You are where I left you when I dozed off.
Your back is still arched, your polka dot booty shorts barely covering those ass cheeks spread out, ready for...well, ready for anything really; your pink sports bra that appears white in this black and white picture revealing a pair of tits I would kill to be buried inside.
Only one of your eyes is visible in this posture. The other eye is covered with those long braids you like so much.
You are staring at me, daring me with that one eye, the one not covered.
What do you want from me?
You do not answer. You are too busy maintaining that perfect arch.
Is it for me? This arch, is it for me?
You still don’t answer.
You just continue staring at me with your one eye.
Your gaze is too blinding so I look away. Not away from the photo. Away from your eye.
My own gaze falls on your sports bra.
On those tits, that arc, that gaze.
It's for me, isn’t it?
You do not answer. Arching that back must cost a lot of energy, probably too much to spare a little of it to answer me.
It’s okay. I do not mind.
“Hey babe,” you suddenly move, you speak.
I almost have a heart attack, and then I realize you spoke without speaking.
A message from you awaits me in Whatsapp. I move away from my screenshots.
“Hey.” I reply.
“What you up to?” you ask.
Should I tell you?
Should I tell you what I have been up to?
Should I tell you that last night I slipped my fingers inside me with the thought of you and your arch?
Should I tell you that my hands long to touch your tits, squeezing, releasing, teasing?
Should I tell you that last night you were in my dreams and we did more than just talk about boys?
Should I tell you that you will be surprised by the sounds I made you make last night?
“Nothing much. Niambie..” I say instead.
I know you only texted me because there’s something up.
You do not care for my dreams, even though all of them are of you anyway.
“Eeeh, msee, jana nakushow ilikuwa crazy.”
You reply almost immediately, proving me right.
I read your texts of just how crazy last night was.
You tell me about Adrian who you now call Addy. How you saw him in the crowds of people in Blend, Thika, and then fell for him.
But, you are a good player, you say. You played it safe, dancing seductively on the dance floor, watching him with one eye as you did me, and then looked away, shy, when he saw you looking.
You tell me how he came over to your table, and how at first you ignored him, and then, as he bought more drinks, more words started flowing. Next thing you knew you were grinding on him, loving the feeling of his hard dick pressing your arched ass.
“Alafu, alafu...tukaenda balcony coz nillikuwa nafeel nimelewa sana.”
You say and I listen.
The balcony is where it happened. Where the kiss of a thousand fireworks happened.
“Kama ile kiss yetu?” I ask and you laugh.
“Sally na wewe acha jokes. Anywayyyy….”
I continue reading; listening, not correcting you, not telling you that our kiss two months ago was a kiss of a thousand fireworks for me.
You tell me how later Adrian, sorry, Addy, took you to his house. You tell me even how his dick felt inside you, how you screamed.
I almost tell you that that was not Adrian making you scream, it was me, in my dreams, in your dreams, making you so.
But you do not care for what I have to say.
You text and text, and I read and read until it is over.
You say Bye, you will talk to me later and fill me up on other Addy developments.
I leave Whatsapp.
No other person is worth talking to anyway.
I go back to my screenshots and I find you there. Hundreds of you. All staring at me, all wanting me.
What picture of you shall I sleep next to tonight?