CHRISTMAS DATING
Episode 15
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After Jojo stirred his way up above the ocean of death, we were in our matrimonial home again. His lungs kept healing miraculously, and very fast, too. My Shakespeare was home with me. It was just the two of us, all by ourselves in a big world full of Jojo’s romantic love, soft touches and boy ’o boy, baby-girl treatment.
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It had been three weeks already. Jojo wouldn’t let me as much as pick a pin off the floor. He just wanted to do it all by himself. He would tell me that he was sick and weak and left all the chores to me. That I treated him like a king, that it was his turn to treat me like a queen. Who doesn’t love sugar?
He took loving me to the next level. It was raw. Pure. I felt it in every tick of time. The chemistry between us tripled. I’d sink deep into his arms and listen to him tell stories upon stories, upon stories about legends and battles and conquest. About love, romance and family. He seemed to know much about everything, and heaven bless me, man was good at what he does.
We had sensual fun everywhere, anywhere — bathroom, staircase, bedroom, sitting room, the guest room — we just wanted more from each other, especially because we decided to not cross our boundaries before our marriage.
But of all the places we had fun like hungry teenage lovers, the bathroom was my choicest. Goodness me, Jojo seemed to have more romantic inspirations while having a warm shower. He dropped lines of romantic poems back to back. It made me sick with love.
Submerged in the bathtub together, him beneath and I laying on his chest, he would whisper into my ears in Spanish. A sporadic swarm of goosebumps would line my skin and shivers would take over me. His fingers would be in my hair while at it. Jojo sent me to the skies in the bathroom, and I loved him the more for every bit of it.
We were curled up unto each other this evening. His fingers wouldn’t just stop cuddling my hair. He was watching an El Classico — a Real Madrid versus Barcelona match — on our large TV. For some reason I got interested in football. I began to enjoy watching it with him. And he was fondling with the balls on my chest. This dude was silly sometimes.
All of a sudden I felt something in my stomach. It was sharp and unusual. It came quickly without any sign. I needed to throw up. I tried to resist it but it was persistent. It came again with a force that I could not hold back. And as I tried to run off to the restroom to ease myself it came pouring out from my mouth. All of it.
Jojo quickly rushed toward me and helped me up. He held me and took me slowly to the bathroom. I rinsed my mouth and washed my face with some warm water. I tried to clean up the sitting room but he wouldn’t let me. He cleaned it up himself. I was so ashamed and embarrassed. Jojo kept smiling at me in a manner that I didn’t understand.
“Was that funny to you?” I asked, angrily.
He smiled. “No. It’s just how you could not run out of the sitting room.” He was laughing now. I felt mocked.
“It wasn’t my fault,” I had tears in my eyes. I felt ashamed and disrespected. “I was trying. . .trying to control it. . .but it just came out.” I was crying now.
“Sugar, I was only joking.” He said with a serious face.
“But it’s not funny.”
“I’m sorry, my angel. I’m sorry. Come. . .” he opened his arms wide and I sank into them. “Should we go to the Pharmacy right away?” He was rubbing my back.
“No. We’ll go to the hospital tomorrow.” I said that like a 2-year-old who had been crying and had just been consoled with chocolate.
“I’m sorry, Sugar. It must be some allergy or something. Sorry, oo? Ndo — sorry.” He said Ndo in a way that made me giggle. As if he was speaking Spanish. Ndo was the Igbo word for sorry.
He made dinner. He didn’t do anything after that incidence. We had fried eggs and boiled yam. He as much as loved boiled yam as he did Jellof rice. His meals always had great taste. It was always superb. Though not all that great, I must be truthful 😊. I guess cooking was the only thing he didn’t know much about.
I lay on his laps as he read me a poem. His fingers were in my hair as usual. I would say that his chemistry with my hair was out of the universe. He would move from my hair to caress my back softly and then the balls of my chest; he would fondle and press gently. I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want that evening to end. I wanted it to last forever.
“Sugar!” He called my attention back from the high skies.
“Hmm?” I replied.
“I love you.” He smiled. And gave me that sharp look. My ribs swole in jerking laughter. It was the way he rolled his eyeballs.
“I can’t explain how I feel about you,” I said. “It’s deeper than my mind can really explain. There’s this island of wonderful things on my mind where I meet you in my imagination Everytime. I don’t know if it exists, but I love it.”
“An island where only you and me live?” He asked while kissing me.
“Yes,” I said, humming, as he landed another gentle and long kiss on my lips. “Just you and me.” I finished when he let go of my lips.
“I don’t know. But you just don’t stop getting the more beautiful,” he kissed me again. “What’s your secret?” Another gentle and long kiss.
I held the back of his neck and rubbed his afro-punk gently. I was catching the fire in his eyes. I threw my right arm over his shoulders as I sat on his laps and I kissed him and stayed.
My secret was him and his love alone. And he knew it. I blessed him with my body and soul that night and I reached the skies many times. Jojo was another word for SWEETNESS 😊
Typing episode 16. . .
— Michael Ituma