Thursdays are for thirst-traps lol. My Gambian journey has been so … interesting/entertaining/draining/seep full of experiences? But that’s a story for another day lol. Today, I feature the work of one of the coolest people I’ve been privileged to meet during my short stay here. Here’s Miss D.S. Lee‘s DS08.
An assembly of gilded bracelets slide off her glistening wrist whizzing past the small puddle of water gathering on the floor just behind her and settle defiantly at the foot of his bed in an infuriating twirl.
The clothes, light blue cotton blouse and a dark acid washed jean skirt carefully folded on the bed are forgotten.
She squats with one knee on the ground, leaving faint teeth marks on her lower lip as she reaches for the mutinous jewelry.
Her thick curly locks drop across her face, wet strands hugging the left corner of her hurriedly glossed lips. She reaches over, grabs the lot and tosses it over her shoulder sending sprinkles of water scattered across the crisp cotton sheets.
*2 more bracelets…* Her hand stretches out for the illusive bangles when the towel drops. She clumsily snatches the corners together in a ruffled bunch clasped tight at the inside of her waist.
Her head darts up at the open door and sighs, relieved at the emptiness beyond it. She can only see the make shift gym equipment unceremoniously abandoned mid-work out for the more appealing option of a midday swim.
She grabs at the last two in a hurry, roughly scratching the tips of her fingers on the crude bedroom tiles.
She hops up, thrusts the bangles in her handbag and with her bare back to the door, she draws up her lace boy shorts, one side at a time straightening out the rolls forming at the top of her underwear from the friction against her skin.
“Are you ready? Oh, sorry…its…the cars here…”
His voice comes from the direction of the open door; he stands with his body partially visible at the entrance.
His swimming trunks hang a little lower on his waist than they are meant to. Little water droplets cling like dark freckles on his deep dark skin.
She looks at him over her shoulder. Her nipple just visible behind the strands of hair stuck in thin waves on the surface of her neck and chest; just like the hand wrapped sweets he bought as a kid. Butterscotch and licorice! His mouth waters at the memory. Unlikely pair but they work surprisingly well together.
“You going to come in?” she says in her way of asking questions like a statement. They break eye contact then, her back still to him; she fastens the towel at the hip, and leisurely draws her hands up grabbing her curly hair at the base of her neck in a twist on the top of her head.
She motions at the skin lotion propped on the bright plastic chair angled towards her between the bed and the dressing table.
Bright eyed and winning smile, he has completely mastered the art of reading signals from the opposite sex. This one however seems to be of a foreign dialect… exotic, probably Scandinavian. He proceeds to take his time staring at the bottle in efforts at deciphering the all too complex insinuation.
In his defense however it must be said that in a matter of seconds a significant amount of blood had been lost to his lower body.
“What?” He darts out with a little more trepidation in his voice than his inner Casanova would approve of. She’s stays silent, betrayed by the tremors only visible at the tip of her hair where her pulse dances through her fingers.
He doesn’t notice, and finally reaches for the half used bottle containing “Enriching cream infused with honey, amber (what?) and vanilla. For deep reaching moisture and a long lasting fragrance…” It smells good, and finally he understands the reason for directions written on the back of moisturizing creams. Standing before her, he loses command of his hands and fumbles awkwardly with the stupid cover that won’t seem to come off. After what seems to him like a lifetime he sees the arrow pointing in the direction in which the top is to be open…
*This is a nightmare*
He tips the bottle over and stares impatiently at his discouragingly bare hands.
“No, Please, take your time she chides” he squeezes the bottle hard letting out a ridiculous splatter that lands everywhere but his hands.
She smiles but only for a split second
He steps in closer, right behind her, his toes enveloped by the water from the growing puddle. He taps his toes nervously in the water and mutters.. ” “Ahm your hair is wet…”
“I hadn’t noticed” She replies jokingly
He lowers his eyes and his focus on the bottle that obviously experienced a fault on the manufacturing belt during production.
This time he manages to a get large dollop smack in the middle of his thankful palms and with a triumphant smile starts to rub the massive amount vigorously on her back.
” Why, what is it?”
She takes a step towards him, her back still to him and speaks in a clear and steady voice.
“Slow down, ”
He is entranced.
“Rub your hands together, just like that… Don’t rush.”
“Start in the middle of my back, let your fingers point upwards, yes towards my shoulders.”
“Now move your hands gently but firmly up my back. Slowly…”
“Run them over my shoulders and once on the edge let your hands fall again, don’t think, follow the direction which your hands fall ”
An indiscernible “mm” is all he can muster as he revels in the feel of firm, soft skin against the palms on his hands followed of course by the faint pulse of his member as his hands move across and over her smooth back. The warmth of her body intensifies the smells present in the lotion and at that moment the smell of amber is forever burned in his memory.
She was right; his hands flow easily over her brilliantly beautiful skin. Down to the small of her back and up slightly diagonal, crossing her waist, extending towards the center of her belly- “Good, now do it again”
The sexy was in its simplicity. How comfortable she was with her body, how defined her bare waist was!
She’s… Ok, she can’t possibly stand so close and not notice. I mean if I were any harder her towel would be…*
Before he’s finished, the sudden dash of water across his face pulls him off the bellowing train his thoughts are taking him on. He realizes he had been stuck in the same place while his mind wandered.
Ok *exhale*Ok, don’t over think it!
Authoritatively she takes his hands in hers, and moves them lower, towards the neglected rest of her body, she threads her fingers between his and escorts him over the faint dimples at the small of her back in a movement extending to her abdomen.
His lips part, she presses their hands harder onto her own skin as she rubs the lotion rhythmically on her body, his breath quickens, he feels a distinct throb between his legs, against the back of her thighs.
She moves their hands higher still rubbing, teasing, and her hand firm against his. She rests the back of her head on his shoulder, her fingers run lightly up and down his neck, her hips rocking against him.
He closes his eyes, she smiles. She’s in control and she loves it.
Her hands fall and he stiffens as she grasps the sides of his shorts. She slightly lifts her heels and bends at the hips, drawing him nearer, so deliciously close as his hands wander alone, above her belly. His command over his body quickly returns, he slides his now confident hands over her breasts, lightly brushing against her stiff nipples. He runs the back of his hands against them, reveling in the movement of the little circles on his tingling skin.
He tenderly cups her, placing each thumb and forefinger on either side of her nipples, softly twisting rubbing and pulling, pushing hard against the warmth of the maliciously obstructive towel.
He feels her hands quiver against his sides, from the steady waves echoing deep in her belly.
Her cue to switch it up.
With one swift movement she rises, placing her hand over his eyes as she turns to face him. He opens his mouth to speak but the words turn to a muffled moan as her mouth covers his. They kiss softly. She pulls away and lightly brushes her tongue across his lips. She leans in, wet lips pursed almost touching. She steps backward, leading him to the edge of the well-made bed.
Her hand drops from his eyes to grip the elastic material of his waistband, the inside of her wrist brushing against the exposed Velcro revealing the unyielding bulge formerly pressed against her. Her eyes fix on his as she lowers herself onto the hard mattress in one move pulling him on to her, never breaking eye contact.
He positions himself between her legs.
He finds her mouth. They kiss deeply, her leg hook onto his thigh as he moves on top of her. The weight of him between her legs feels amazing; she takes a moment, tilts upward and quickly straightens out the neglected boy shorts rolled halfway up her ass. Then softly traces the defined sinews that punctuate his back, she feels him pulse between her legs and her insides roll on themselves with longing.
The build up is intense, her hands grasp tighter, holding him close to her, the sharp intakes of air she draws between her teeth drive him crazy, he sinks his teeth into the soft crook of her neck. She moans.
He wants her.
She writhes underneath him, moves her hand to the base of his neck, pulls him close so that her lips are right against his ear and whispers “give it to me”. He swoons, his pulse racing as he claims her mouth again, Hungry.
His hands unfasten the towel and move to unburden her of the black-laced shorts when she giggles. He glances up at her half smiling face and she explains that she meant for him to give her the pile of clothes an arms length away from him.
*You’ve got to be kidding.*
She enters the taxi after negotiating the fare increase to compensate the driver for having to wait for over 20 minutes after having arrived
“At least one of us did” he mutters only half joking
“Did you say something”
“I said have a safe trip” he replies, closing the car door. “Call me when you get home”
He steps back as the taxi drives away. She waves almost mockingly from the rear window. He stands awkwardly at the front gate of the building rubbing the back of his neck where he still feels the remnants of her manicured nails. Smiling down apologetically he gives a nod of acknowledgement to his member pressing, expectant against his floral print swimming trunks. He turns towards the house and heads for his bathroom for a very cold shower.
Art Credit: John William Waterhouse – The Soul of the Rose.