₦airaland Forum

So I was bored and decided to put this down. It's not yet complete, but I'd like to get your opinion about it.

SARAH



DAY 1





There is an adage that says 'we are what we think about'. If this holds any truth, it is safe to say, my name is Sarah. I have been unable to get her out of my head since i met her last week at a friend's birthday party. I'm sure she must be really tired because She has been running through my mind all week.

At first sight, i was certain i was staring at a goddess, then i pinched myself in an attempt to clear the fog that had clogged up in my head from all the smoking. It was at this point I realised, she wasn't a goddess, she was an Angel. Of course, like the last time, I was wrong. Apparently a pinch was not enough to clear the weed and alcohol-induced hallucinations— It would take all the nuclear bombs in the US military arsenal to get me back to normal. In which case I would be very dead before getting a chance to make a sane conclusion of the situation I was faced with.

I was wasted in every sense of the word, and this was affecting my eye-brain coordination. So, like any other fun-craving college student, I stopped fighting the intoxication and embraced it. "That is an Angel” I said to myself.


An angel I felt obligated to talk to. Immediately, I strode majestically to where she sat, with no trace of my long existing but now very dormant social Achilles heel, "caligynephobia". Obviously motivated by the enslaving whips of one-too-many gulps of campari, I began my quest to interview this [USO] Unidentified Sitting Object. "Why aren't u dancing like the rest of us?" [IT TOOK ALL THE GUTS I HAD TO STOP "HUMANS” FROM COMING OUT OF MY MOUTH]. She didn't seem to hear me, so I drew closer and repeated my question, this time with much more restraint holding in “human” than the first time. I felt a dryness in my throat, which I could only translate as a signal from my brain, telling me I am running out of guts. A signal that vanished as quickly as it came. "I can't dance" she replied. I giggled and made another drug induced conclusion —"it is an angel and it is lieing.”
"of course you can dance, what else would you be doing with all these curves?" I asked with fierce curiosity while my gaze was fixed on her humongous breasts, which I noticed as I drew closer. She smiled, obviously confused if I was complimenting her or flirting with her. —Why would any one even try to separate the two?

I interpreted the smile as an invite into her soul. [Yet another drug-induced conclusion] In the spur-of-the-moment, I held her by the hand and forced her to dance with me. We danced for 10seconds before my boner got it the way of her ass and my groin.

By now, i could hear the voice of street poet and philosopher, Wizkid, in my head screaming [Joy, nothing but joy] and boy was I joyful. It took her a few more seconds to notice my boner and like a judge and members of the courtroom, she takes her seat, leaving me and my member standing. This frustrated me a lot, besides, I wasn't done with my interview yet, So I leaped in front of her with a new objective [To Convince her to continue dancing].

"You're very beautiful you know” I said. She smiled again, then added "how would you know that? You haven't even seen my face” it now dawned on me that I had been staring at her breasts all the while and she had taken notice of that. So, with a guilt filled heart and a sexy smile, I offered her a lap dance, as if to atone for my sin. An offer she accepted to my surprise and i think hers as well. I had hoped to give her an orgasm with that but then again, I was still under the influence.

We talked for a while after that, when she informed me of her exit. Already lovestruck, I volunteered to be her escort with yet another objective in mind —to get her number and try to see her again.
Who wouldn't want to? She was indeed an Angel.