from afar for just as long, tall dark and handsome and with a really confident, easy manner about him, he appealed to her on so many levels, and yet typically she wrote herself off as a mate for him.
So, innocently enough, they had ended up going for a drink and on to see the movie, which had been very good, though a little erotic perhaps for an outing between two people somewhat conflicted with themselves over how they felt about the other. Ogbonna, who was usually so comfortable around women and smooth with the chat up lines, resisted the urge to take her hand or slip an arm about her waist, and struggled to think of something meaningful to say whilst Amaka, shy and somewhat introverted, unable to just be what she wanted to be, accepted this thinking that he didn't want her, that he had only taken her because he hadn't been in a position to refuse, that she was his sympathy date for the night.
They reached her home, a small two-bedroom house not far from the town centre but in a quiet little street, and he had walked with her to the porch where she had fumbled in her bag for her keys.
"Thanks for taking me, are you sure that I can't at least pay my share?" she asked.
"Not necessary, really," he answered, aware of the tension between them yet still not really wanting the evening to end.
She slung her bag back over her shoulder and turned, sliding the key into the lock, then turned once more to face him. "Well, thanks, and goodnight then," she said.
"It was a pleasure, goodnight Amaka," he responded.
She turned the key in the lock as he started to walk back to the street, then turned again, "Ogbonna, isn't it customary to give your date a goodnight kiss? Or is that going too far when your date's only the lady that nobody wants?"
Ogbonna stopped, feeling her hurt, and walked back towards her. "It's not like that Amaka, not like that at all!" he told her.
She saw something in his eyes that registered, wanted to believe him, but her frustration was boiling up, frustration and disappointment. "Isn't it? I've heard some guys talking about me at work, calling me just that, and worse. One guy even said that he would fuck me because he felt sorry for me, how do you think that makes a girl feel?" Her eyes were stinging now.
"Amaka," he said softly, "I'm not other guys. I've liked you since I started work there, and that's the problem here. I can pull women any time I want, I learnt how to do that a long time ago, but I don't want you to be just another woman I've scored with."
Their breath misted the air between them, and there was an extended silence as they stood looking at each other. Amaka so much wanted to believe him, was starting to, but just couldn't buy it. "Even more reason to kiss me goodnight then I would've thought!" she said sadly.
"I didn't want you to think that I was just playing you," he responded, "I, um, err, I'm not good with feelings and stuff I, oh heck!"
He reached out and placed his hands on her waist, pulling her into his powerful arms. Her hands reached up to his shoulders and pushed back, she even leaned back from the waist, away from him.
"You don't have to," she told him.
"Dammit woman I'm trying to do things the right way here, give me a break!" he said, and then grinned stupidly. She smiled back at him, relaxing a little. "What are we like huh?" he said with a soft chuckle.
His hand slid up her spine and he pulled her towards him, he could still feel tension in her hands, still a defensive pressure against him, but she wasn't resisting his guiding hand that was bringing her closer, and even turned her face up towards his.
He leaned in to her, his moist lips brushed against hers, barely making contact, just enough to leave a tingling feeling behind. His mouth was just millimetres from hers, their eyes were open and searching for something in the other's, some clue as to how to proceed. He touched his lips to hers again, then gently ran the tip of his tongue across her upper lip, from one corner of her mouth to the other.
She sighed softly as the tingling feeling intensified, parted her lips in a silent sigh at the pleasure of it. His tongue slipped between her lips and gentled nuzzled hers, and she felt herself responding, felt her hands sliding over his shoulders and around his neck, felt her moulding her body to his, melting into him as their tongues re-enacted some primordial courting ritual, twisting and turning together, dancing to a silent tune.
They kissed gently and sensually, without hunger. They took their time and enjoyed the sensations that they were giving to each other, enjoyed the pressure of each other's bodies so close, so warm. They kissed until the simple need for air in starving lungs forced them apart. She lowered her face and pressed her forehead into his neck, not letting go of him, only vaguely aware that one of her legs was bent at the knee, her foot in the air, and that she was being supported by him as much as herself. She was trembling, actually trembling in his arms.
They held each other, breathless, unspeaking, for what seemed such a long time, then she firmly planted both feet on the ground and pulled back from him.
"Goodnight then," she said shyly.
"Goodnight Amaka, I'll call you tomorrow, maybe I can take you somewhere really nice for dinner, make up for my clumsiness?" he offered.
"Hardly clumsy Ogbonna," she answered, aware that she was still swooning a little from the incredible kissing, "But yes, please do call me, I would really like that!"
"I will, I promise," he smiled at her, and even in the dim light of the porch she could see the smile shining in his dark eyes, and the truth in his words. "Goodnight."
He stood by the doorway until it had closed behind her, the lock had clicked and two bolts had slid into their receivers, then he thrust his hands into his jacket pocket and with a broad smile headed back to the pavement for the walk home, suddenly unaware of the cold.
- - - - -
Amaka shrugged off her coat in the hallway and wandered through to the little kitchen at the rear of her home, snapping the kettle on to make tea. Her lips still tingled from the caress of his, her soft-again nipples ached sweetly with the same feeling.
As she gathered the things to make her tea, opening cupboards, sniffing the milk to make sure it was okay, her mind raced away with impossible thoughts, dreams really, of going out with Ogbonna, looking like she belonged with him, acting like she did. She wondered if she could ever be enough for a man like him. She wanted to be. She wanted to be desirable and sexy, wanted to see adoration in her man's eyes, and lust. She wanted to be the focus and fulcrum of her man's life, to give him everything, to take everything, and to relish it all. She just wasn't sure that she could, or was perhaps scared to.
Amaka carried her tea back to the cosy little living room and sat on the sofa, tucking her feet underneath her and settling in comfortably, the mug cradled in both hands on her knees.
Her upbringing had been a simple one, a loving home where voices were rarely, if ever, raised, where manners and morals were emphasised and rewarded. Safe. That one word described most of her life really. Safe.
She had never been a problem to her parents, getting good grades at school, or perhaps acceptable ones, without ever really excelling. Amaka hadn't followed the path of cigarettes and dope, alcohol and sex that some of her friends had, though she had watched it all with interest, a curiosity that perhaps bordered on envy. She had offers, from guys and girls alike, but she had always played it, well, safe. Boring.
Leaving school she had landed a good secretarial job straight away and had started contributing to the family purse, much to her parents' pleasure. They were proud of their good girl, and rightly so, but she had been dying inside, desperately wanting to break free and live, just once.
Then one night, just after her twentieth birthday, she had gone to a party in a dress too short at the hem and cut too low at the neck. She had loved that dress, but the displeasure on her parents' faces had registered, tainted the night before it had even started. Maybe if it hadn't she wouldn't have drunk that bit too much, wouldn't have danced with and got touched up by quite so many guys, wouldn't have ended up losing her virginity to one of them in the park as he had ostensibly walked her home.
She never expected that first time to be earth shattering, nor had it been, but it shouldn't have been such a big deal either. Her dress had been stained, she hadn't been sober, her parents had known, and she hadn't denied it. She could still hear her father crying, muttering something about his little girl not being his little girl anymore.
Whenever she dared to fly in her life, something had always yanked her back and locked her to the ground. There had been another lover, a short relationship, a hint of what this mysterious and allegedly wonderful thing called sex could be, then he had gone too, moved on to the next girl.
Amaka had refused further advances from men thereafter for a long time, longed for them, but turned away from them. Her career had progressed, then she had met a man that her parents had approved of and there had been a swift romance, a big wedding, and a new life for which she had been in many ways unprepared. Sex happened on Saturday nights, lights out and over and done with in minutes. For years.
She had created a fantasy life for herself that took her away from the mundane realities of existing, where she could be anything without reproach, the wanton slut, the wooed lover, the hot fox or anything else. She had fuelled her fantasies with books and her friends' sometimes lurid details of their own sex lives, and over time, a long time, had accepted that she had a different destiny.
It had been the emergency surgery that had finally taken away from her any hope of fulfilling herself as a woman, the surgery that had left her unable to bear children. Her self-esteem had plummeted, and along with it any confidence that she may have felt. Her husband wanted her less and less, her fantasy life grew to such a level that she hardly existed outside of it.
Then her husband had packed up his things one afternoon, telling her that he was leaving, that he had a new love, an exciting 'up-for-anything' woman, a real woman he had said. A pregnant woman as it turned out. Her divorce had swiftly followed, and she had been unable to cope with her parents' claims that she had 'let a good man go.' They hadn't heard her arguments about fidelity and honouring marriage vows, those moral things that they themselves had instilled in her.
She had left town and moved, left everything behind including her parents, and come to this house in this new town. More than five years had passed, her next birthday would be her fortieth. She had rebuilt her life up to a point with a new job and new friends, but what she expected from life was minimal.
What had safe got her though? What had boring got her? Or faithful? What had she done so wrong? And still that urge to fly was there, the fantasies were there, the need and desire to be loved for what and who she was, was there.
And now a man was there. Could it ever be? Could she dare to shed her drab, caterpillar image and at least try to become the butterfly she had always wanted to be? Was it really so wrong to want to?
Amaka finished her tea, a mixture of emotions filling her. She had tried doing things her parents' way, and she had failed, but then when she had deviated from that path she had also failed. Was that her destiny? To fail? Over and over again?
She shook her hair out of the clip that held it as she ascended the stairs. In order to fail at anything you first had to try, and if you tried, there was also the possibility of success wasn't there?
Some time later, Amaka had discarded her Black Lace novel and switched out the light, and lay quietly and snug under the thick duvet, sleep just a distant prospect as she recalled Ogbonna's arms around her, the way he had kissed her, the look in his eyes. Her nipples hardened and the heat between her legs intensified.
Could she let this chance, possibly her last, slip by her? She had handled failure before and she could again, so was it the possibility of success that scared her? She rolled onto her side, eyes open but blind in the darkness. In her mind she could see the answer.
The caterpillar clung to the stem, even after changing its appearance, dressing itself finely to catch the eye rather than hide, but it could only fly when it let go of that stem. Did it know that it could fly before it let go? It was the ultimate leap of faith. She was scared of letting go, perhaps because she never had, and she didn't know if she could fly, or what would become of her if she could.
She drifted off into a fantasy, her hands finding all the familiar places on her body, touching herself in all the known ways as, in her mind at least, she made the leap and soared into the air, where she moaned and cried out with the beauty of her flight, and then landed softly in the arms of her man, a man who would surely fly with her again.
- - - - -
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