GUYS ARE US
- Post By EmDee David 8:03pm on Saturday 17th December 2016
There is nothing as being us, and also accepting how we have been created, how God has made us, accepting our sexuality, especially these chemicals that run through our blood capillaries...
GUYS ARE US (1)
By Emdee David
There is nothing as being us, and also accepting how we have been created, how God has made us, accepting our sexuality, especially these chemicals that run through our blood capillaries and, unfortunately, (or is it the other way round) concentrate its resultant energy between our thighs. And that drives us crazy, right? I can hear a loud “yeah” in your mind.
And when that happens, the mind starts working – “googling” the “sweetest” and “available” babe around. Most Abuja babes are. Guys, aren’t they? And that’s what we like, right? I can read your mind, don’t forget, because it’s exactly like mine. So, don’t be ashamed of that, it’s just how we were created. We accept it that way. And it seems girls with a high degree of these qualities are the main content (sorry, residents) of this highly sensual city of Abuja.
Sweet. Available. Two endearing words that make guys like me go gaga. I can’t forget the lady that lured me into working my transfer from Lagos to Abuja. She used those two words. Did she literally say them? No, I guess she implied them. And it got to me. Sweet! Available!
Thelma. We met on Facebook. Her pictures were extra fine and so captivating. And after much online romance, we decided it was high time we met. When Thelma and I met, it was in an eatery, I was a bit disappointed. Her face was not really as fine as the pictures of her I had seen. Not as tall as well. So I thought this was going to end right at the beginning. But I had to be calm. She mustn’t notice my disappointment.
However, her voice was soft and sensual. I couldn’t ignore it. My eyes were constantly fixed on her boobs, hmmm, the size made up for the near-ugly face. She noticed my gaze and seemed to like it.
“You like them big, right?” she said. It wasn’t a question. I nodded, smiled and then pulled her hands with mine. Her palms were soft and tender. Another plus for her.
“It’s nice seeing you in real life” she said. I couldn’t reply because my mind was already working on the data my eyes had sent. Each datum was calling for action. I had pulled off her dress and seen the big black nipples dotted on her breasts. My tongue was approaching them when her leg pushed mine under the table and I returned to life.
“Same here,” I borrowed her words which she often used even on phone when I said I missed her.
“What were you thinking?” asked Thelma. I smiled.
“You are so beautiful,” I lied.
“Yes.” For your mind.
“Thanks, sweetie,” She pronounced the “t” as “r”. No problem. Who cared?
Moments later, we drove to my friend’s apartment where I was putting up. He was gone for lectures for his professional exams. We sat down, talked more over Irish Cream.
“You are such a nice guy,” she said. “And so sweet.” Hmm! Irish cream at work.
“You too,” I managed to say. Then she reclined on me. Oh, Irish Cream. My trousers swelled and she noticed.
“Calm down,” she advised, tapping my trousers’ raised flap. But my stubborn boy wouldn’t listen. It rose again. Chemicals were running in the blood capillaries, forcing my hands to rest on her boobs. She didn’t resist. Good.
My fingers searched for the position of her nipples. I scratched it softly and waited for her reaction. I knew what a touch meant for a woman. She liked to be cuddled. I did that piously. She enjoyed it. My mind kept working fast. I dipped my hand into her blouse, but she gently pulled it back. Not so fast? Sure. All ladies do that at first time. But we, guys, know the solution.
I touched her ears, neck and ran my fingers on her arms. She squeezed and turned. Her legs were stretching like a dog waking up from sleep. Her eyes were closed. This was beyond Irish cream. It was me. I left her for a moment, left her wondering. We call that suspense. She then opened her eyes to see me staring at her. When she closed them again, I left for a minute or so. I was sure she heard me securing the door locks. Ladies feel free when they are sure the doors are properly locked.
By the time I came back, I pulled out her shoes and put her legs on the cushioned chair.
“Thanks, Tony.” She whispered. I only smiled, a sexy and alluring smile. She was shocked when I kissed her toes, but she liked it. Her smile was welcoming and reassuring. During the phone romance, we’d discussed her hot spots, and now, I started to explore her body parts with my magic fingers. I moved from her toes to her legs, I raised her blouse and licked her tummy.
“Stop, please, stop,” She whispered, but I knew she didn’t mean it, because her fingers were already playing guitar with my nipples. My boy began to dance Rock N Roll in his prison, crying for freedom as well. I could even feel the little thick tears gathering at the tip.
My hands found their way into her bra by instinct. She moaned, I moaned, the chair moaned too.
“What do you want, Tony?” She asked. See question! I pulled her up, her face had transformed, filled with hot desire.
What do you want too? I‘d wanted to ask, but didn’t, because I knew. When a guy knows what a girl wants, he gives it to her. I sent her short skirt to the floor, escorted by my honourable boxer. A kissing session lasted over ten minutes, which was so passionate, I must say. We kissed like just-released prisoners. And at the fullness of time, we both were fulfilled, right on top of a crying cushioned chair.
“You are so sweet,” I said, and I genuinely meant it.
Emdee David – is the Director of Africa Entertainment Network, a Writer, Producer, Director and a media consultant.
Read other Erotic comedy by Emdee David: THE SEXCAPADE OF NATASHA