Walking In Circles?

That morning, running into that dress as I folded my clothes back to place from a chaotic previous morning trying to locate my good charm handkerchief, an old wound was opened again. One in which I was a bonfire, some leaves of a tall palm tree standing in solitary in a vast desert, swaying to the currents of His winds as he stirred me through his course. 

It had two or three buttons that he had been patient enough to unbutton before reaping the rest off, as his hands roamed my body as his lust-scented breath warmed my neck, and I couldn't resist but let him tear it apart.

I'd like to think our story isn't over, not yet. That someday we will meet again and maybe get it right. I thought as I held the same dress today, ready to storm out though scared. I had met him some years ago at the same function I was planning on attending, a children's home visit, and somehow, I knew the odds were high on seeing him again months later after our story reached a suspended ending. 

Deep down, I have an ache for his touch. I want to run to him, hard, eagerly, just like the waves to the shore, then run back to the sea in my fears, a feeling I've tried to search for in many ever since we broke up, but in vain. It's not him I was kissing, or their meat that I searched my breath for, they were just convenient. How do they do it, make love without love?

That morning holding the dress in my hand, memories rushed, as I only remembered shadows, images that disappeared as soon as I opened my eyes and stopped smelling the clothing to get a taste of his scent. People forget, and forgetting is dangerous, thinking you are at peace with all that happened. It seems like a forest, a dense green one where everything seems harmonic from a distance, but as you start moving in, with every step, you realize each tree with its shape, leaves, and patterns standing in its own space, and now you craving for the perfect harmonic view. Now I wanted him again to feel him one more time regardless of what had happened.

How different it had felt the morning after our break up. I was hurting and as usual, I tried to scribble something in my journal, the good, the beautiful, and the ugly but I found myself going back on past pages looking at every single line I had written about him and felt peaceful and calm, but now, tearing down those pages, trashing them into tiny pieces, crossing some words with a different ink pen, scrabbling on top of them with so much force instead of painting now tearing as I wiped my tears to make those statements disappear.

Maybe I should put it on, just to hurt him also if I happen to run into him today. It shouldn't be just seeing me. I want him to get the memory of our last night together, tipsy and horny to the core and madly in love, as I thought. 

So, I started to fix the buttons with a tensed heart but bitter also, and for once, I was thinking of hurting him as he did. He always acted unresponsive to mere emotions, but I knew his breaking point; I was his breaking point. How I gave myself to him was his breaking point, now, our last memory was the best shot, a devilish lust was driving me to get his heart to sink in pain, torture, and regrets, but mine was on the line too.

I was early, the bus was to pick up guys along Thika road on our way to the venue, so I waited at the Ruiru campus, for like half an hour, tensed, hoping that he wouldn't show up in the bus, but at the venue later, to find me all smiley with the kids. Then I'll act like I don't even give a fuck about him, just here to share some love, the same love he messed up. He must show up I'm sure, he loved such events. Furthermore, he had the energy, smile, and cuteness that lightened up this event when the gifts were put aside. I had my first win, he wasn't on the bus.

I loved the energy with which he spoke of our love like it was ordained by the gods and was necessary for this life. Sometimes I was worried about being too happy with him and ended up shrinking into a corner when I was in public, and sometimes, in bed, with each thrust and kiss, I feared losing him. Now on this bus, all the faces I had interacted with while under his shell gave me that "his Mrs." look and respect, with a smile and "it's been a minute.” I felt like his girl again. Maybe I had not forgotten that position at all because of how automatically I felt protected by the mere thoughts of the group that I was still with him, at least those who thought so and those who couldn't dare express their pity that I wasn't.

He later showed up as I had expected, to see my heart crumble again. I wished I had spotted him as he walked in minutes before and should have been the one to make the first move, to have some false control of the moment. But here he was, tapping on my shoulder with his gentle voice as he "heyd" me, and I immediately felt like some new life had just settled in, turning to see his brightly lit face and the hidden smile that was a treasure to find, arms wide open.

In a second, I was clinging to him with my arms around his broad shoulder, my chin resting on his sternum, taking in junk litters of his scent, standing on my toes because of my height. He had his hands around my waist, and I could feel the strength of his arms against my body pulling me close, he then dropped them lower so that my behind was now resting on his palm, giving a gentle lift as he whispered in my ear in a wetting voice. 

Already Losing myself in the moment and felt weak from how he had mastered how to push my limits, getting me to break my principles and lose my standards physically, sexually, and even worse, morally as I kept going back for more, giving an insatiable Cannibal craving sometimes for things so dark and deep, loathsome. A hanger that I seem to never be in control of or even notice at the moment. A few seconds later, taking steps back as we all realized we were in public and, even worse, no longer at peace with each other.

The day turned out cold with mixed emotions. I thought I was strong and here with an agenda, but I found myself moving in a dark forest solely on instincts, now trying to avoid the logs, thickets and creeping earthworms, and the tangled plants and thorns that owe the scars before. 

It pained me with every single smile I saw him give to the ladies around him and the hugs and not dropping to their behinds made me feel special, a reserved gesture for me. I never got hold of the meaning of desire even to understand its definition in the dictionary, but with all this, I need no more explanation seeing him move, smile and hug around like I wasn't even there made me understand.

I was sleeping next to him as we tried to catch our breath. Just seconds earlier, twisted strands of my braids around his fingers, my pulse in a race with his kisses touch on my back. 

His hands were now on my throat as he pulled up to kiss my lips, the kind of kiss that takes away your breath, but then you give in and cry for that, yes kill me. looking into my desperate eyes as I wished for more then he faded away or so I closed my eyes from the pleasure of feeling him deep inside me with my legs on his shoulders. Every single thrust as he dipped inside made me flinch backward then he pulls me back to kiss my lips, with a penetrating stare as our eyes lock. He tasted so sweet, hot, and sweet as I tried to catch my breath and moan his name, much less say a word that made any sense. I'll be lying if I said the way he owned my body made me speechless, the truth is he made me forget the language I speak.

Seconds earlier, he shoved me up, kissing my neck. At the same time, his hands ran on my back, I could feel my hard nipples on his broad comfy chest, and the motion as he pulled me closer made them even harder. My head started spinning into oblivion from heavy unbelievable kisses. He got frustrated trying to unhook my bra, he couldn't buy the idea that the more buttons you undo the faster I became naked. Shaking and fumbling with the buttons from the dress blocking his way, and just ripped it open buttons finding their different locations to land; then he pulled me to his lap, and I automatically wrapped my legs around his waist as he stripped down my bra with the last thread of decency I had, then laid back and bit my lips eyes closed.

A minute before, all my dreams, if not memories and desires of his strong veined hands gliding over my body, on my skin, pinning me down as I exploded, giving all of me. The love, the lust to soothe the ache I felt inside. His hands, true magic warm over my now hard clit, synchronous rhythm of his bold flickering fingers gliding over then pushing the panty to the side then gently sliding inside me as the sound of my moist parts filled the room as I begged him for more, flinching then clenching on the hands as the fingers slid in then out exhaling my demons as the galaxy of my desire consumed me, I had been longing for this. The way he said good night in a way that left me dripping between my thick thighs.

A minute earlier, as he unlocked his door, fumbling with the keys, I thought of turning back. How does he live like nothing ever happened and then come back like he never left? But I wanted him back to hear him out then maybe forgive him then later touch the parts that are slippery and hard then taste the lust we hunger for. It’s the thing with love, if you love too much, your hurt too much, and anything in-between will always be a lie, so I was ready to talk things out again. 

Half an hour earlier, he had brought me a plate of food as he didn't see my lineup for it, with a bottle of my favorite soda in the other, and offered to sit with me while I finished eating. He remembered how shy I was in public places and I found it heartwarming. I'm sure he was puzzled about how I even ended up there alone, or he was curious about whom had invited me, and for a minute I thought maybe I should have showed up tucked in warmly in the arms of one of his mates, but that wasn't me, I don't know how to drag innocent souls into messes. 

He talked all through as I ate. He was different, not just the looks, of course, he looked much better with his now chunky oil beards on a flawless face, broad chest, his shoulder now even broad, and his arms seemed even more vital that it made me want to touch him and make him feel me. 

He was apologetic, regretting his infidelity, and was ready we talk about it if I was prepared to listen and not just at the place, so we left immediately after I was done eating at his place, a trip filled with silence and jokes and random questions, as he struggled to get me smiling and talking.

Months before our break up, the morning to the night our feelings had gotten the best of us once again, he ripped off my top on the kitchen sink with buttons flying all around and some cups falling as I tried to grasp something from his powerful claws on my back and his majestic meat deep inside me. Like horny lovers who had last seen and been inside each other a decade ago yet he was in me a few hours that day before we had left for the movies where again our feeling got lit from the sexually arousing scenes and got us touching and wanting each other that we stormed out immediately it ended, back to his place silent all through the backseat of the Uber ride with his hands on my thighs gently stroking making me want to reap him off bu my morals got hold of me and the constantly peeping driver as he suspected us of strangling him from behind to his seat.

That morning, as we did our usual Sunday cleaning routine, I had picked up his phone to play music on the blue tooth device when a WhatsApp notification hoped up from my best friend. It got my attention from its emoji collection only to open the chat and inject me with the right dose of pain. They had been having a long-time affair behind my back. His phone was full of her nudes, and she had just texted to ask if she could pop in since I had told her I would be heading home for some function.

I felt a throbbing pain as my head was spinning, handing him back his phone. He stood there with a cold but sad face, mouth wide open as I picked my buttonless dress and hoodie from the hanger, and stormed out, tears covering my eyes.

It had been six months since I last saw him. Stitching back the buttons that morning, thinking of that last night then the thought of the following morning made me want to hurt him, but now here I was, six months later, in his arms, skin to skin, buying his promise of change. 

Lying there next to him, I couldn't get my head around whether I was here just for the pleasure from a moment of weakness I thought I could handle or if I wanted him back.