Monday, August 16, 2010
My first time...
I remember my first time. She was so good that there was none of the awkwardness associated with first attempts.
I had approached her with trepidation, because I was just 13, and I knew I wasn't ready for the affair. The room was dark because I didn't want to see her and lose courage. Her scent was overpowering, she was fresh and undiluted, and so I had no trouble finding her in the dark.
I didn't hesitate as I grabbed her; the first drops of the palm wine tickled down my throat, and I winced. Not from the penetration, which was smooth and gentle, but from the agonizing pleasure that caused my body to go into convulsions.
I shivered, I arched my back, and I barely succeeded in stifling the scream that struggled to break lose off my clenched teeth. I wiped my tears, and grinned from ear to ear. I could now hold my head up as a man.
And then, the door crashed open and grandpa stood in the doorway, his white beard bristling with rage. The scent of our intercourse hadn't escaped his uncanny sense of smell. He was furious, especially because for him, the rituals of a priest and his sacramental wafer were nothing compared to that of mixing the raw palm wine with the right quantity of water. “Nwata aruo ala,” he bellowed.
And for the first time, I offered no excuses. For the first time, not even a whimper as the strokes of the cane hit my back again and again. I had discovered manhood. I had discovered an unrivalled source of pleasure.
Well, so I thought then, until I discovered sex.
But then, that one is another story.
That I will tell soon.