The Ghost Of A Boyfriend Past
As I walked into the bank, I sighted him in the customer service section. He was standing with his back to me, and from the height and shape of his head, I knew it was him. I stopped, sick with apprehension. I thought of leaving the bank before he saw me; deep down, I hoped he would not turn around until I had gathered my nerves. My throat felt tight when he turned, and he was not Obinze. I could tell my head was filled with his ghost; this was not the first time I would be experiencing what had just happened. For a very long time, I have had several imagined glimpses of Obinze. I had imagined seeing him several times, and it was beginning to get out of hand.
After so many months, I decided to call him to free myself from his ghost— it was Christmas, after all, so a good time to get closure. As soon as I heard his voice, I began to remember everything that had happened between us. He spoke with that voice I had not heard for so long, and it sounded both changed and unchanged. I couldn’t believe I had agreed to go to his house after everything. Obinze and I had a loving relationship, and we decided to take the bold step of getting married after two years of dating. We had plans and high expectations for our wedding, but suddenly our plans capsized when his family told me that I had to get pregnant before they accepted me into their family.
Months passed by still nothing happened. I went to several hospitals to get checked and was told nothing was wrong with me. Obinze’s family insisted on not accepting me into their family until I got pregnant. A year later, I still couldn’t get pregnant, and Obinze’s family was beginning to get impatient. Although he tried his best to support me through the maltreatment I received from his family, deep down, I knew my relationship with him might not last. I was not surprised when he told me he was getting married to another lady who was already pregnant with his child. He blamed the pressure on his family, but I knew he had the power to make our relationship work if he really wanted to. At the same time, I couldn’t blame him; anyone in his shoes would have done the same. No one wants to get married to a barren woman.
I decided to move on with my life and forget about him. But here I was; at his house. I stood in front of his door, waiting for him to open it, and the moment our eyes met, there was a carving of the blue sky, an inertia of stillness. When neither of us knew what to do, he moved towards me, and we hugged. Sitting in his living room, I was flustered as the words ‘Merry Christmas’ came out of my mouth in a shrillness that annoyed me. He was looking at me; unabashedly, and I could not hold his gaze. My fingers were shaking uncontrollably, which was bad enough, but I could not even stare into his eyes. He was looking so calm; we both could read what was going through each other’s minds. I had not forgotten but merely remembered anew how understated his manner was, his charisma, every little thing about him. He told me about how he was deceived with pregnancy by his supposed wife, who was after his money and that the baby wasn’t his because he was diagnosed with a blocked sperm duct and was releasing only semen, which was why I couldn’t conceive.
He mentioned he tried contacting me before going for his surgery abroad, I heard his words like a melody, and I felt myself breathing unevenly. I could not cry; it was silly to after so long, but my eyes were filled with tears; there was a boulder in my chest and a stinging in my throat, but I made no sound. Obinze took my hands and clasped them in both of his as we sat in silence. An ancient silence that we both knew. I was in this silence and safe. We couldn’t deny the attraction. Between
us, there was a weightless, seamless desire. I leaned in and kissed him. At first, he was slow in response, but he pulled up my blouse, pushing down the bra cup to free my breast. I remembered clearly the firmness of his embrace, and yet there was also a newness to our union. Our bodies remembered and did not remember.
Freeing my breast, he lavished them with kisses, nips, and teasing licks. As my back arched for more, he kissed his way down my body, lingering in the narrow depression of my navel. He listened to my breathing grow deeper, then faster, turning to frustrated gasps as he hooked a thumb in
my panties and inched them lower. Gripping my thighs, he made more room for himself. I trembled against his soft hands, my whole body quivering. He traced the hot core of me, circling round and
round while my legs wrapped around him. Pressing a kiss on my lady bits, he left me. I knew he wanted to bury himself deep between my legs, and I couldn’t wait. Then he pulled me back, and with a thrust of his hips, he sought the place he’d wanted to be ever since he laid eyes on me.
My body hovered near fulfilment, humming with frantic nerve endings just waiting for their moment to sing. But I didn’t want it to end. I wanted to lay there with Obinze wrapped up in my arms for hours…Days. His thrusts grew harder. Deeper. Faster. I held on tighter as I matched his
movements, thrust for thrust as I tightened my vaginal muscle while circle-thrusting to his rhythm. He always loved that, and I heard him let out a deep moan. I had missed hearing that; I loved hearing him moan; it pleased me that I was giving him pleasure. He was thrusting harder and
faster now, and as if he wanted to enjoy every bit of me, he slowed down his pace to prevent himself from c••ming.
At that moment, he pinned my hips with his and started moving them in a slow circle; I flew apart with a cry, my legs shaking and my body rocking with hard spasms. The power rushed me in waves, and I had no choice but to let it take me. He followed suit before my release stopped, so our orgasmic cries mingled at one point, each at the mercy of something lush and wild. I clung to Obinze to steady myself in the long, silent moments afterwards. My mind cleared slowly as rational
thought returned. In a way, I’m thankful he married that girl because she helped him find out he had a blocked sperm duct. I now believe that everything happens for a reason.
Dorcas Akintoye is a dedicated writer with more than 2 years prolific experience in writing articles ranging from food, entertainment, fashion and beauty. She has a National Diploma in Mass Communication from Kwara State Polytechnic, Ilorin. She loves writing, listening to music and playing scrabble. She is a highly-skilled, enthusiastic, selfmotivated professional writer.