Privacy is a rumour when you’re a student. I shared a room with a guy from Rustenburg and he used to know where all the parties were. Knew the right chicks too. Papiki wore the latest branded clothes and had the coolest phone, at the time. I still remember he was the first to have the Nokia 3310 in our commune. He seemed to get everything right, except his academics. Of course, only those that were close to him saw beyond Papiki’s outer charm. To the rest, he was just a cool guy with a quirky sense of humour. A magnetic character that attracted the hottest honnies like a magnet clinging on to steal. This chick magnet had a silver tongue and had women eating out of his palm. He lived out my wet dreams. Each weekend, I had to make space for him because he would be bring home a new woman in his bed.
Papiki’s success with women bruised my ego because I went the first two years of varsity life without shagging. I swear my right bicep was getting stronger than my left. My blankets we also getting a white highlight. In my mind, I screwed all the chicks Papiki slept with.
He used to say, “Thibos, students are easy to sleep with”. I found it hard to believe, for however hard I tried to get their attention all they saw in me was a friend. None was interested in sharing a bed with me. None would open their thighs for me to enter. At times, I thought it had something to do with my RT jeans. I thought, perhaps if I wore Levi’s jeans I would wave my stick like Moses and their thighs would part like the Red Sea.
Papiki was that maverick. The type of a guy that got chicks giggling by just caughing. They just wanted to give it up to him; some even begging for it. Down on their knees they would willingly go, giving head and taking it from behind. His wish was their command. However he wanted it, he got it. No matter how hard I tried to emulate his tricks, I could never have the same success with women as he did. I only succeeded in turning myself into a fool. I hated him as much as I liked him. He was a hard boy to be friends with. Chicks that ignored me came wet for him.
I once stalked a woman, a woman Papiki never brought to our room. One with booty like butterfly wings and tities pointing up like antennas. She was the ideal poster girl. I froze each time I came across her. I was always afraid of approaching her in public and always hoped for an intimate moment wherein conversation would be easy to start and there won’t be shame should she reject me. I hoped for that Hollywood stuck-in-the-lift-moment. As fate would have it, it was a lift moment that sealed my fate. She was late for class and I had a runny tummy. Just as I had farted, thinking I would be alone in the lift, she stormed inside as the door was closing. A 25 second trip across four floors smelt like rotten eggs eternity. Up in gas went my chances.
After that, meeting her was always an awkward event. It came to a point when I really didn’t care. She was sexy and, in my mind, I screwed her every night.
Papiki once brought a woman home when he thought I was out. He kicked the door open and threw her on the bed. He got on top of her and began to kiss her all over her face. The lips, the neck, all over her. All the while he was undressing her, revealing her well-crafted body. That pin-up figure that’s tattooed as a centre-fold Hustler poster on my mind. As he let the bra fall down, her titties got exposed and he began sucking one with his mouth while fondling the other with his hand. Her moans got louder as though he had locked down an accelerator of a VR6. He went down on her and began licking her belly button and kept tickling her belly ring. She held him and ran her fingers through his bald head and ears. He slid down between her thighs and began working on her punani. Lifted her one leg up and I could see his jaw moving as though he were chewing gum. With each jaw movement, she made a different sound. At this point she had gripped the sheets so tight with her hands, she wrinkled them. He was then working her with his tongue; it fondled her clit like a snake tongue feeling the air.
“Put it in Pap’s. I want dick! I want it hard!” she said.
He ignored her and alternated his tongue movements with his left thumb. He rubbed her pussy like he was shining his favourite pair of itali shoes. She seemed to enjoy it greatly as she kept calling him all petnames imaginable. Each time I heard her voice my dick got harder. It got so hard I was at the verge of popping and spraypainting the wall a shade of cream white.
I looked away to let things subside and gather my breath, as I swear I was beginning to make sounds louder than those she was making. I was majorly horny and I wanted wet pussy as much as she wanted hard dick. While I was taking a deep breath for my dick to soften up, I heard her go: “aaaaaah” I knew Papiki had thrown it inside. He began breathing heavily and his bed rocked and the headboard hit against the wall with each stroke. With that familiar rhythmic movement, his tired mattresses also creaked as he thrust her. He went deeper and faster and I watched her grip him with her legs around his waist, exposing her pear-shaped bums. The sight of her waist moving and hitting against his crotch hardened my dick to all time levels. I pumped it with my hand and I felt the greatest sensation ever, I felt myself deep inside her. She screamed harder and I pumped faster. Papiki was fucking her physically, I was bonking her on my mind.
I heard her go “ah, ah, ah, ah” as Papiki was stroking her. His chorus was “oooh, oooh, aaah, oooh.”
Before long, I saw his body shaking, he gripped her tightly and said, “Paleeeeesa!” I knew he had arrived.
At the same time, I popped and sprayed and gave the wall and extra coat of cream white. The biggest cum shot I ever hit!
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