Will You Be My Muse?

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Will you be my muse?

I will pin your picture to my wall and gaze at your perfection as I write. I will seduce you with my words and kiss your lips with my thoughts. I will tell you the wanton things I want to do to you and caress you brazenly with my intentions.

I will push you up against the wall of my passion and press my desire against yours. I will read your words, guide your sentences down the lines of my body. You will touch my sensitive places softly with the things you say.

I will tease you wickedly, guiding you down to feel the streams of my anticipation gushing forth. You will tease me in turn, prodding and caressing and expertly exploring my inner recesses till my knees buckle.

And when we can’t take it any more I will let you in. I will look into your eyes, ready, and gasp as you slide your soul into mine and fill me up.

Will you be my muse?

Didier

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Hi, mes amis.  I’m so sorry I’ve been gone so long. I won’t even give any excuses, I’ll just throw myself at your mercy. And (again) I’m sorry about the length, I tried…

broken-wedding-rings-300x225Didier liked to say we met at the office on a Monday morning. I’d been running late for a meeting, actually running, and he’d been sending a text message, head bowed. The crash had been inevitable.

But I’ll tell you the truth, after I’d thanked him for helping me gather the files and make-up strewn around the parking lot I promptly forgot him. There was no reason not to. You see, I worked on the 20th floor as a junior partner, and from his jeans and tool belt I could immediately place him on the ground floor with the technical staff. I didn’t mingle with the help, it was that simple.

On the other hand, I say I met Didier on a sunny Friday afternoon. I’d just left the office and was walking back to my car, soaking in the beauty of the day, when out of the blue I heard a woman laugh. It was the most beautiful sound I’d heard in a while. Read the rest of this entry

The Pain in My Derrière

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I know last year I made this girl look like an angel straight from heaven. But it wasn’t always so… Alas it wasn’t always so.  Today I shall take you through the events of a certain night many, many, many, many, many, many, MANY years ago when I must have been around 6 and she 8. Or maybe we were 4 and 6? Or 5 and 7?  I don’t know.  The important thing is that we were still little enough to share a bed.

After dragging us kicking and screaming through the shower (it was a fun family night ritual, we weren’t dirty children at all) my Mum had just finished threatening me into my nightie and was in the process of caning Joy into hers.  I left them to their struggles and went to the bedroom.

Being the considerate little sister I was I got into bed, rolled to the very edge (you  know, to give my big sister enough space to sleep), made sure I took up the barest few square centimetres of blanket space and fell into blissful sleep.

Then Joy happened.  Read the rest of this entry

Roses are Red

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love-red-rose-black-31000 all4myspaceAnother really long one.  I’m really sorry!  Maybe I’m working my way up to novel standards.

He promised you a rose.  And thus it started.  You didn’t ask for it, you would have been quite fine without it, but he walked past you on the staircase one day and held your stare.  That was nothing new, you were beautiful, men looked at you, it was normal.  Then he walked up behind you as you looked at your favorite painting in the lobby, the one of the single red rose, and he promised to bring you a red rose, one almost as beautiful as yourself. Read the rest of this entry

Challenge Seven: Zeenike

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So I wrote this for a dear, beardless friend’s blog challenge. And it was a proper challenge!

Welcome to A.g(r)eek!

**Ah, Liz. Elizabeth. Lizi. Zeenike. And that other Yoruba name I read somewhere. In her characteristic bossness, here she comes. Hint: to get more juice out of this one, read it at night, with the lights off ;)**

Mastermind: Zeenike

Domain: Zeenike (Again. Very Narcissistic somebody)

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Sweet Home

“Home, sweet home”, Uju whispered to herself as she looked around her new studio apartment with pride.  Uzo, her boyfriend had just helped her move the last of her boxes over from his house and was going to have to leave immediately, God be praised, since he needed to travel the next day.  Yet to her mounting irritation he was stillspending precious leaving time apologising for having to abandon her on this first night, and promising to dedicate the whole of the next weekend to helping her ‘christen’ the bed, carpet, kitchen counter, bathroom… She really didn’t hear the rest of…

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On a Monday Afternoon

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man woman blackloveforum comThe fear of my friend Hetty won’t allow me break this post in two, so please bear with the length!

They say disasters happen in threes but I was on my fourth and counting that Monday afternoon.  What a day.  I had called a prospective client an agbaya for inviting me to his hotel room even though he was old enough to be my father, that of course had led to the bank losing his multi-million Naira account and that, as you well know, had led to the boss bringing down the roof and threatening to sack me.  I didn’t see his daughters doing corporate ashewo work o, but who was I to bring that up?  Then as I was waiting for a cab my mum called and ended the conversation with her now familiar “se okunrin kan kan o ti ko enu si e ni?” I was 23 years old for goodness sake, what was the find-a-husband-or-die-trying rush about? And then just as I was hissing my end to the call (she had already dropped, I’m not suicidal) and turning around to face the road I got my face and body sprayed full of mud by this idiot speeding past in his BMW. Read the rest of this entry

My Block

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text-messageI’m suffering a case of writers’ block at the moment.  A bad one.   But don’t worry, I know the reason and I’ll deal with him soon enough.

Speaking of blocks, I seem to remember something that happened in my hostel back in Uni days.  I had a roommate, let’s call her Lola.  No, let’s not call her Lola, one of my roommates was actually called Lola.  So let’s call her Funke instead.

One morning after her shower Funke returned to the room naked as the day she was born.  She proceeded to take a full body nude picture, type out a naughty message underneath (I didn’t see the message, I just assume based on the smile she had on her face) and send both off to her boyfriend, let’s call him Dan.  Read the rest of this entry

The Liebster Award

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Thanks so much for nominating me, ToyinFabs, I’m happy you think I deserve it.  More grease, ink, something, to your pen!

The Liebster award is given to up and coming bloggers who have less than 200 followers. What is a Liebster? The meaning: Liebster is German and means sweetest, kindest, nicest, dearest, beloved, lovely, kind, pleasant, valued, cute, endearing, and welcome

The Rules Read the rest of this entry