She lay on his chest as he spread his nakedness on the couch listening to his rhythmic heartbeat. Her petite body drew a symmetrical sense of safe vulnerability. Their breathing synchronised as one as both their eyes gazed in different directions of nothingness. Maybe an uncertain future, maybe nothing. He gently caressed her dreadlocks with his fingers and lifted her chin up to look up to him, “You are so good!”, he whispered.
She just gave him a faint smile and looked back to her usual nothingness. The thing is, she has never knew any man, she has never been with any man before. He is all she knows. So many thoughts went through her mind, so many memories were on repeat. She remembers her very first time with him. She was in the bedroom bathing in what they called a waskom (a big plastic dish people washed themselves in).
Bathing was sacred to her, it was a moment to be alone, to touch herself, to test herself. It felt funny, but sometimes it felt so good. Just one more touch, maybe a few.
She didn’t quite understand what she felt, how she felt, but she knew she was feeling something. After her little playtime, she turned to pick up her washing cloth which by now on the floor next to a bar of soap. The shock of seeing a figure of a person standing the half-opened door numbed her down to her spine.
She fell back to her bed and cowardly curled herself to a corner, her body shivering with fear as she hid her head between her knees. She braced herself for that first of belt tearing her fragile skin.
To her surprise, she felt a gentle stroke of his hand running down her back as the bed sunk with his weight. “You are ready to be a woman now”, he said. “Come to daddy.” At first she felt paralysed by what has just happened. She felt so guilty and powerless that when he said, “Your mom doesn’t have to know”, she felt this was the only redemption she has to cleanse herself of her shameful sin.
In him she saw a saviour, a messiah. At the back of her mind she knew this was wrong, but she thought to herself her saviour can’t be wrong. Her curiosity about her hard nipples and her sensitive clitoris exploited by this man he called ‘uncle Mbuso’, her mother’s boyfriend.
With every gentle stroke on her nipples and her clitoris, the more powerless she felt under his spell. With every thrust of his penis in her virgin vagina, the more justified she felt that her time has come to be a woman too.
“Uncle Mbuso must be God-sent, to take me to cloud-9,” she convinced herself. They never realised that they have been lying on that couch for about an hour saying nothing to each other. Both their minds wondering aimlessly in the wilderness of lustfulness. For the first time, after a long time, she looked at something specific – the clock on the wall. Like any 16 year old, she needs to do her home chores and do her homework.
“Mom will be here soon,” she murmured.
“Let’s dress up. Here, take this R500, it’s your pocket-money. Remember what I said about our little secret?”
“Don’t even tell it to your soul”, she giggled.
I am Mohau Mathebula on facebook
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