Death, And All Of His Friends

I've been a terrible blogger, coming on here once a month for the last three months....not like the whole world is reading :D, but i hope someone is reading, and if you are, then I apologize for the absence. Hopefully, I will begin to take my writing more serious, and blog hourly :|....

But on a more serious note, Shall we talk about dying?

********

Death is one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life.

Except for the few(not so few) who have lost a father, a mother, a sibling…the majority of us have never experienced death "first hand". They say the first time you die is when you lose someone close to you. Agreed. But even that isn't the only way you die.

Death is always viewed with this uncertain awe, or respect, sort of. It has powers that we cannot comprehend or understand. How is it able to turn a loving father aggressive? Or make an available mother become distant within the same space?

I've never understood death, never even tried to. A couple of times I've had people die. People I knew, or even cared for, but never really had a place for in my heart, so I never felt the hurt. I had a friend die in secondary school, and I remember how everybody was so hurt, it was like the school was thrown into a week of mourning, and I knew the girl, but didn’t quite know the girl, so I wasn’t as affected. Then this other time we heard about this twin brother and sister who died side by side in a hospital. I was affected, after all, I am human, but they were my juniors, and that was my excuse for not letting their death rock my world. University has been similar. People die everywhere. I've come to understand that where 10 people are, a high probability of one of them dying exists.

#Shrug….its just life happening, passing by.

But then, that moment comes where you realize that death hasn’t been so distant after all, the moment where you lose someone, I mean really lose someone who held such a huge chunk of your heart in their hands. The moment where you become aware of that looming shadow over your head, the not-so-silent clock that has been ticking away over your life. The moment where you fear death so fucking much like as if it has crossed out every other person on its list and a neon arrow is blinking and pointing towards your name. The moment where Christianity becomes your shield, and you appreciate life more than you ever have. That moment, is the power death has over us.

I got bad news yesterday, really bad news. *sigh*. That ugly assed death had reared its smelling rotten head somewhere close to me…the thing is, sadly, it wasn’t still close enough that I'd give up on all my social vices and become a devout 24-hour Christian. It wasn’t close enough that my world stopped. It was close enough that my world paused, allowed me count my blessings, name them and move on.

But in counting my blessings, I realized that we don’t have it lucky anymore.

Nigerians used to be so confident, God's own country. We couldn’t boast of a greed free nation, or an honorable government, good roads, stable electricity, and all those other problems that make you hate Nigeria, but we've always been able to boast of a country free of natural disasters. We have people in places in Nigeria who do not even know what a hurricane is, or tornado. Everybody knows what earthquakes are, but how many people understand the magnitude of it?

To an extent we are still lucky…Boko Haram killing 12 in Adamawa is not yet terrorism abi? A pregnant woman is shot dead in Maiduguri, but that’s just one person. Being made homeless by the floods in Lagos and being killed by the ones in Ibadan and Borno is really not that serious. A 400 level boy commits suicide in a hotel room….#Shrug. Bomb kills 20 at Abuja UN House, 68 injured, fate of 20 kids unknown. We are still lucky?

Death is one of those things that never quite happens to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life. Its in the papers, on the news, but somehow you are safe because of your ignorance in believing you are safe?

There are more serious things at hand that leave no space for us to start appreciating our lives even. We are too consumed by facebook, twitter, tumblr, and smart phones(guilty, guilty, guilty) to see that our neighbors are suffering depression and a hug would cure it. Or your gate-man has AIDs and the proper exposure would help him understand it. Even the government is too busy shouting about change in Nigeria, driving towards a better Nigeria with better technology…Vision 20/20 abi? Lets rebrand Nigeria?

Its now more serious than that, deeper than twitfights and nude avatars and tweeter celebs??….deeper than football matches and clubbing on a Friday night or the beach that could so easily steal your life. Because you see, even though death has always been one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life, death is now closer and bigger than before. The minute you think is so far away, is now just 60 seconds away from you, and the littlest things flare up, amplify and blow up in our faces.

I will never make a joke about death. Its powers astound me. I do not fear it, mock it, or try to understand it. I simply accept it as a factor that is unavoidable, irreversible, and teetering on an unsteady line. There is no justice in death. #Shrug….it just keeps happening. And closer.

Today, hurricane Irene isn't sitting in our laps, but tomorrow?

Death has always been one of those things that never quite happen to you. I mean you hear about it, see it, read it, and even feel it sometimes, but in some unexplainable way, it still remains this distant theory that hangs in the horizon of your life. 

Not anymore.

Untitled

#nponpermanentrepeat I Didn’t Know My Own Strength - Whitney Houston + Recover - Natasha Bedingfield

We hurt so gaddamn much, that we should be immune if we are still alive. How are we still alive?

For what its worth, I don’t expect you to be psychic.
Boys always get off saying that they cant read our minds, and know what we are thinking all of the time, especially whenever they ask and you reply saying the old, acceptable line of "I'm fine".
Boys get off saying that girls are difficult, always dramatic, overly dramatic, and looking for reasons to get into an argument. Boys get off saying that we have plenty trouble trailing our behinds, following us, making us seem irrational and inconsistent with our emotions. They find it so easy to blame it on PMS, Ovulation, or any other hormonal occurrences in our body.
So for whatever it might be worth, I really do not expect that you should be omniscient, knowing everything, reading every line on my face. For what its worth, I do not expect you to understand that as a girl, I'm complicated because things hurt me deeper, easier, and I heal slower. That I'm a true love lover.
I don’t expect a perfectly understanding boyfriend, actually I did, but all I got in its stead was a somewhat clueless boyfriend, immune to my tantrums, mood swings, and facial/body language. At first I thought it was cool that he didn’t care much, and didn’t let my overly outraged feminine tactics bother him much, but now I realize that he just didn’t get it.
For what its worth, I'm making a public announcement that I'm done looking for perfection…what does that even mean?
For whatever it might be worth, I want whoever reads this to know that I don’t expect him to be psychic…I just expect you to be sensitive enough to read my emotions.

My love is almost an experiment each time. To see how selfish I can be. To see if I can really carry on to snare a possible lover. To see if I am capable of debasing myself for the love of another. To see if I can stand not being wanted when I want to be wanted. To test my weaknesses and overwork my strengths. To expose myself to hurt each time, and see if I can withstand the pain of my heart breaking, almost each time.
I am a deliberate love addict. Humans are constantly hungry for love and I am proudly human, getting pulled to wherever I find love. Love means to love that which is unlovable, so I constantly test myself, push myself to the limitless walls of love. I constantly find those boys that give excuses, deliberately or otherwise, wound me. I experiment on their excuses.
Each boy a project, each relationship an experiment. My love is almost an experiment each time.

But loving someone is such hard work, constantly striving to please someone and place the person ahead of yourself. But I love love, and everything that it carries with it in its back pocket - jealousy, lust, trust, insecurity, passion, hurt, affection, and the crazy mind blowing sex?. I love love, and love loving love…I must have been down this road a million times(well, not a million times), and each time I let myself get sucked into the drama of it.
My love is almost an experiment each time, but for what its worth (In all honesty and precision), I think its love that's experimenting on me. I don’t know who's doing it, I thought I was but, I was stupid. I was able to be hurt, and that’s not real, not anymore. We should be immune to hurt if we're still alive.

How are we still alive? How are we stir able to love whole-heartedly, each time, after each hurt, after each heartbreak? How are we able to constantly debase ourselves for love, stripping our bodies of all ego and pride…only to have ridicule thrust upon us.
*sigh*

How are we still able to love? How are we still alive?
We Recover? We are not built to break? Don't know our own strengths?
Ok!

....not for the faint of heart :p

For the longest time ever, I have respected and envied Osisiye's form of writing, and now I have the opportunity to put up something of his on my blog...Yay me :)
Ion want it to seem like my blog has singularly become a "content explicit" blog o, but really, these posts are just too hmmmmmmm to remain unshared. :D
So, this is one of Osisiye's (@osisiye)narrative articles that i love and appreciate...i hope you do too...and you can check more of his write-ups on his blog, http://naijatouch.blogspot.com/ ....oh and, he writes for Business Day too (hadda chip that in X_x)


**************************************************************

You are standing with your back to me

I take a moment to stand and appreciate your beauty, elegant endless, creamy seductive legs and I admire the view for a few moments before I walk up to you whispering meaningless, mushy words into your ears in a hoarse tone

Nibbling at your ear lobe

Flicking my tongue into your ear and tapering feathery, flowery kisses down the nape of your neck

As you extend your hand backwards to press my head closer to your vanilla scented neck, I move closer and my engorged reaction meshes to your soft butt-firm and warm beneath the flimsy fabric

You arch your waist to meet my hardness and I turn your head around and kiss you full on the mouth-your mouth tastes of apple and I plunge my tongue deeper, exploring the crevices and hidden corners of that apple scented enclave

This kiss is not just lusty but reassuring as I kiss you softly, reassuring you that if everything is ephemeral, I am not-because I will always be here and constant like the North Star

I kiss you deeply and pass a lot of words and promises through this long, wet kiss which is reassuring, arousing and at the same time an education

My hands explore your body and move to your chest region, here I press the liquid fullness of your breasts and my erection seems to grow inches longer

I put my hands beneath your cotton top and finger your lacy bra

Same time you lift your arms up and I hoist your top away in one clean sweep
The sight of your beautiful, brown skin and contrasting white bra makes me groan with wanting, I unlatch the clasps of your bra and turn you around

As your breasts spring free of their lacy enclaves-full and grape-like round, I place a puckered nipple in my mouth and kiss it with wanting, desire and thirst

You arch your waist in return and fondle the flaps of my trouser

I hold the pebble-stiff nipple of your other breast and rub my coarse palms against it in circular motions

The ticklish, arousing feel of my coarse palm against your stiff, tender nipples makes you moan with wanting and bite at my earlobe

Now your hands are in my briefs and you need no fondling around as my rock hardness rises to meet you

You squeeze it like a sponge and whisper something in my ears about 'my hardness’, and you wanting it in your ‘softness'

I continue sucking on your nipples as I trace a hand downwards over your stomach, depressed belly button and into your flimsy shorts

It feels so warm in there, and I place my fingers at the outer walls of your private part drawing circular outlines till you moan as your wetness flows outwards and down your thighs

I finally plunge a finger in-passing your vulva and continuing in my inward journey till my finger is fully submerged in you and am sliding it in and out till your wetness and constant moans make me want more

I slide my mouth down from your breasts and kiss your pubic region softly as I bite cum tug at your hair

I move downward and put my mouth in front of your sugar spot
and am kissing your pussy walls with ardour

Plunging my tongue in

Sucking at it

You're moaning loudly now

I go further and flick my tongue in, deeper…you’re wet, smooth and smell of vanilla down there

Till am licking your clit and you're moaning hysterically and pressing my head in while your liquid dribbles down my mouth

I finally hoist you onto the cabinet and with one clean move, I plunge fully into you

My hard shaft fully ensconced in your velvety smoothness whose wetness glides against my shaft as the small hairs seductively tickle it

I start to rock you in steady motions as you hold onto ma back and whimper with each thrust

With each thrust, delightful sensations ripple from my cap to my spine and make me feel I’m cuming, this makes me rock faster and harder till am cuming so fast with grunts, I seem to be plunging and withdrawing in a blur

Soon, I feel it like the rush of many waters; my cuming, and the way your fingers dig into my back and your arched back rises makes me know you are not far from an orgasmic scream.

I keep plunging with manic speed and strength, rocking the whole of your body from the core of your cunt, till we cum together in a downpour and remain like that-I standing, you in my arms as we breathe deeply and amid the fine sheen of sweat that clothes us and makes our bodies stick

You lean on my shoulder and I kiss your neck tenderly

As I praise the creator for the magic of love, of you-because you make me complete...

A Quick Tryst (We Know What We Know)

("This is really happening?")

They are talking too much
There's little time left
Their mouths move in a rush-
His hand already up her shirt
Lazily unbuttons...
Her head screams, "Yank it off"
But not yet-
His hand cups her breast;
They are making too much noise
A distant voice cries out in pleasure.

("That cannot be my voice.")

Blood rushing
Love sounds
Adrenaline pumping
Second round?
Her feet cant seem to find the ground
Her heart?
The deceptive thing has left her
He's sliding up her skirt
Pushing his way inside, again.
GASP!

("He wants to go again?")

There's no time for this one;
Its already the break of dawn.
But persistently he pushes
Deeper with each thrust
Harder with each pound-
Ah! She says,
With the low moan on her lips
He's a beast;
He's her beast.
Then satisfaction gives way to alarm…

("Go! Go! Go!! My father's coming!!")

He's thumping down the corridor-
Thump! Thump!
He's scrambling for the back door,
She's tidying up the room floor,
Strewn clothes;
Sex smells spread through open windows;
He must not know!
He MUST not know!!
Askew rugs righted-
Father walks in, delighted

("My little girl, in all innocence")

Debased ...

He didn’t just take my innocence, he took my hope.

When I was 8, he said to me "Girl, look how fast you're filling out", as he played with my hair, "In a couple of years you're gon be all grown child".

When I was 10, he said to me, "Everybody gives Uncle Tony a kiss before going to bed in this house", as he stroked my cheek. My mother's house.

When I was 12, on a drunken night, he broke down my room door and covered my screaming lips and held down my fighting legs and thrust himself inside me.
When I was 12, he started killing my soul. Little girls like me never grow up, they just die.

The kind of hurt that he made me feel, it doesn’t go away.

My mother walked into the room and all she saw was the mess in the room, not the whimpering child curled up in a ball in the corner , and all she said to me, as she looked at the bloody sheets around my waist was "Child, You only got your period."

And I shook my head, "He hurt me ma, he pushed, and he held me down", I said with soundless tears streaming down my face.

My mother said to me, "Hush your mouth child, you only got your period"

….and now, its been 25 years, I can hear my daughter screaming in the room next to mine, her father had a bad day. When she comes to me crying, I'll hold her, wash her up, and tell her soothingly, "Hush little baby, Daddy loves you…you only got your period".

#TurnTheLightsDownLow ....

It had rained that night.

But the rain wasn’t the only reason why she picked up her phone and called him, repeatedly, till the damn MTN woman decided to put her through instead of lying about some unreachable network.
The rain wasn’t even the reason why she put her favorite Marvin Gaye record on as she swayed around her hotel room in her monogrammed white towel tied slightly above her breast and another wrapped around her shower soaked hair.
The rain didn’t excuse the tightness in her lumbus or the gently escalating throbbing that she had been feeling in that same region for the past hour….and a half.

It had simply been a rainy night, but what does one expect in the metropolis of Lagos?
She had even been stuck in an unending traffic that night, had been shouted on by her beer-stomached boss, and she had just had a fight with her best friend who, on any other night, would have gladly come over to share gossips over the this and the that of her life.

It was one of those nights where after soaking herself in the bath tub, she still had to stand under the cascading shower, letting the water massage her back and shoulders as she turned the knob from hot, to cold, to hot, and then to cold.
But even that still did not ease the annoying teasing and taunting that she felt in her clitoris like a button had permanently been turned on in her brain and it wouldn’t go off till she could feel him inside her.
So she called him. Repeatedly.
MTN is a cock-blocking network, but she refused to be daunted!
Tonight, she wanted someone to mechanically work her body through and through with the right touches, manually manipulating her breasts and nipples till they rose as a synonymous unit to bring her pleasure, Kneading and rubbing parts of the body, and using them as weapons of sexual satisfaction.

And he came over immediately. All she had to do was whisper in her naturally husky voice filled with emotions and sexual tensions and the desire to be fucked over and over. All she had to do was breath into the phone all the things that she wanted to do to him and have him do to her, in as few words as possible. All she had to say into the phone was, "I want you!".

No questions asked, no ulterior motives implied except that tonight he would have to leave his wife of 2 years and drive across islands and mainlands' to get to her hotel room.
No answers needed because in those three words, she had loaded, heavily, the past that they had built together, the familiarity of their love lost, love found, and love lost again.
You see, it was history that was calling.
No names even required on the phone, because the honesty of the situation was that he had known when her flight landed in Lagos earlier that afternoon, known her hotel room and number just as she booked it, and the luggage man had already told him that she had come alone. The housekeeping staff had already mentioned that she had finished her late scheduled meetings for the day. The honesty of the situation was that, he already knew. He was already waiting.

So without much further ado, he had kissed his wife on the forehead, proclaimed a last minute outing with the boys as he drove out of his newly furnished house at one o'clock in the morning. He packed an overnight bag. Just in case, he said.

He knocked on the room door once, bag in one hand as he used a finger of the other to quickly push down the visible edge of the green Durex condom that he knew she favored because of its ribbed sensational feeling when he was sliding in and out of her.
She opened immediately after that single knock, almost as if she had been standing behind the door, awaiting his arrival.
He stepped through the brown glossed door and he used the back of his heel to shut it till he heard the click that signified the auto lock. He lowered the hand that held his custom made bag till the bag was flat on the blue plush rug, and in his head, if he could, he would have had her right there by the floor of the door. But he bid his time. They would have their moment.

This night had been a long time coming, through break ups and make ups and his engagement to another, and subsequent marriage to that other, they had kept coming back to each other, finding solitude and peace in each other's arms, episode after episode, no questions asked, so no answers supplied. They simply had an understanding.

And he was the only one that understood that sometimes she had to have it brutally rough in other for her to reach her climax of satisfaction. He was the only one that understood that she would rather have hours unending of foreplay, than 10 unsatisfactory minutes of some random ungentlemanly fellow plummeting into her feminine walls without a definite rhythm. He understood her.
And she understood him. In ways even his wife could not.
She knew how he liked to be ridden in regular recurrence with her body sliding up and down the length of him, tightening as she rode up, and relaxing her wells as she slid down. She had mastered him. She understood him

And so she understood when the very first thing he did was to unwrap the hem of her towel, letting it fall into a wad at her feet. He didn’t expect her to step out of it, so she didn’t.
He released the towel on her head and let her somewhat damp hair cling to her back and her shoulders and the top of her breast.
He wanted to look at her, and so he did. And in doing that he could see how tightly her aureoles had peaked into darkened rings of color, he could see the swelling between her slightly parted legs, so he placed two fingers in between her legs such that the heaviness of her clitoris rested on his immediately damp fingers, and the heat radiating from her aroused femininity made his fingers sweat.

She wanted him.......




Because of space, and well, because of continuance ...this post will be in 3 parts! I love you too :p

#TurnTheLightsDownLow .....(Dimmer)

"I want you", She repeated. In case he was too self-consumed to realize the urgency of her needs. But he understood. She had always come first with him. Always. Her pleasure, was his pleasure…her passion, was his passion.

He wanted her. She could feel him through the blackness of his tailored pants, the length of him, the thickness of him.

He stood slightly above 6ft, and she was slightly above 5ft. She was petite really, such that when he closed the distance between them, she could feel the strength of his masculinity on her toned stomach.
The heat between them could only be described under the hidden and buried pages of Jackie Collins novels or Harlequin romance.
He wanted to do explicit unsayable things to her that would make her knees buckle from too much pressure and her body quiver from too much intensity.
He wanted to fuck her, then make love to her, then hold her.

With all the hunger that could dominate his body, he pushed her naked slim figure on the wall of the hotel room, with her perky breast resting on the wall, and the curve of her ass thrusting up for access into the bodily cavity of her butt as he rammed into her with as much ferocity as he could muster. He had barely had time to let his pants drop to his ankles, he had barely had time to wrap up his member before applying the kind of internal pressure that could have caused the involuntary and sensual non-human moan to escape from her lips, and erupt from her throat.
This time was simply to acquire as much satisfaction as they could while quenching their animalistic thirsts.

He wanted her in every possible position, and in every possible flexibility. He wanted her shaking and begging and screaming and tearing at his back, and digging her fingers into his hair.
So he turned her to face him, her back against the wall as he kissed her already swollen lips deeper than he should have, with his tongue pushing, searching…he used his right hand to cup the under of her breast as he alternated between gently squeezing and then thumbing the insides of her breast to her nipple.
A soft almost inaudible moan escaped her lips as he bent his head to her bouncy bra-less breasts, sucking in on the hardness of her dark nipples, paying careful and thorough attention to the excitement that was building up in her utterances. He brought his head up to kiss her on the lips, and as she tried to push his head back, he held up both her hands on the wall above her head. She was powerless to the little pinpricks of pleasure she felt with each nibble on her neck, and on her shoulders, and on her breast. And with each kiss that he placed on her earlobes, and her navel, stomach, and every other part of her body her could get to.

With the effortlessness of an athlete, he lifted her size 6 body off the ground. He lifted her so high off the ground that her legs would wrap around neck and shoulder blades, and with an upward thrust of her lower back, his head would be buried inside her vaginal walls, and his tongue could dart in and out of her vulva, with his ready tongue wetting her clitoris as it flickered back and forth, before he settled into absorbing and soaking up her total femininity.

Without a moments hesitation he carried her sensitized body and laid her on the plush bed as he stripped himself of the rest of his clothing. Her eager hands attempted to help him but he brushed her fingers away and consumed her lips, earlobes and forehead with kisses.
With the pounding of her heart and the touching of lips, the kisses made her head useless, as if she was intoxicated by some elixir, an elixir of sensuality and passion that cannot be found in all the world. His smoldering seduction made it almost impossible for her to avoid the state of dissociation that she was reveling in. She'd never been so desired, so consumed by a man…this man.

Fingers traced her chin, her mouth. His breath on her neck, in her ear. Heat lay against her face. Teeth delicately held her lip, and then a sting, just the smallest one that left a longing for a deeper cut. The temptation of delicious wickedness. They played with each other and ran fingers over skin, as if they could only think, exist, if in contact with each other.

All unspoken requests were immediately answered, but there was no urgency this time, only the patience of timely exploration of bodies that had been robbed of their familiarity. He wanted to get to know her again, and he did.