CUL-DE-SAC

BLOODY MARY III

You can’t sleep anymore. Its seventeen minutes past eleven in the AM. You are in her bed, a mess it is, and her smell lingers in the next pillow, an aroma of lavender and daisies. You pull a strand of her jet black hair from your bare chest, her pillow for most of the night, and drop it to the floor. Your head is twice as heavy and all you want is a strong cup of cappuccino. Despite the heavy hangover threatening to split your head open, you keep seeing images of the night, the long gala night. And her.

Wangari.

You stumble to the bathroom, the ivory tiles lighting up with an ambience that can only
be heavenly. You head for the shower and turn the silver knobs, medium hot. The shower head pours; the hot droplets hitting your bare back; and with them, floods the memories of the last night.

It was roughly twelve hours back and you were three kisses, two and a half puffs of strawberry shisha away from getting away with this indigenous exotic. She was high on marijuana and was in an anything-goes-mood.

It all escalated from the colourful gala night happening down at Lamu to her shrine-like bedroom. It was right here in this white and cream washroom enclosure where the panties dropped and the titties popped, and so did your self-imposed sexual abstinence. She was a nymphet, with a lithe and graceful body with an impossible waist and a posterior to match. You merged in all manner of entanglements, both of your heightened desires purified by the hot water trickling down your bodies.

You walked out of the bathroom bare, her figure sunken in the cradle that was your arms; amidst the dim lighting and an overwhelming aura of lust. Her bedroom evoking a red that bore a startling resemblance of Aphrodite’s chambers. It was more of a religious rite than your regular lovemaking.

Her the High Priestess.
You drinking from her chalice of life.

You wonder how long this will last. You’re on vacation. Exploring this vibrant coastline when you met her. You hardly know her from conversation but there is a distinguishing thing about her that can only be at par with sexual connections. The connection complete once you had set your eyes on her, clad in nothing but a full turquoise blue dress with a revealing back, killer cleavage enough to finish off a man and a thigh-high slit that you would walk on water for.

You hear her soft footsteps amidst the serenity you’re drowning in. Her fluid movement and deer-like grace pervade you.

“Guess what’s for breakfast?” she purrs in your left ear, her thin fragile pretty arms feeling the contours of your chest.

“You?” you answer half-jokingly.

You take a good look at her now as she sits on your lap. Her light complexion evidently tanned by the coastal sun. Her chestnut hair turned up into a bun with a shoelace.

You did not want to leave her, but it wouldn’t be long before your work beckoned. It
was your passion and in it, you derived pleasure. Prudence would have to prevail over the needs of your loins. Meanwhile, you would eat her all you could; she was a buffet of surprises.

“What are you thinking of luv?” she asks, her hands wrapped around your neck. You look for words to pacify her; you don’t want to ruin the moment. She sat open legged on your lap, your legs hanging over the bed. You fingered the end of the white T-shirt that ended at her thighs trying to think of something.

Her phone rung.

Whoever had called was her sister, for once you were at your wit’s end with a girl, something was clearly wrong. As Wangari went to see her in you lay on the bed and let your thoughts flow as you followed the pattern on the ceilings; mandala. You didn’t like these parts when you had to cut them off your life like some diseased branch. It certainly hurt, though less, when you had to look into their eyes and break their hearts, grinding the pieces to fine dust. That’s how it usually ended.

Nevertheless, you wanted it to be different with Wangari.

The voices tinged with laughter lingered through to where you were. They were coming
to the room; I guess Wangari wanted some sort of formal introduction to occur.

“Zach, meet Felicity, my sister,”

Your mouth went dry and in your throat, an inferno raged. Unbelievable.

You knew this girl.

Carnally.

T H E  F L O R I S T.

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