Since Cynthia came back she has been staying at mine, which is great because we get it on morning and night, before and after work and sometimes in between too.
“Don’t think I have moved in,” she told me a week ago as she made breakfast in the nude, her beautiful breasts bobbing as she whisked the eggs.
“You haven’t,” I said cupping her breasts from behind.
“No. But this cold is a killer and I have missed you. Give me a few more weeks and I am gone.”
“I am enjoying this,” I said as I kissed her, thanking God that she was thinking of leaving at some point.
Cynthia kissed me back, letting go of the eggs and pulling me close. I kissed her lips, then her neck, her breasts and was inching my way down when we smelled the burning oil.
“Ashewo,” she said and pushed me away.
Having a woman in your bed is cool especially when it’s cold but for someone like me it can get to be a cock-blocker because it means I can’t run wild. I can’t bring anyone I like home.
“That Cynthia is a witch. She has charmed you,” my friend Dapo said.
“Witch ke? What nonsense.”
“You think it’s nonsense abi? One day you will come home and meet a wedding suit. You are finished,” Ikem added.
So, c all it rebellion, call it a need to prove the idiots wrong or maybe just to burn off the Martell Cognac I had the previous night, but the next Saturday, I got up early, donned my running gear and drove to Admiralty Way. Now, if you live in Lagos and if you need a hook up with a woman, not some hungry desperate chick, a woman with her own car and her own money, head out to Lekki Ikoyi link bridge on any morning and chances are you will meet someone.
And you know because everyone is dressed down for running you can make a pretty decent guess who is flabby and who isn’t.
Anyway, I parked my car, plugged in my ear phones, got out, did some stretches and began to jog. I hadn’t gone a hundred meters when she caught up with me. I nodded a greeting then kept running. She nodded back, smiled but made no move to race past me.
From the side of my eyes I could see that she looked good. About 50, she still had her goodies in place. Nice derriere, nice twin peaks and lovely skin. I took off my head phone and said “Good morning.”
“Good morning and happy new year,” she said.
I let it slide until we got to the round-about and as we jogged in place to let the cars pass I said “My name is Oshoko,”
“Morenike,” she said and offered her hand.
We shook and then jogged across.
By the time we got to the end of the bridge on the other side, Morenike was panting heavily.
“One more round,” I said.
“This is not a round o. This a marathon,” she said and laughed. “I need to drink something, this harmattan is drying me out. You want some Lucozade Sport?”
I said yes and walked with her to her car. A lovely Black Range Rover Sport with burgundy interior.
“Come on in,” she said pushing the door open for me.
We talked as we drank. She owned an interior décor shop in VI and Ikeja and lived just down the road.
“My cook already made breakfast. You want to join me?” she asked and when I looked up I was amazed by her directness.
“Will I be safe?”
“Do I look like I will bite?” she asked her eyes travelling down to my crotch.
“That won’t be a bad idea” I said taking her hand and placing it on my crotch.
She stroked it for a bit and then looked up at me and said “Can I see it?”
Continues next week
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