₦airaland Forum

EROTICA

She had been gone for two days now. . . . . . Can't really say I missed her.
We were strangers, or like stranger, awkward in close quaters, conversations
with pregnant gaps, where we looked askance, wondering how we had come to
be in the first place.

It wasn't meant to be like this.

Prior to moving in together, our relationship had been one tease, layer after layer
unwrapped in fits, each new plateau awe inspiring, flying without wings, on a magic carpet
of sheer emotional bliss.

It wasn't sexual or nothing like that. . . . .

It really didn't matter after all. We enjoyed each other's company, a mutual conspiracy where each
explored the other.The Physical consumation when it did happen, would be the marzipan, the topping
on a celestial cake.

Or so we thought. . . . .

Nothing spoils that most intimate of occassions like the way pressure can. We know not whence it came, but come
it did. This was the last threshold, the final frontier to emotional nirvana, and we got stuck, or we simply plain stank at it.
My member failed me initially, and when i managed a semblance of stiffness, the damage had already been done. She blamed
herself, refused to look into my eyes as I tried to make an impression inside her. She did not so much as moan, just a
tedious whimper.

The magic carpet developed holes, and we fell back to earth with an emotional thud. Self blame, self pity, self immolation, . . .
We both turned inwards, eyes avoiding each other, speech that used to flow, became a chore. It must have been CGI fantasy, our
earlier 'tryst'. All so sudden was our distancing, it all seemed so surreal. If not for moving in together so soon, a complete dissolution
of our relationship was a given. We did try again, with the same results if not worse. I literally failed to rise to the occassion, my phallus
having developed a recalcitrant posture of total deflation. . . . . . . . .

So when she said, she had to be out of town for the week, there was palpable relief on both sides. Perhaps a chance
for pressure free introspection. . . . . .to source our solutions for moving forward





I DEY COME JOR. . . . . THE THING DEY TAKE TOO LONG

una fit move on sha. . . .

me i never write my own erotica.

the problem be say, i have to narrow down the details.

too much experience. . . .nah mean

@Neegro Ntns

That was a good piece of learnig. . . . .

David. . , it is a knockout

[quote author=HR.hotness link=topic=149836.msg2496018#msg2496018 date=1215822340]I could feel his pulse deep there inside mingled with my own, a shadow chasing the feeling of his silken fullness.  As he moved, I whimpered helplessly, aware of my own rising frenzy to keep him there.  I reached out to roughly take his hair into my hands as if in fear that he would stop. His scent. his touch, taunting me sweetly, easing over my hot skin in a wash of sensual joy. He reached for me now, turning me away from him so that he could take me from behind as I preferred.  His movements quickened, and he became more the animal, less the man.

There would be little restraint left for me at that point, for as I pushed back against him while he drove in and out of me, that subtle rising itch within me began, and I wanted more of it.  He turned my face to the side so that his tongue could play about my lips, but I was already at the height of my excitement and started to cry out against his mouth.  He felt so right, so natural and so good that I could have cried for pleasure.  The tender weakness stole over me so that I shook until the roots of my hair were soaked, gripping him tightly with my body, refusing to let go.

Then he seemed to gasp, stopping suddenly, increasing the speed of his thrusts.  He moaned softly over and over as he came violently inside of me.  Our heavy breathing filled the space of the empty room in tune with the rain outside hitting the windows.

A few minutes later, while I lay there wrapped up in his warm embrace, I suddenly realise I didn't know his name. . . .   [/quote]Ol bob. . . .I sure would like to meet you

And I promise not to tell you my name. hehehehehe

I am haunted ooo. . . .Nightmares, phantasmogoria, ila buruku


Haunted by a scene from way back. An event from childhood. Gosh, thinking about it. . . . .

They tell me, reliving the story with other will provide some relief. . . . . .

I was in Primary 1 then, or was it Primary 2. Anyways, it don't really matter.
We were the prey-mantis hunters back then, me and my clique. And boy were we good. We would jump on the
hopping suckers and tear them apart limb by limb. legs first, heads last, i guess to make sure every ounce of pain
registered in the creature's brain.

Our hunting ground was a large parcel of grass. Overgrown weeds seething with hopping preys. What a delight.
We would tease the poor mantis to exhaustion, until it literally gave up and gave in to its Gothic fate. Right in an obscure corner
of this grounds was a one of those contraptions, I suspect almost unique to Nigeria. Everywhere else in the world, at least other places
I have been, their cesspits/septic tanks are buried undergoround. But in many locales in Nigeria, as if to show off an architectural marvel,
their crowns are allowed to rear the head for all to see. Archetypal 'Towers of Shit' you might say.

But this particular one on our playground was no longer concrete on top. In several places where it had given way, it ws augmented
with planks of wood. Of course it reeked. We are talking about the shit of little pikins here, excreta derived from a sweet tooth. But we kids
never noticed. You can ignore most things when you are having fun, and what was more fun than ripping a Prey-Mantis apart.

Amongst us Barbarians, was an especially outstanding hunter. While we ripped our victims with a degree of remorse, he ripped his with glee, a guttural
emmision right from the depths. And he was an avid hunter. There was no talking with Ekaete when he was on a mission. All and everything was fazed out.  And so it was on this day. He was on the tail of his quarry with even more zeal than usual. But this mantis was almost inexhastible. It skipped in all
directions, evading capture. The more it skipped, the more resolute was Ekaete.  Just as Ekaete seemed to be getting one up on the mantis, in one last
act of defiance, the mantis heaved itself up on the contraption, and with equal zeal Ekaete hopped after it.

The Wood gave way. . . . . . ,  . . , . .  . .Mantis and Ekaete falling down one seeming maelstrom of IGBE



It so happened that I had been the only spectator to the whole drama. The other members of our murderous group
were off in a little corner, marvelling at each other's conquests. I simply stood there. . . my little mind trying to comprehend what had happened.
Then I started crying, I was crying as I ran to the nearest class to the nearest adult.

I found one. . , .' Tisha, Tisha, Tisha. . . . .Ekaete has fallen into the suck-away'

It is remarkable how swift she was. . . . or how she understood me. She went to another class, grabbed a male teacher, and egged me on.

We got there, almost all of him gone. . . . .quicksand or quickshit had almost swallowed him. His fingers were all we could see, a last cry for salavation

He was pulled out, in all his brown faecal glory. Laid out on the floor, non breathing. They quickly started pumping at his chest, and with every maggot, every green slimy faeces, or brown nugget of igbe that spewed forth from his mouth, we all thought Ekaete was gone.

But then he coughed, he coughed again. . . .and for comic measure, one of the adults who had gathered round suggested,
'Make person give am Mouth to Mouth' na.

I had long gone though. . . .The picture of all that excreta thriving forth from my friend's mouth had been too much.

The image that lives with me till today. . . . . .The one that haunts me. The cause of my 'Nocturnia'

@Lady T, Onyinye and Gold Finch

Glad you liked it. , . .

The Club

It always shocked me. Why did they bother calling me on Friday nights to come clubbing with them.
Did they derive some kind of pervese pleasure from my obvious discomfort in that rowdy setting. The noise that passes
for music splitting my delicate cranium. And why oh why, do they make me witness what I cannot possibly have. The revelations
of the female flesh all so close, yet so far away. Hips that sway, bosoms that literally bounce, backsides that dance to a Juju beat. It is torture I
tell you, sheer torture.

I could always refuse their invitations of course. Its not like they put a gun to my head. Well I confess, I am a Viewer. I might not be able to
touch, but I can sure see. Helps the visualition, when I stroke the monkey for the consequent days before I freshen up the images at the next
club sessions. And you the reader might wonder why I simply don't take a chance with one of these ladies, perhaps  I might find a lady with the
same awkward disposition as myself who might take a chance on me. Well I did try. I once sighted a cross eyed, knock kneed lady acroos the dance floor
from me, almost a feminine replica of myself. I thought here must be a like mind, a kindred spirit, with which I cannot possibly fail. I walked through the
gyrating bodies. I stood in front of her, a John Travolta in Grease pose. And then I smiled. Would you like to dance I asked. She stared back through
those thick rimmed glasses, and shock horror, she started shedding tears. She bawled, screamed, and the eyes of the whole world seemed to fall on me
at that moment. I looked around for help. Wale and Thomas were busy trying to distance themselves as far away from me as possible. The club lights came on. , . . . .  and all the lights seemed to be on me. I always fancied the idea of being the centre of attention but this. . . . .

But I still returned to the clubs again following another invitation. But this time, I was clear about my remit. Look, but don't even come close at all. So I looked, the ass, the boobies, the thighs. All useful for a serial self-servicer like myself. On the off chance of slightest eye contact, I never even bothered. I simply stared face down, the perfect pose of submission.

All was as it should be on this particular occassion. I had been adding to my memory bank at a fast pace, an especially busy night. Then I noticed at the
corner of my eye, this absolute stunna had her eyes fixated on me. Oh my god, was she gorgeous. I thought she might have noticed my perverse activity in the club, but I thought, why me, every bloody male was at it, ogling and cooing at every female. And I thought 'Bugger off Woman'. She must have heard, cause almost immediately she started to walk towards me.

What the hell, I thought

Her walk was as sensual as she was beautiful. And her eyes never strayed from me and the hovel i had securely fastened myself.

She is coming towards me ooo. . . .Which kain wahala be this again.

She came right in front of me. I stared nervously all over the place wondering how many would witness the forthcoming embarassment.
Suddenly she brought her lips to my ear, and softly cooed, ' I like you'. Her fingers were on my neck tracing a path of arousing tease, She had me all covered with her frame. There was no escape. I was trying to move my hands out the way when it grazed against her nether regions. Yes, I mean her
down below.

My apology was swiftly on its way. . . .when it got stifled in my throat.

Hold on a moment, I thought. That isn;t right. That felt like a banana, a sausage, a cucumber. . . . . .

E ma gba mi. . . . . . .This man is a woman

I looked at the man-woman, and there in he/she's eyes was a knowing look. It was daring, as if to say, ' I am a man- - - - -so what'

The rage was coming, me, a naija boy. It is never meant to happen.

I looked at the man woman, head to toe. The legs, the full rambunctious figure. Then I looked at the eyes again.

We stared at each other for what seemed an eternity, all else dulled out. Just me and this thing.

Then I put my hands around the man-woman's neck, pulled violently towards me, and brought those
sultry lips towards mine. . . . . .