Following a tricky breakup years ago, Nonso and Tasha’s paths cross again shortly before Tasha’s wedding — which leads to a titillating encounter by the pool one night. Here is Nonso’s version of things in this week’s sex diaries entry:
The Text
Hey, Nonso. Hope this meets you well. I’m in town for a few days and was wondering if we could meet? I have something to tell you and something I would like to ask. How’s Friday evening this week, at that cute restaurant we used to like? Let me know.
Best,
Tasha
History
We met in our final year of university in Port Harcourt. Perhaps not the best time to fall in love but these things happen. I liked her scent; cocoa butter and something fresh like lemongrass, and I liked her posture, the way she carried herself straight as though she was balancing her textbooks on her head. One day, I caught up with her after a history class and impulsively asked about her perfume. “So, that you’ll go and buy it for all those small-small babes we see you bouncing around campus with and everyone will now be smelling like me, abi? No o,” she laughed, eyes full of mischief. “A wise person never reveals all their secrets.” After that, I just knew I had to have her and the rest, as they say, is history. Most people said the relationship would end once we graduated but we kept it going throughout our youth service year, visiting each other often, passionately having sex in strange and sometimes public places and sending out job applications. By the third year of our romance, my friends had started teasing me about marriage but she and I knew we were not ready for that. Besides, she had just been accepted for a six-month communications programme in Dublin around that time. After seven long months of phone sex and trying to figure out how to make long-distance work (0/10 — definitely would not recommend), she told me that the programme had turned into employment and she would have to remain in Ireland for at least another year. We ended things then. That was five years ago and we’ve been cool, I guess. Liking each other’s posts, wishing each other happy birthday every year. This is the first time we will be seeing each other since she left. The only time she came home for Christmas, I had been too busy burying my head in between Pamela’s breasts and then Lola’s thighs; two of my colleagues I was juggling at the time (don’t judge me.) I finish shaving, then pat my jaw dry, ready to step into the shower and get dressed for my meeting with Tasha tonight.
Friday Evening
She’s running late and I’m on my second glass of brandy. I used to bring her here back then whenever I had a little extra cash or we had something to celebrate. Now the establishment has grown, the interior decorations more shiny and vibrant, well-dressed people trooping in for drinks or meeting with friends for dinner. Just as I am starting to feel a little out of place in my Fela Kuti t-shirt, she hurries in, looking around until she spots me at the table I have chosen. I stand up, wondering if I should pull out her seat for her but decide not to. We share a quick, awkward hug and then sit down. She looks the same and yet different. Same mischief in her eyes, same perfect posture, same bouncing breasts, which she shows off in a sexy off-shoulder Ankara blouse. I notice the expensive ring on her finger. More grown up, her skin an even deeper shade of honey-brown; a rounder, more solid looking woman now. We order dinner, chitchat about random stuff, circling around small talk until at last, I ask her what we’re really here for. She clears her throat, opens her bag and fishes out a wide, navy blue envelope, sliding it across the table. Aha. I should have known. Of course, I had already seen the engagement videos on her Instagram page and all the excited comments. I had even snooped around her husband-to-be’s social media, zooming in on his ordinary, bespectacled face. But I couldn’t believe she would be so cruel as to rub it in my face like this. “Surely you didn’t come all this way just to invite me to your wedding. You could have texted,” I say, visibly annoyed. She looks down at her hands. “You’re right,” she replies, sighing deeply. “Actually I wanted to… ask you something” “Oh?,” I say, taking a slow sip of my brandy. “Yes,” she replies, now looking straight at me. “I want us to have sex.” I almost choke on my drink. “What?” I ask, completely taken aback. A petty part of me had always hoped Tasha would someday come crawling back but this? This is almost too good to be true. “Let me guess, your old hubby can’t satisfy you in bed?” I ask, trying but failing to lighten the tension. She doesn’t laugh. “Look, Nonso. We’re adults now. I know things didn’t end well between us and that we’ve both moved on but I still think about you from time to time,” she explains, leaning in closer to whisper. “I don’t want all the what-ifs and thoughts about what could have been to hang over my new marriage. My fiancé is good to me. So let’s just… fuck. And get it out of our systems. Once and for all.” We stare at each other for a long while, her skin looking soft. I find myself wondering whether she still tastes the same; if she still sounds the same when she moans… Leaning back, she takes out a pen and quickly scribbles an address and a number on the back of the wedding invitation. “Think about it and then give me a call,” she says.
Sunday Night
Of course, I call her. The very next day, in fact. Her darling fiancé is flying into Nigeria the following Tuesday, so we agree to meet that Sunday. As I pull on my crisp linen shirt, I suddenly wonder if this is some sort of set-up. After all, this new husband is well connected and well known. But I chase the thought away, thinking instead about the feeling of Tasha’s soft mouth moving across my chest all those years ago, the sweetness of her juices oozing into my mouth. I check the time and see that I am almost late for our 8:00 PM appointment. It takes me less than 40 minutes to pull up to a big white, stately house with a friendly gateman who lets me in promptly, as though Tasha has already informed him of my arrival. Stepping out of my car, I see Tasha walking toward me wearing a sexy pink kimono tied loosely at the waist. “Welcome,” she says graciously, giving me a polite embrace and then leading me inside. “I was just opening up another bottle of wine to take outside.” I look around, impressed by the house. She smiles, holding up two bottles of wine. “Red or white?” I point at the red — known to go straight to the knees and the crotch. “This way,” she says, as I follow her through glass doors that lead out to a large swimming pool. As she fills our glasses, we trade light banter, talking about the past and a little about the future, never once mentioning her wedding as we sit enjoying the breeze with our feet dipped into the water. Money is sweet, sha. “Do you remember?” she asks, topping up our glasses again. “How we used to talk about breaking into a hotel one night and having hot sex in their pool, right?” We both laugh, remembering this shared fantasy. This is good wine. I can already feel it warming my dick, making it twitch. Or maybe it’s the fact that one side of Tasha’s robe has slipped off, exposing her shoulder and part of her collarbone. I lean over and kiss it. She puts her glass down and then places both palms gently on my chest. “Maybe now, we can make that happen,” she says, standing up and undoing her robe, letting it fall easily to the ground. She is wearing a thin black thong and a tiny bikini top with one nipple accidentally poking out. “Damn,” I say, reaching out for her but before I can touch her, she dives into the pool, disappearing under, splashing me. Without waiting to be called, I pull off my clothes and dive in after her, relishing the chilled water on my bare skin. I swim to the opposite end of the pool, where she waits for me, laughing. The pool is shallow enough that my feet still touch the ground as she wraps her legs and arms around me underwater. We stay like this for some time, chest to chest as I gently caress her round butt cheeks. We begin to kiss, wet mouths competing to swallow each other up as I unclasp her bikini top and allow it to float away. I quickly pop one nipple between my lips, slowly rolling my tongue around it and giving it a tiny bite the way she used to like. She groans, sounding just like the old days. I switch nipples, sucking on her neck as she digs her nails into my back, holding me tightly. “Turn around,” I whisper into her ear. She does as I say, resting her head on her arms outside the pool while the rest of her body remains floating in the water as I press myself against her body and trail kisses down her wet back, wanting her to feel how hard I am. “Nonso, please…,” she gasps. Before I know it, she has taken my dick in her hand, rubbing a thumb across the tip round and round. I shudder, enjoying the sensation, the water and her warmth. “Enough teasing,” she gasps into my ear, turning back to face me. “I need you.” Slowly, I feel her shifting her thong to one side, wrapping her legs around me again. I guide my dick to her pussy and playfully tap it on her lips, teasing them open before I plunge in deep. The contrast between the cold and the warmth inside her is enough to make me almost lose my mind. She tightens around me as I thrust in and out, slowly at first as the water rocks us gently back and forth. She increases the tempo, breasts bouncing above the water; head thrown back, freer than I had ever seen her in the past. “Don’t even think about cumming,” I tell her, as I start to feel her body shake from the inside out and she sinks her teeth into my shoulder. I pull out and she almost cries at the betrayal. “Come,” I tell her, feeling in control, taking her hand. “Let’s finish this by the poolside.” I quickly spread one of the towels on the grass, lay her down and fuck her silly, continuing from where I left off, her body so familiar, every inch of her pussy known to me, as close as the palm of my own hand. She cums slowly, quivering beneath me as I growl her name, again and again, remaining very still inside of her.
The Drive Home
Later, we take our lovemaking inside, this time with her taking the lead on top as she rode me on the couch until my eyes roll back into my skull. Showing me to one of the guest rooms, she leaves me alone to shower. I come out to find her in the parlour wearing an oversized sweatshirt, typing on her laptop. I wondered if the shirt belonged to Mr Man. “Well… I guess I should be leaving now,” I said, not entirely sure what to do next. She looked up, smiling sweetly. “Yes, I guess you should. Let me walk you out…” Outside, the night had turned chilly. It was almost 2 A.M. As I unlocked my car, I told her, “you know, this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing. I mean… I don’t know what your plans are after the, uh… wedding but we can still link up now and then.” Silence. “Oh,” she said simply. “I will… keep that in mind. It was really good to see you again, Nonso. Drive safe.” As I drive home, I berate myself for saying what I said and then wonder if I should still attend the wedding. I picture myself having a chat with the groom ‘man to man’, envisioning all the cinematic drama that would cause. Immediately, I laugh the thought away, remembering the words someone once told me a long time ago: a wise person never reveals all their secrets.
*This article is based on real-life events. The names used are mere pseudonyms to protect the identities of the individuals mentioned in the article.
Sex Diaries is a Culture Custodian weekly series about sex, situationships, entanglements and everything else. It goes up every Friday.
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