His life had become a routine or better still not a routine but a ‘walking machine.’ Everyone except the freshmen knew exactly where to find him. “Did you check the library?” “Please, wait for him in the class or under that tree,” came the suggestions. Whenever he opens his mouth to speak in class, he stupefies even some of the lecturers. Not many knew about any ‘life’ in him apart from the one they had all seen.

After lectures with professor John Zaku of the Department of History on Tuesday, Peter stood outside the class in an unusual fashion that suggested he was deep in thoughts. The morning sun had sprinkled its radiance on his white shirt, while his gladiator sandals enjoyed the delight of his gaze. He couldn’t feel the cotton-like hands on his shoulder, until it held him firm enough. “Peter, what are you thinking about?” came the voice. It was Mirabel, the 200 level student librarian. Her sexy spiral curls travelled with the tide of the morning breeze while the darker tone of her skin which complimented her wide legged pants gave her body an existing shape. “No trouble, no trouble, my dear!” came Peter’s uncharacteristic outburst as he moved aside. “Mirabel, please do excuse me. I need to head home,” he said perspicaciously with a condescending smile while he zoomed off.

Over the years, he had practiced the virtues of caution and resoluteness, especially in his relationship with the opposite sex. Believing that ‘if people can’t appreciate a woman for her strength and weaknesses, they don’t belong in her world.’ But he had become a victim of so many desires of recent.

Beatrice had visited him. Her face had lost its elegantness even under the straight weave. Her hands trembled in adulation as she approached Peter. “John hit you again?!” he asked thunderously as he rushed from his study to offer her a sit. That was on Sunday evening. They discussed at length about John’s maltreatment in such a way that Beatrice felt so secure, as she rested her head on his broad shoulders. “Peter, I don’t know what to do again. Am just tired of the relationship,” she’d say carefully.  On Tuesday, he had secured his sit in the classroom as usual, waiting for professor John Zaku when he received a message. It was Beatrice’s. It read: i regret meeting your friend, John. He doesn’t treat me as a lady like you do. How i wish i was dating you Peter. You have a kind and caring heart.’ It was a short message, yet more intimidating than the new black cat in his neighbourhood. He left Mirabel in a hurry to meet up with Beatrice. A hurry, even he, couldn’t understand.

In thirty five minutes he had arrived at her apartment. The fastest voyage he had ever undergone. He couldn’t believe what he saw when he opened wide the door. Beatrice sat suggestively with her engorged breasts on John’s thigh as he journeyed between her fair smooth laps. His thick cracked lips enjoyed the wetness of hers while she basked in the pleasure derived from the erotic thrills. Peter wiped his face with his handkerchief as he watched mouth-open, Beatrice’s legs quaking with unending desire.

BY D. Francis Aquaticus

Feature Image from RTE

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