Wedding eves make most men if not all, tense. I was not an exception. I woke in the claws of trepidation, another young man tying the nuptial noose. Dread and uncertainty lodged in my heart like a nub. Sprawled on the double bed I stared up at the glassy ceiling, chewing the bitter pill of doubt. Though I was very much addicted to my fiancée, one could never really say never.
It was Saturday. Tomorrow, there would be no turning back.
Whew! I exhaled.
I rubbed my hands on the other side of the bed where she should have lain, but grasped a handful of white sheets instead. I imagined her pear-shaped face, her graceful neck, and her soft and succulent body lying by my side for the rest of eternity. But at some point in that train of thought, the picture of her being became crude, a graph of rough pixels; a mottled face, wrinkled hands and flabby skin. Nah. I grimaced and shook my head in reject.
Adama—the only terrestrial constellation in a world of mere mortals would never fade into such . . . such an old ugly lady. She would with time lose a little lustre, I knew, but not even age could take away her sublime, man-enhanced gorgeousness.
She would have been here, but for our earlier agreement—which was her idea—a week ago, to stay exclusive of each other till D-day. Prior to that, we were live-in-lovers who practically knew all there was to know about ourselves, which was why I thought the idea ludicrous when she had brought it up.
It was two weeks to our wedding day. Though the day was yet unborn, the cold that breathed through the small spaces around the locked windows was very much alive, biting into my bones until I could bear it no longer. Adama must have felt same for she snuggled closer to me, expertly doling out a fat black nipple to my acceptant lips. I held her as I too needed her warmth to survive the April cold. I curled into her embrace like a little child, dumping ego and playing the baby role for a while.
Our kisses and cuddling that morning was soft and tender, almost eager. I held her in my arms, temporarily withdrawing my lips from her bloated offering, effect of the recently implanted fluid-filled silicon bag. I trailed a kiss from her forehead down her slightly modified full lips, over the small recesses of her neck, across her flat stomach and down to her hollow navel, and slowly, very slowly, I snaked a coarse tongue down through her waistline and into her throbbing thighs. Voluptuous hips gazed at me, urging me to feel the roundness of their lustrous curves, yet another thanks to Dr. Simon. Adama moaned and sighed and stretched out before me like a savoury meal, one I could hardly wait to gulp down in a bite, if it were indeed possible to do so. I wasted little time . . .
Before the cock in the neighbourhood could crow six o’ clock, we both lay panting, exhausted from moaning countless and unremembered expletives.
That was when she brought it up.
“Emeka Love,” She said softly, trailing a slender finger with a polished brown nail down my sticky chest. That was her cue whenever she wanted something she knew I would not readily grant.
“Yes,” Still breathless, I waited to hear her demands.
“I was thinking,” She fixed savvy eyes into mine, her meandering finger(s) having finally found a resting place down my thighs. Her soft massage sent intelligible messages to my mind, waking my sleeping senses to the invitation of fresh sensuality. Though exhausted, I doubted if I could keep from grabbing her up again. Now don’t get me wrong, I’m no sex freak or anything like it, but if you had been opportune to lay for one minute, with my Adama, your life like mine, would have been a cache of sensual bliss plus you would have given a new meaning to many words, starting with: “pleasure”.
So she went on. I listened, though my attention was divided for her good as it were. Or was it mine? I wasn’t so sure, for her smile unlike the rest of her, as she massaged me was no surgeons genius. Her eyes misted in that alluring way that had me speechless. The almost non-existence creases on her face lit up, moving up and down like the picture of the sea waves in the painting I had up on my wall.
“I was thinking, that maybe . . .” she rolled up doll eyes and stretched long ebony legs over my hairy thighs. I did not know when my hands drew her firmly from behind to nestle her breasts once more in the enclave of my soft palate.
“Wait . . .” she mock-scolded. Pursing her lips in a smile, she placed a firm hand on my chest, expertly extricating herself from my lecherous grasp. Then she continued. “You know since we are getting married in two weeks, I think it would be a good thing if we took a little break from ourselves, to see each other again on the 15th.” She rubbed her feet against my thighs and down my legs.
I held her hands and digested what she had just said. I didn’t like the idea.
“But . . .”
“Then our honeymoon would be perfect. Imagine having me after missing me for two whole weeks. It’ll be great don’t you think?” she said, cutting me in mid-speech in that voice of hers that reminded me of the Madonna’s of the world, made me wonder why she never took up a career in music.
“Is there any need for that really?” I asked.
“Yes there is,” she purred, sitting up on the bed. Her skin glistened as daylight trickled through the thin fabric of the curtains. “Think about it. Just imagine seeing me for the first time in my wedding gown, for the first time in two weeks.” She added dreamily. Adama had always been one for theatrics. That day, as she went on and on about the good a short break will do us, I had no choice but to oblige her.
How I got through to my wedding eve without her was still a miracle to me. We had lived together every day for three whole years that I had gotten completely dependent on her—it was the time, when coupling was encouraged to promote marital longevity and bliss. Now you understand how clumsy I had become in taking care of myself. It was no fun without my Adama.
I got out of bed, slipped my feet into a pair of bathroom slippers and walked lazily into the bathroom which was a few steps away from my bedpost. The sun hurt my eyes so I drew the curtains. I did #1, a bright yellow stream of fluid that had me worried. I made a mental note to see my doctor. I brushed my teeth and walked back into the room. By now, my eyes had become accustomed to the early morning stream of light. I walked with brisk steps into the kitchen, as if expecting to see a brewing pot of coffee or my robot busy cooking a pre-programmed meal. But no, the machine sat in a heap in a small corner of the kitchen, its metallic body and silver buttons staring blankly at me. Adama had not been so kind as to leave the robot’s activation codes with me. She changed them before she left, forcing me to get used to my own kitchen—a practice that had long faded since the twenty-second century.
My empty pots shone like the top of my head, which my friends considered funny for a man my age. My father had it; I was told my grandfather too was bald from birth, so it did not come as a surprise when I started losing hair from my crown at the early age of twenty two. Not even the modern day advancements in medicine could retard aging and maybe save my falling hair—not that I lost any sleep over it.
With a little difficulty, I set alight the monolithic electric cooker, filled up a teapot with cold tea from a tea dispenser and set its white bottom on the lighted rings. It did not take five seconds before the pot hissed to be let down. I turned off the heat and poured myself a steaming cup of black tea.
Walking back to the room, I placed the hot cup on my leg rest, sat down on the bed and rubbed my hands together to ward off the cold. So much for a depleting ozone layer; Onitsha was freezing cold instead of boiling hot like the twenty-first century tomes that lined my Library wall had foretold. Unluckily for me, my Heat Regulator had broken down two to three weeks ago and all agencies concerned were too busy working with the Capital to forestall an earth bound meteorite, which was expected to hit Abba in three weeks. My calls for a technician had been ignored.
Dispelling the cold, I thought about what lay ahead for me. The prospect gave me joy, but the jitters were more.
Marriage!
Most thought the institute old fashioned and rather remained live-in-lovers who considered having children as absurd. I had insisted on tying the knot with Adama, seeing the vultures that circled from a distance, awaiting the right time to swoop-in for the sultry kill. Not that I wanted children—that would have been like bringing angels into hell—but Like few guys, I wanted to cling to that one person I knew, that one person I could vouch for who was free from the growing epidemic of HIV, Herpes and Candida and the many more diseases that littered the streets. And most importantly, I wanted to be with that one person I cared about. Love was a strange word, almost alien to this century.
I had no such faith that if push came to shove, my bride-to-be would remain the faithful chick, regardless of her endless promises of loyalty. Ladies were never to be trusted with such matters, I thought, for they were fickle beings, susceptible to guile and hollow deceptions of the human-man. I stood up and paced the length of my room. At some point, I walked to the window, yanked it open and looked out. I saw a couple; hands intertwined walking past the glittering macadam with a sorrowful smile on their aged faces. I looked long at them, envying, wishing I could have such bliss in my day.
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Ohmston Weth @ohmston
Anthony Ominiabohs is a Computer Scientist who loves writing, travelling and breeding guard dogs. He goes by the pen name: Ohmston Weth.Go to Ohmston Weth's profile, and read more of his/her posts.
Hmm who was the betrayee, loving the flow, keep writing…
Be patient and watchout for Part 2. We’ll probably find out who the ‘betrayee’ is. And thanks…
@ohmston, when do we expect the next?
NS will decide. but soon I think.
all you wrote in over 1000 words and more , you could have done in less.
Onitsha freezing in April? Heat regulators? A woman with so much plastic surgery you could mistake her for a kitchen utensil?
It is okay to be imaginative but this was just ludicrous! maybe you want to change your setting to another place where this story would be believable. California maybe? It isn’t even cold in April there so you are on your own!
@Kiah: Imagination is a gift bestowed upon a few. I do not envy you the dearth of yours. Do you know what really suprises me about so called ‘writers’? Most do not even understand what it means to CONSTRUCTIVELY criticise a creative work. But I got your Ludicrous point anyway. Maybe you should have waited for the second part of the story before you risked being …
i wouldn’t touch the second part of this with a long pole…
i usually don’t waste my breath criticizing poorly thought out stories..but this one was just terrible and i couldn’t resist!
as for imagination…hehehe… i learned from the masters oh so you have no idea!
Kiah? Ohmston? surely there’s more venom here than is intended.
@Kiah: I’m sorry I went all kaboom on you. No writer would shake your hands if you tag his imaginations ‘ludicrous’, just so you know, I might not write as well as you do, but i’ll certainly never outrightly condemn another’s works, because, there is something good in everything, no matter how horrible it might seem at a glance. All you have to do is find it. Besides, I have long discovered that beauty resides in the least places you thought you’d find it. But hey, you have a right to your opinion, right? So do forgive my manners. Gracias.
ok ok…yes i was a bit harsh…probably because i have read your work before and it was good (better?)
science fiction isn’t my thing and i respect the hell out of people that attempt it.
that said, i want to write and read stories that give me so much more than the movies of today do. I want to write and read stories that people, that I, go to bed thinking ‘i could have been the hero of that story i just read.’
too many times we lose sight of our audience and while it is okay to have a unique style of writing, we still need people to read what we write, identify with and maybe enjoy them.
i entered a writing competition at the beginning of this year and many times i almost cried at the criticism…but guess what, i am a better writer now than i was then and it is those criticisms and my audience that helped me
i look forward to reading the second part of this..PLEASEEEE SHOCK ME!
This is a well told story. Very imaginative. The wordplay and descriptions were superb. I agree with Kiah on the excessive use of words. Some of them are not really necessary…
As for the setting there’s nothing wrong with it. It was set at sometime in the future- a technology-driven era in onitsha. Anybody that reads science fiction will agree with the piece. And the future Onitsha weather can be believable considering the rapid changes in climate condition around the globe, being witnessed by mankind since time immemorial. And he capitalized on the foreboding consequencies of the ozone layer depletion menace to come about that weather… I understand the mind, so I would say it’s creativity. Who said Africans can’t write science fiction? Continue with what you’re doing man. You’re on the right path…
However criticism comes as the critic understands. It mustn’t agree with the writer. However it is, the writer should learn to accept the ones he wants to accept and ignore the rest. There’s nothing to gain from attacking each other…
This is a well told story. Very imaginative. The wordplay and descriptions were superb. I agree with Kiah on the excessive use of words. Some of them are not really necessary…
As for the setting there’s nothing wrong with it. It was set at sometime in the future- a technology-driven era in onitsha. Anybody that reads science fiction will agree with the piece. And the future Onitsha weather can be believable considering the rapid changes in climate condition around the globe, being witnessed by mankind since time immemorial. And he capitalized on the foreboding consequencies of the ozone layer depletion menace to come about that weather… I understand the mind, so I would say it’s creativity. Who said Africans can’t write science fiction? Continue with what you’re doing man. You’re on the right path…
However criticism comes as the critic understands. It doesn’t have any formular. However it is, the writer should learn to accept the ones he wants to accept and ignore the rest. There’s nothing to gain from attacking each other…
@Francis: Thanks man. You are right. I shouldnt have gone off on Kiah like that, the critic has a right to his/her opinion. But hey, we learn everyday, right?
I’m glad you could see the story with my eyes. Thanks for the comment, You are much appreciated.
Well written, @ohmston. I’m interested into see how this story develops.
I didn’t really feel the ‘sci-fi’ in this story; you could have taken out the references to a cold Onitsha or robotic assistant, and the story would still stand as is.
I wasn’t clear about whether there would be a following part – you should put a suffix so your title is Betrayal – 1
You are a good writer and you have the major flaw good writers have. Too much unnecessary ego. I have it too, but i unleash my venom only on critics who are wrong in their corrections.
If you want to improve, listen and do not insult. The way you responded to @kiah was immature. It is a privilege to get a comment. If you keep on like this, no one will bother to say anything on your posts.
Scratch my first sentence. You are not yet a good writer.
@Kaycee: Thanks boss. Point taken.
For my 2cent opinion, i think it is a good story, very imaginative…but i dare say the ensuring exchange between Kiah and Ohmston gave the story a ‘Sweet’ flavor. I had to read the story again! I am enjoying this platform.
Thanks @ Sassystel. The concluding episode should be published soon.
@ohmston:This is darn good man!
.
And to think you’ll like to write like me when you grow up??? That can’t possibly be a physiological growth. Reincarnation maybe
Honestly,I wouldn’t take anything away of this tale (and this is not just about one good turn) .I particularly like how this was contrived, the thread os futuristic coming-of age elements therein and all. It totally works for me. Maybe I’m biased or maybe we just happen to thread on the same frequency. Well done!
@Midas: Thanks man. I’m so glad you like it but you must know, judging from your story, I consider you an excellent writer. Reading your work evoked a strong desire in me to one day write like you. And though you think I am already there, I am afraid you seem to be the only one with that opinion. But guess what, your opinion is good enough for me. I look forwad to reading more of your work, and do not miss the concluding episode of ‘Betrayal’.
I liked the story and the futuristic approach. I wonder where you will go with this. Please don’t let the next post fall flat.
This kain story ehn…
Real interesting read, and gripping too… can’t wait for the sequel
@Daireen: am glad you found Betrayal an interesting read. the sequel has long been published. was published two days after the first part was published. I hope you find the time to find it amongst my works. And yes, I enjoy reading your works ‘like mad’. Action all the way (blinks)
LOL. I had an idea of the comments I would make but reading through the comments here is worthy of a story on its own. I think I’ll enjoy this site. Yup
Anyways, “who practically knew all there was to know about ourselves”. I believe “ourselves” should be “each other”.
I read a lot of sci-fi. I will read the part two before saying this should have just been set in present day instead of being weighed down with the expectation of new inventions and flashbacks. I mean, one would imagine HIV, Herpes and Candidiasis to be extinct and not flourishing in more than a hundred years from now. But I’ll read the part two first.
I like that you’re trying your hand at different things. That’s bold.
And to all: Every writer is egoistic. That is the only explanation for someone presuming his penned imagination would pleasure anyone to read. Let’s just er, tone it down a bit? A lotta writers commit suicide ya know
Tongue lashing/criticisms lol… Criticisms is better than sycophancy my dear. Haven’t seen a lot of sci-fi around. I like this!