That Kind of Wrong that Feels Right.
“I love you. I want you. Just this once”, he whispers in your ears in the dark interior of his splash car. Just like the devil, he tempts you. His hands, caressingly play along your spine moulding you to his pot-bellied stomach. His sweaty palms hitch beneath your skirt with intent. His potent gaze, on your eyes, as he lowers his mouth towards you.
In your feeble mind, he is Baba Johnny or is it Professor Oliech? But you can’t help it. He will work on your examination performance like a surgeon trying to fix a fault. And there are other perks. He gives you money to take care of your ‘heart’s’ desires. He knows you have a penchant for the latest fashion. So he indulges it. As he wounds you deep in his spell, you can’t help thinking. That kind of wrong that feels right.
“Hey, babe, where you at? I miss you. I am still waiting for you to confirm if you coming at my place for dinner. You promised”, she says in one breath through the phone. She is speaking to her two-week old boyfriend.
“Honestly, ama let you know. Am kinda in the middle of something over here right now. Let me get back to you. Cool?” He says and doesn’t wait for her reply.
She feels it. The disinterest. Trying too much to get to him. She knows she is trying too much. She assures herself she is just being caring. She can’t help it if she wants to be with him all the time. For crying out loud, she doesn’t mind canceling on her best pal Alice who she has known all her life for him. It feels right. Who cares about coming across as needy, clingy? Damn it! It’s not so wrong to want to be with him, she assures herself. He feels right. But deep down she knows, feels it. That kind of wrong that feels right.
Dripping sweat like he has run miles on end, he flips on his back side. He looks sideways at your statue like a frame. Smiling he asks, “babe how was that for round one?”
His smile is so confident. So happy. You don’t have the heart to say what’s on your mind which is on the lines of, “Really awful. Horrible if l am counting the fact that I felt like a bull was ramming inside me with the intention of splaying my innards. Did you have to run through me like David Rudisha going for that gold medal? For crying out loud, this ain’t those x rated films making love to the cameras and faking it like Nicki Minaj’s booty! ”
But you do the exact opposite. After internally sighing and rolling your eyes thinking about Mr. M in the drawer who could have done a better job, “You were awesome. I can’t believe you are that good. Can’t wait for round two!” Inside, you cringe when your conscience calls you a big fat liar. But you think, I don’t want to be the one hurting his ego. So you lie like a compulsive liar accomplishing it with a quick kiss on his lips. You sigh with the truth as you see him basking in male pride. You tell your conscience it was worth it. That kind of wrong that feels right.
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