We sat face to face, chatting, giggling and occasionally gazing intently into each other’s eyeballs, the conversation filled with “sweet nothing” kept on flowing effortlessly in what seemed sweet melodious and sleek tones.
Her romantic tone waxed so well with my manly coarse tone and we sounded like the Soweto choir. We were completely immersed in the conversation and absolutely lost in the moment.
The moment was inundated with an air of benign affability. Every single word uttered either triggered an emotion or tickled pink. In either case it was responded to with an equal measure of emotion, and for the first time I felt Newton’s third law of motion in its practical terms–to every action there is an equal but opposite reaction.
Her smooth long legs which protruded from her shorts (hot pants) were bent at right angles (90) so that one bent knee could fit exactly in between my short bent legs which stood astride. The sitting pattern was such that I had a bent knee in between her thighs and she also had hers in between mine, but she had to do so cautiously because her knee was not very far from my balls of life.
The vertices from the top of my head, to her eyes, to the top of her head could be connected to form an isosceles triangle with the odd angle on my head. She was obviously taller so would have to tilt my head upwards at an appreciable level so that our eyes could be fixed on a straight line.
We looked very well saddled and huddled together but I can bet that this was never a planned thing. We just had to manage comfortable postures in the little space that served as an office cum warehouse .We cared less about the pungency of paint, ink, old paper, grease, kerosene and petrol that engulfed the little space in the printing press.
From a distance one would think of us as some new snuggle bunnies who couldn’t wait to have a one night stand, because the scene was more erotic than a mere romance-charged atmosphere. However, there existed nothing more than acquaintanceship. Even if there was, then it was still in the pipeline.
We had just met for the second time and we seemed to be getting along real fast. We got along so well that it seemed we knew ourselves from birth–the connection was like that of a Bluetooth connection, the bond like that of a covalent bond, and the telepathy between us was simply amazing.
The talkative persons we both are, made it easier for us to veer from one topic to another and very difficult for us to agree on one thing, so we veered from argument to argument. She was one person who would never give in to anyone’s opinion. She had an opinion on every topic, even topics about the life of the dead. Her opinions were always different from everyone else’s. Even if her opinion coincidentally falls in congruent with some else’s she would find a way of adding or subtracting something so that she could be on her own lane of thought.
Our conversations were boundless: love, sex, media, school, abroad, career and the list goes on and on. Most of what we discussed were however media related because apparently we were both in one way or the other connected to media. Unsolicitedly, she told me about herself and the independent life she lives in her parents’ house: ironic right? She told me about her associates and various squads. Ironically her associates and squads, and that of mine have a Shatta – Samini kind of relationship–little wonder we never agreed on anything.
Hearing her speak, one got the impression that she was some sort of a celebrity or one in the making. She spoke very good English and blended it so well with fine Twi (never mind that I don’t understand twi very well). Her accent was neither British nor American, and it wasn’t Ghanaian too. I heard she lived abroad for a while (a little above 5 months) but I couldn’t readily pin her accent down on any particular country. It was somehow close to an American accent but very much older than the few months she was said to have lived abroad so I convinced myself that she probably acquired some of it in America and acquired the rest through distance learning: that’s if we don’t want to say her accent was a Locally Acquired Foreign Accent (LAFA).
Our conversation got deeper and deeper until intimacy dawned….
Watch out for part 2.
Story By: P.D Wedam/thesavannaonline.com
