I liked this guy in uni. He was quite attractive-caramel skin, average height, about 5’10”. I always saw him at the school’s eatery.
He would always stare at me, as if trying to say something. He had this smoldering gaze—a dark, dominant stare accompanied by a twitch on his lips that I found so intriguing. I never looked away whenever our gazes met.
One thing about me, I love to stare. It’s a way of communicating for me. I’llook at you and immediately sense your intentions or get you interested. Maybe it’s because I’ve always been an introvert who did a lot of observing all her life, so most of the talking happens in my head. This doesn’t mean I’m socially awkward in any way. If we’re talking, you’ll never get the feeling that I’m boring-unless I’m being intentional about not indulging you.
Meeting Mike:
There’s this thing Snapchat does where they suggest accounts in your location, so I accepted some friendship requests.
I posted a quote I made in my notes app about how we often want something, but when we get it, we want something else. Someone replied to the post. The person said, “Yeah, that’s a fact.”
I saw the response and just left it on read.
Then, the person texted again, “Hi, I’m Mike, can we link up?”
He didn’t even ask my name. I didn’t think too much about it or get upset; I just left the text on read.
The next day, I went to school. It was lunchtime, and the guy with the stare was sitting at his usual spot again. This time, I wasn’t sitting opposite him. It had been a long day; I was stressed and just needed to eat and go home, skipping the remaining lecture for the day. I opened Snapchat and saw a message from the guy from the other night. It had four question marks. I casually dropped my phone with the message still open and read.
I heaved a tired sigh, finished my food, and took my bag, forgetting to reply to the message and even forgetting about my staring competition, since I wasn’t sitting opposite him this time.
Later that night, I was awake and full of energy. I had eaten a home-cooked jollof rice, made by yours truly, and I was ready to scroll through my phone. I cleaned up, made my bed, took a shower, did my skincare routine, and turned off the lights. Oh, I hate lights. I only need them on for cooking at night, night reading, or video calls with a bruv (and I don’t mean my brother) who desperately needs to see my face;
otherwise, he would have to look at the darkness, even if there’s no power outage.
Back to Snapchat. The guy sent me another text: “I saw you today. You looked very beautiful and stressed.”
I frowned. Who is this guy? If he saw me today, it means he goes to school with me.
Luckily, he posted on his story, so I checked him out. Holy molly molly. It’s that guy. Yes! The guy from the eatery. It’s been him the whole time! Yesss.
I adjusted my nightwear and flipped my braids away from my pillow. I hate that looking good can be uncomfortable.
Okay, what do I type? You know what, he’s not that special. Just type. I click-tacked my nails on my iPhone screen:
“It’s you! Eatery guy!”
He replied with two cool emojis and:
“lol. Yeah. and I keep seeing you with some guy.”
Hmm. What’s this? What’s he doing? Is he trying to find out if I’m with someone? He texted again after waiting for my response, which mostly happens in my head and never makes it to the keypad.
“So can we meet now?”
Sure, I texted: “Yeah.”
He replied: “Tomorrow, at Cookies Hotel, 5 pm. Does that work for you?”
I like a guy who is sure of himself.
Straightforward and sure! There’s no need to beat around the bush, and I don’t like men who play with my intelligence.
I wrote back: “Nope. Carly’s fine. 3 pm.
Tomorrow.”
He texted: “Okay ma’am. No problem.”
He was still typing when I went offline.
Whatever more we need to say to each other can wait until we meet in person.
I logged onto my Netflix app and continued watching “House of Cards!”
I watched till 9 am. My curtains were down, and my room was consistently dark, so I barely noticed the day breaking. My phone was constantly on sleep mode, which meant no calls, texts, or alarms. No beeps at all. It gives me triggers.
Plus, the show is that interesting. I watch shows or any movie I find intriguing like a detective, mapping out everything and everyone. I went about my weekend, cleaning my room and doing deep skincare routines. Depilation, exfoliation, and right now you don’t want to do the routine with me. It’s stressful, boring even, I know, but a girl like me has to take care of her body because nobody else will.
I slept off and woke up many hours later, making up for the night I stayed up watching the show. Then I checked my phone. Mike had texted so many times and also called. Ohhh. I texted back: “I slept off, can we do this tomorrow?” He wasn’t freaking out from the text. But anyone would, and I’m sure he’s trying to be cool. Which works for me.
He said okay and added: “Don’t sleep off this time.”
I knew it, mad and playing it cool.
Long story short, I finally met with him.
We talked a lot. Up close, Mike is even more handsome. Sexy beard line, no break-offs. Clean as hell. And I could see his torso prints through his grey tee. Honestly, there’s no physical fault. I don’t care about other aspects. But if I’m honest, I wish he was as tall as Luca (will tell you about him soon). Luca is like what? 6’11”? I don’t know. But Mike and I see eye to eye. I’m tall for a girl, but tall for a girl is short for a guy, if you know what I mean.
Bottom line, we had a great time. He called me a cab home and hoped we could go to his place; I mean, he’s a guy. But we didn’t. I found him attractive, and I was not playing hard to get, I just wanted to sleep in my own bed that night.
I texted him my appreciation for the hangout.
We didn’t talk for a while. School. I also didn’t see him around for a while.
School.
The Build-Up
Weeks later, just before exams, fast forward to our first night. My first night. Ever.
A lot of people always have this first impression of me: reserved but attractive. Then up-close, fun to be with and maybe even wild. So I’m guessing I’m all of that. Or not. I don’t care to disprove facts or opinions. I just care to live my life on my terms. Period.
Before the first night, I did my research.
How to make him come, how to please him, how to be fun, the facial expressions, the body movements, the voice. I have it all. I’m always obsessed with doing things that make me feel good about myself. I dance a lot. In my room. I’m a very sensual person.
I like to enjoy everything-food, water, music, dance, writing. They are all art to me, and art is supposed to make you feel. I expect more from people, so I always want to give more first, from a place of abundance.
I’ve never sucked anyone. I’ve kissed a couple of guys, but it was more like they kissed me, so if that counts, l’ve never really kissed anyone either. For kissing, I could manage to freestyle with my creative thinking skills, but a blow job? No, I had to do my homework.
I read some articles, but I needed a real practice. I didn’t want to give this guy the “it’s my first time” vibe or seem naive so he could just come and go. No, I believe sex is sharing, not 50-50, but 100-100.
I bought sizable cucumbers, carrots, and bananas. I applied my knowledge from the articles to each fruit as though they were real dicks. I used lots of saliva, stayed in the moment, made soft sexy sounds, used lots of tonguing, and most importantly, no teeth. I tried the no teeth technique with a banana. If I could get it right with a banana without squishing it, then I knew I was good.
Of course, I learn fast. That’s why I’m who I am. Bella.
First Night
So we met again. Mike and I. He didn’t let me land; he started kissing me, he kissed me so good, so hard, that my brain turned off. I literally forgot to be nervous or feel like a first-timer. It was as if he’d been thinking about it–about my lips, about my body, about the things he would do to me. His strong hands were shaking and wandering over my body. He lifted me onto his desk, sweeping papers, notes, and pens to the floor. He ravaged my lips while I moaned in his mouth, trembling at his every touch. Then he paused. He leaned back, his gaze dark, his breathing slowing, and his teeth biting down on his lower lip. “Do you want to eat anything?”
I chuckled and sighed, licking my lips while shaking my head, still holding his desirous gaze. He nodded and took my lips again, grabbing my chin with both hands as if he couldn’t get enough of them. He explored every part of my mouth, shoving his tongue down my throat. For a second, I didn’t even know that was a thing, but it made me hornier. It was like giving me a mental picture of what being inside me would be like. Then he bit my lips so hard they cut. I tasted my blood, and it felt so good, sending a rush of fiery sensation all over my nipples.
Then he went there. As if he could read my mind, he started kissing my nipples one after the other through my shirt dress, so gently, so ravenously, grazing them with his teeth. I could feel a hotness and flow of energy in my center. He looked me dead in the eyes, wet his hand with his tongue, and slid it into my underwear. Still holding my gaze, he smiled with his eyes and slightly angled his head when he found how wet I was. But he didn’t go in. He just rubbed me, so hard, watching me gasp with my mouth open, watching me bite my lips with soft screams escaping, then kissing me again. He kissed my neck. It was so good that I wouldn’t mind a bite or two. Then he looked at me and said, “Can I bite you? Here or anywhere at all?”
Of course. I thought. I nodded. “Yes, bite me, wherever you want. Not too hard, though.”
He kissed my neck to the point that I was mentally begging him to put his dick inside me. He didn’t stop there.
He pushed my dress up and pulled down my underwear. He saw my wet gaze and smiled, twitching his lips before diving in. Mike kissed my center, using his tongue, his lips, even his beard—grazing my skin like sweet danger. I can’t explain all the twenty-something movements he did that sent blood rushing to my head, making me rub his head in thoughtless circular motions. It felt like, “Stop killing me, but kill me still.”
Then he stood. I saw his bulge grow so big, and I wasn’t even scared. I pulled him by his tee to my lips and kissed him senseless, tasting myself in his mouth.
He was dragging his breath and going for my buttons, but I pushed him off and onto his bed.
His eyes were giving,
“Sweetheart, do to me whatever you want!”
He probably expected me to take off my clothes, but no. I knelt between his legs, unzipped him, looking straight into his eyes. With my lips parted as though I wanted to kiss him, he leaned in, but I smiled and drew back. Then I took his member into my mouth.
I started with the tip, like I was starting with a lollipop. Then I used my tongue to nudge the walls of the longer part of him. With just enough saliva, I sucked every bit of him like my life depended on it, like it was my lollipop. He was groaning and reaching for my boobs, and I kept pushing his hands off. I found his balls and sucked delicately and deliciously on them without using my hands.
It was so good he kept grabbing my jaw, wanting to look into my eyes.
Somehow, I was enjoying it—the excessiveness of his helplessness.
It made me feel in control, even though I was the one kneeling before him. He wanted to kiss me, his thumb flickering over my lower lip, but I slightly nudged my chin away from him and returned to his member as if I only cared about it. At that moment, I did.
I took the whole of his member into my mouth, just like I had practiced with cucumbers, and Mike was big. Thick. Girthy.
He groaned and pulled my hair, but I stopped and gave him a firm look.
“These are new braids. You can’t pull them, and you certainly can’t hold my head down,” I said, even with a soft, bedroom voice. He swallowed hard and nodded. I held his gaze and went back to taking him down my throat. This time, I had no idea what I was doing; I was barely hearing his voice. His girth filled my mouth and blocked my ears, and his hand was on my head, but he wasn’t pulling or holding me down. It was just there, guiding me.
Minutes later, he burst out laughing.
I stopped and looked at his gorgeous face.
He held his mouth with a balled fist, and I asked, “Did I do something wrong?”
He shook his head and licked his lips
“No.”
I was still a bit estranged. “You sure you’re okay?”
‘I’m absolutely perfect, gorgeous. Don’t mind me.” I went down again, longer, deeper, and smoother, recapping my cucumber and banana lessons in my head.
Then he went off laughing harder this time.
He was almost about to spill in my mouth; I could taste his slurpy wetness. Thankfully, he laughed again, and so, I met his gaze with a soft, curious smile.
“Why do you keep laughing?”
He smiled and gave me a weird, sexy look. “I, uh,” he swallowed hard. “Okay, I’ve never had anyone blow me this good. You were sending crazy shocks to my brain, and that’s so crazy. The good kind of crazy.”
He left and went to the toilet to spill. He returned, still hard. He pushed my messy braids away from my face and kissed me. Then he stopped, looking into my eyes. There was something thankful in his gaze, but he could tell I was still confused.
“So, this is how you come?” | softly asked.
He smiled. “Well, uh, yeah, no, I mean,” he licked his lips, looking at me. “I’ve never come like this. I thought I’d been getting good heads, but this, this is borderline dangerous. But I mean it in a good way.”
I’ve never felt so proud of myself, not even when I won those competition prizes in high school. The truth is, Mike did the same to me, and I genuinely needed to return the favor.
But is that it? No actual penetration?
Wait for it.
ZenStateOfMindWriter 
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