If you are compelled to go to church for whatever reason, if you find the sermons boring or annoying, you can liken the feeling you get from going the church or mosque to a woman who is having sex with a man she doesn’t feel anything for.

For me, I feel like I am with a man I don’t like. I lie there on my back watching the three white, wide blades of the fan chasing themselves in a futile attempt to catch up with themselves. Willingly, I allow myself to be distracted by them.

My thoughts stray and I think of whom I’d rather be with . I’m reminded of everything soft like velvet, silk, and satin.

As if he sees my thoughts, he chases them and catches them the moment he grunts in my ear. Quickly, I am aware that he is there. Guilt makes me gasp.

My hands rove the expanse of his back. He thinks this is a cue to roughly ram his length into me. The pain, which spreads through my system, makes me moan.

God! He makes a guttural sound. Against my wish, like I am a puppet, my fingertips caress his head thereby eliciting another grunt from him.

I am disgusted.

Kk

Almost with a vengeance, his sweaty body grinds against mine. At this point, I ask myself what in perdition I’m doing here.

I fake a moan.

I sigh.

Another moan.

He mutters something gibberish about how good he’s fucking me.

I fake another moan.

He grunts.

Indignantly, I roll my eyes to Jupiter and back, then, I widen my hips to accommodate him. I need to get this over and done with lest I do something irrational.

I sigh and whimper and claw at his back.

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no matter what ,he has done what he needs to do. Na u sabi the rest