The underwear the model was wearing in the picture tag did not match the panties strewn over my lap. That’s what you get for buying cheap underwear from a woman whose ass jiggles so hard you would bet your lunch money on the fact that she was in no panties.
The model was in a pink cotton thong; sporting a tummy so flat and well-muscled you could mentally trace your fingers across the median plane of her body. I rubbed my tummy gently, it wasn’t anywhere near the model’s but it was still moderately flat.
I tore the tag off and held the panties up; black lace boyshorts with red curvy trimmings. It fitted the occasion perfectly; red and black because he was still mourning. No thongs or g-strings. It was not the time to be openly flirtatious, strutting around the room with my bare buttocks in a string of clothing.
Boyshorts was the way forward. It registered some decency, some wholeness. Some respect for him in this period.
I’m a genius, I know.
The hissing sound of stew from my kitchen lifted my ass off the bed.
The phone rang as I stirred gently
“I’m hungry” He drawled over the phone
“I’m cooking”….”In a new underwear.” I added after a second
I could hear the smile in his voice.
“How fast? I’m 30 minutes away”
“It will be ready before you get here.”
I have never liked workshops. Long, boring, tedious workshops. They bring out the stressed lady in me. And that lady was sweaty and short tempered. After several failed attempts at trying to prompt the organizer of the workshop to bring it to a close by staring down at my wrist watch for the umpteenth time, I resorted to looking at the shapes of the genitals through the shorts of the 3 guys who had volunteered to demonstrate a prototype model of the information system whose name I had been too distracted by fatigue to catch.
I wasn’t transfixed because he wore bright yellow pants. He had a big package alright and it was glaring at me from his shorts. It made me smile.
Imagine the shame that crept into my cheeks when he smiled back at me.
I dismissed him. The workshop was over and the chances of bumping into him outside of it were zero to none.
I was licking ice cream off my finger 3 weeks later when someone poked me in the rib.
“Ha! You. I know you”
I didn’t recognize him, and he noticed. So the kind sir proceeded to give me a gist.
“The girl who was smiling at my crotch”
Shit. A look of horror laced with embarrassment coloured my face up.
“Don’t fret, if it makes any difference I was looking at your crotch too
I couldn’t help laughing.
He said I owed him a meal of roasted plantain and groundnut under a big tree the next Wednesday else he would tell the whole world that I stare at men’s crotches.
I agreed to go because he had a cute smile and he made me laugh
And that is how I met Aidoo.
The phone rings. It’s Jewie, we haven’t spoken in weeks. I never thought a day would go by without talking to my best friend, but distance had proved me wrong.
I tell her about him. She asks me if he’s the one.
I tell her about his playfulness and his interest in me. His veiled vulnerabilities and how they make him beautiful. His vast ideas, intellect and his beliefs. The way he makes me feel warm inside.
I do not tell her that he’s happily married to a beautiful woman whose father died 2 months ago and is 8 months pregnant. That he has dinner at my end on Thursdays and sometimes Tuesdays. That after dinner we fuck each other’s brains out. That he mentioned baby names in his sleep last week. That I had no idea why I was still with him…
Instead I tell her, “I don’t know yet. Let’s see”
And close my eyes, waiting for her to say goodbye