Things We Never Say: Part II

By Ahenda Anjichi
I remember the first part of “Things We Never Say”; I was thrilled to write something with such a playful twist to it, so when Michael told me about the readers’ demands for a “sequel” I was humbled-people actually enjoyed reading what Michael and I can came up with! So relish this second bit, I hope to meet Michael someday soon, perhaps we can have a tete a tete and work on something bigger-which would give such a gratifying buzz. 🙂

I will always be a devoted fan of this blog and I am indebted for the feature in it.

Again and again-thanks Michael.

– Ahenda

…

Panting.

Breathless.

My heart is beating faster and slower at the same time…

My thighs quiver and my mind races, I can’t seem to recollect my thoughts,

My head is floating in the cloud,

My skin feels warm and liquid, like melted chocolate…

I can still taste the wine at edge of my lips but my tongue holds traces of your passion bridled kiss!

I sit up a little straighter, taking in the familiar surroundings: the darkening creamish-off white walls, the dark mahogany dresser and mirror set, the bottles of cologne lining up and the ticking organza wall clock…the king size bed with the wrought iron and pine wood frame, low set so that my toes tease the floor as I dangle there, still mesmerized by the intensity of the feeling of having you throb inside me…

I am enveloped in wonder, the feeling in my body and soul seem to be in a chorus of your praises, singing out loud in awe of your touch, your skin against mine, your pleasure-tinged moan against my ear, my legs wrapped around your neck, the firmness of your grip on my hips…

A chorus of praise in your honor as I reached my peak, as this melody in my body came to a climax; I can only vaguely remember screaming, in between my tears, how much I had missed this…

How much I ached to feel you push against my delicate skin and let your manly pride erupt into me,

Oh dear Lord, how I have missed you. So much.

Thinking about you on the lonely rides to work,

Realizing as I sit before the T.V alone that a part of me was missing because nobody snatched the remote from my hand to switch to the Premier League,

Cooking and serving only one plate,

Getting the laundry done in an hour instead of two,

Having only one scent that lingers on,

Hugging pillows,

Going on meaningless dates decorated with tasteless small talk.

“I love you” I used to whisper in the dark, to an image of you etched in my memory…holding that dazzling ring in my palm, wishing it was on my finger.

Smiles: It does look good on my finger; pretty damn good…even more so given the fact that the wine has powdered it with such grace and color, it seems so much bigger and brighter.

You stir into my arms and we kiss…

It took a random night out with the girls, a whole lot of loud music and shoulders brushing for me to have spotted you across the dance floor, sitted at a table, your eyes piercing my soul…and my feet floating to you, my hand outstretched into a somber greeting and beautiful “catch-up” conversation for me to end up back home-in your arms, in this room we shared.

I am home. My heart is home. My soul is home. My body is home.

With you.

What was I thinking when I left?

I tap you to wake you, knowing the surprised look your face would have. (I kept the ring, hanging on my neck by a sterling silver chain)

“Mikey…”

You give me a sleepy, smiling stare.

With my hand held high to show off the finger that now adorns the ring,

“Let’s get married tomorrow”

…

By Michael Ngigi
Last night at the club felt like christmas on February the thirtieth. I couldn’t help noticing  when you walked in. For a moment, the music went mute and the only colors I could see were in your eyes. When you stretched your hand to greet me I couldn’t help noticing the ring on your necklace. A sign. A declaration that we weren’t over yet. Conversation. Holding your tiny waist. Your dress wrapping your body delicately as if by permission. It all came back. You still wear the cocktail ring we bought for a song. Diamonds would die to have you.

Our clothes became a nuisance when we opened the door. Heat of passion. Patience is a vice.  The kissing wasn’t enough. We had longed for each other. Lusted shamelessly after each other. The feel of your skin in my hand ignited the rage I had stored up inside. And your stars awoke in orchestra when I kissed your breasts. Strawberry body mist. I felt you grow weak as I carried you to the bed that had been a bed of thorns only a few hours before. Now there you lay, as if on a cloud. Calling out to me in urgency. Threatening to strike me with lightning if I wasted a second more outside the gates of heaven.

Then everything turned beautiful. Colors. Sounds. The taste of hard work and sweet sweat. The crescendo of innocent lovemaking and the strength of your thighs wrapped around my waist like a spider. Your tears dripping back from your eyelids. A sight that weakens me. Finally, my tremor, eruption and then the long earthquakes that followed your surrender, came in pulses in the long moments that followed. Our hands intertwined and the hope that this wasn’t a dream.  You were weak and so was I and as we lay back on the bed to listened to the music of our lives. I knew the ring was in the wrong place.

I can hear your breathing. I feel your gaze on me as I sleep. This time I know you’re not going anywhere. Our search has led us to each other.

Hey Ahenda, I hate myself. I hate myself for this fatal attraction that makes me hard when I think of you. I hate that all the while we went out searching for ourselves, I was looking for you in every woman I kissed. They were pretty but not beautiful. They were intelligent but not interesting and funny. Yes, they were attractive but not as magnetic and as sexy as you are. They came in all sizes but none was perfect for me like you are. I’d missed how you used to run around my house in your tiny underwear. How the hell would they ever figure that out?

Yes I hear you calling my name. I love it when you do. Wake me up with a kiss. Whisper in my ear that tuneless song you cook up to confuse me. Work on me and let me open my eyes just to see your face twisted in sweet surrender yet fully in charge. Strawberry body mist. A moan in a language that only my body knows.

This time the roses will be a true reflection of how I feel about you. Virtuous woman meant for me. The one who’s heart I’m after. For the son we planned to have. For the beautiful moments we have together. Life lies wide ahead of us.

The stones on the ring stand glittering in awe of your beauty. The silver band that holds them together, holds on to your finger. Just like I hold on to you. Strength to hold also needs strength to hold on to. You and I. Yes let’s get married tomorrow!

…

‘Things We Never Say’ remains one of the most successful posts on my blog thanks to the exemplary skill of Ahenda Anjichi. My respect goes out to her. Most of our readers still can’t believe that I have actually never met Ahenda in person! I am however humbled and motivated that she has taken the time to grace this fast growing blog. I am optimistic that we will work on more projects together in future. This second part of ‘Things We Never Say’came as a result of huge demand from our readers who were protesting that we left them in suspense. Well there’s a happy ending! Please feel free to leave your comments.

– Michael