black-couple-flirting

Touch of an Angel

The sound of her whisper woke me up. It was still dark outside. There was no power although it was a chilly and quiet night. I reached for my phone frantically to check the time, but she had already removed it. She was in my room again. This was the second time. I had told her that I regretted it the first time but my words did not sound true, not even to me.

She knew where to touch me to remove whatever sense of rationality I had left and replace it with a desire for her. She knew I could not help myself as long as she was there with me. Her voluptuous breasts hardened on contact with my skin taking away the impulse to nip this wrong in the bud. Although it was dark, I knew exactly what she would do next. I knew it was not right but how could I help myself? Her sister was only in the next room, separated from us by just a wall. I dared not consider the consequences if she found out what her closest sister was doing with me in bed in the dead of night, both of us as naked as the day we were born.

I begged her to stop, but that only goaded her on. She touched me again, gently like before, not the way my wife did. Her touch was subtler, with more care, with more meaning. I let out a soft moan, my eyes closing momentarily with pleasure. No, this was not right. I wanted to raise my voice to end this adultery but I feared that my wife would hear me from the other room. In truth, I feared that ending this would deprive me of the satisfaction I had secretly longed for, for years.

It was my wife’s fault. I told her to always come sleep with me in the same bed but she preferred the new mattress in the other room because it was very soft. The hard one in my room was good for my back, or so the doctor said. Why wouldn’t she just do as I told her? Now her sister was back here to ensure she finished what she started four years ago.

She was a student then. My wife and I had been married just over a year. It was on my birthday and the party we had went on late into the night. Most of our friends had left the house inebriated, the stench of cigarettes and alcohol staying back pervading the entire house. The floor was strewn with bottles, some upright still holding varying degrees of liquid content, others laid on their sides, seemingly in drunken stupor like the few friends left. You had to watch where you trod. A wide dark patch on the carpet produced an acrid stench which offered further evidence of the night’s protracted revelry.

The DJ lay on the couch, passed out, prerecorded hip pop beats from the sound system completely drowned out his otherwise unbearable snoring. His face cap lay on the ground beside him. I had just finished saying good bye to a friend and his wife at the front door when I saw her. Although it was dark, I could make out her silhouette from the little light coming in from the headlights of my friend’s receding car. I thought it was my wife at first. As she walked into the light, I saw my gaffe, but she had already closed the gap between us and without warning, pressed her lips onto mine. Her kiss was soft and sweet, urgent but passionate, shocking but not displeasing.

She moved back into the shadows, dragging me with her. I wanted to protest as I know now I should have, but some impiety in me wanted more. She told me the next day that the kiss lingered longer than she had anticipated. When she stopped, I feebly asked her what just happened. She responded by swiftly undoing first my belt, then my zippers. When she dropped to her knees, I knew for certain that I was in trouble.

I was glad that music was still playing loudly, completely masking the noise of our promiscuity. No one would ever have believed that anything untoward was going on in the darkness in the corner. I then understood why she told me more than once that day that she had a special birthday present for me.

She suddenly stopped leaving me confused. I heard my wife’s voice and froze. The volume of the music playing was lowered making my wife’s voice more audible. She had evidently been shouting my name over the sound from the speakers. I turned to leave for the parlour but she held my hand to stop me. “I will continue this later” she whispered and let go of my hand. I turned round but she was gone.

There was no way I could forget that night. I had tried. I’d asked forgiveness from God but not my wife. How could I ever own up to such crime to her? This secret was her sisters’ and mine to share. It had been a burden, a weight I could disclose to no one else. At times I think I did wrong, something wicked, but again, am I not human? It was she who came to me. I did not go to her. She offered herself to me. How could I have refused? Which man would? After all, she had the touch of an angel. She knew what to say, where to touch me to stimulate my wits. I did no wrong that night. I only did what any man would have done.

She was also very attractive, just the way my wife was when we met. Tall. Dark. Beautiful. Sexy. Intelligent. My wife was all that and more. I had gone into a fast food restaurant that night, ordered a snack and a soft drink, sat down to enjoy my supper and there she was, standing with her friend at a corner. They seemed to have just walked in. She wore a white jacket over a black and white checkered camisole, dark blue jeans trousers and black wedged shoes. I did not notice much of her friend.

There were just three other customers left at the restaurant that night, all men, all staring at her. She looked at me and I quickly averted my eyes. I was shy. She surprised me when she walked all the way to my table in another corner of the restaurant. What could she want from me? She couldn’t possibly be interested in me. Or couldn’t she? It appeared that I had dropped my wallet as I was entering the restaurant and so, she came over to bring it to me. She dropped the wallet on my table and turned away but not before I noticed how stunning her eyes were. They were the most beautiful pair I had ever seen. Dark and set with precision in their sockets, they stole my breath away. Her sleepy looking half closed eyelids gave off a sexy allure that got me hypnotized. I could not look away. She had high cheek bones and a slightly pointed nose just like models in magazines. She had a confident appearance.

My heart raced. It pounded loudly in its cage. Only God knows why it did not pop out of my chest. I prayed that she would not see my anxiety. I thanked her but couldn’t say anything else. Not that I didn’t know what to say, but the words just wouldn’t come out. I couldn’t take my eyes off the perfect sways of her well curved hips as she walked back. I wanted to ask her name. I wanted her number. I needed to see her again.

Her friend waited patiently for her by the counter ordering food for them both. As she walked away I realised how clumsy I must have looked because two men seated to my right both laughed aloud, disguisedly staring at me. It was then that I felt the sauce from my sharwama dripping from the side of my mouth unto the white T-shirt I wore. My mouth had stopped chewing a long time ago.

To my relief, after getting their food, they did not take it away. Instead, they went to a table in the middle of the restaurant to eat. That meant that I did not have to leave my food to chase after her for her phone number. I took my time to eat the remaining sharwama watching her and her friend every few seconds to ensure that the end of my meal coincided with theirs. That way, I could offer them a ride home.

When they were done eating, I gulped down the last of my drink and walked over to their table. Her friend who had also been watching me all through their meal whispered something to her as I approached. It could only be me that they were talking about. I found out later that her friend thought that it was her that I was interested in. I thanked her again for my wallet, offered them a ride home, which was declined, but got her name and number. Within a week, we began dating.

Her sister’s soft moans jolted me back to the present. I was inside her and the pleasure I felt was impossible to bring to a halt without running its course. I had to fight, that innate primordial animal instinct to gratify my body sexually before allowing sense and good reasoning to take over once again. I couldn’t win. Masculinity seemed the certain victor, with rationale confined to a corner.

I didn’t want to give up. I loved my wife. She was the mother of my kids. She always supported me. In the toughest of times, she stood by me. This would be the last time. I will never be unfaithful to her again.

Or would I?


15 thoughts on “Touch of an Angel” by Henry (@ODIGWE)

  1. Profile photo of innoalifa
    innoalifa (@innoalifa): Head Wordsmith - 131605 pts

    lovely!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  2. Profile photo of schatzilein
    schatzilein (@schatzilein): Scribe - 12400 pts

    Ofcos you would..again and again and again untill she gets pregnant for your cheating azz

  3. Profile photo of Ufuoma Otebele
    Ufuoma Otebele (@ufuomaotebele): Head Wordsmith - 156403 pts

    Hmm Lies lies lies……….
    Lies men tells
    Of course you are deceiving your self thinking you can stop but the reality is just beginning.
    Cheaters!!!!!!!!!!

  4. Profile photo of imaniking
    imaniking (@imaniking): Junior Writer - 3183 pts

    No be small Hmmmmmmmmmmmmmmmm…stolen water is ‘sweet’ carry fire in your bossom abi? No comments. Enjoying the saga

  5. Profile photo of manueladesola
    manueladesola (@manueladesola): Junior Writer - 4722 pts

    Hmmmmm………complications.

  6. Profile photo of uzywhyte
    uzywhyte (@uzywhyte): Scribe - 19849 pts

    Hmmm…they call it stolen water, I call it implication. I dare say this was flawlessly written. Thumbs up @odigwe

  7. Profile photo of oxymorontalks
    oxymorontalks (@oxymoron93): Scribe - 11783 pts

    hmmm. feel what you fel, it is not easy to control masculinity joor. but please for the sake of sakeness, awoof dey purge belle o.

  8. Profile photo of kay
    kay (@kaymillion): Writer - 5815 pts

    Implication complication =duplication.
    It might…. but with a glaring evidence that it happened (baby)
    good job @odigwe

  9. Profile photo of Efe Edosio
    Efe Edosio (@EfeEdosio): Junior Writer - 1914 pts

    Nicely done! Double thumbs up.

  10. Profile photo of Tola Odejayi
    Tola Odejayi (@TolaO): Wordsmith - 37875 pts

    Well written, @odigwe, but it’s like something is missing. How did the sister meet up again with the MC? Is there a continuation to the story that explains this?

    1. Profile photo of Henry
      Henry (@ODIGWE): Beginner - 761 pts

      TolaO, there is no MC in the story. Or which MC are you referring to?

      1. Profile photo of Tola Odejayi
        Tola Odejayi (@TolaO): Wordsmith - 37875 pts

        @odigwe, in NS-speak, MC = Main Character or Protagonist.

        1. Profile photo of Henry
          Henry (@ODIGWE): Beginner - 761 pts

          The story is about what was happening that night. The party was the first time. That night was the second.

  11. Profile photo of Blackgold
    Blackgold (@Blackgold): Junior Writer - 4629 pts

    Men , lies and cheating

  12. Profile photo of Blackgold
    Blackgold (@Blackgold): Junior Writer - 4629 pts

    @ Henry, nice one

Leave a Reply