Fingered on the straw...

You’ve been fingered on all kinds of beds and certainly familiar with the feelings that comes with it but I’m sure you have no idea how being fingered on a straw mat feels like.

She lay prostrate on the mat that was layered on the hard floor, with legs wide spread and body twirling. Her neck, tilted to one side of the body as she rested on the high stuffed pillow. She’s so familiar with the feeling engulfing her entire body, as warm blood shot through her capillaries in the blood vein. She was feeling so alive, even though she was helpless about the situation in which she finds herself.

The weather was airy and conducive for making out under the twilight. Neighbors were outside but quite distant from where they were having their tryst and that all you could see was silhouette of people and their sounds.

We often feel relaxed and absent-minded around people who aid us in getting happiness; whatever it means, so she let go of herself, entrusting all of her senses in the care of the man that lay next to her by switching off her inhibitions, as he led her on. Little did she know that every hand that can reach you and make you feel good can as well leave indelible marks that can hurt you for a long time to come.

She moaned as the man caressed her all over, down her thighs and to the inner parts in a very sensitive manner that sent chills down her spine as she shudder with delight. The sensation was unprecedented and she is loving every bit of it. She is feeling so loved as he stroked her hair down to her neck that tickled her; forcing an explosion of giggles out of her.

He knew she was not going to change her mind anytime soon since every response from her was encouraging and urging him on. He continued to caress her thighs, up, through the triangle in-between, a part of women that has sent men down their graves earlier than they envisaged. He took his time to intensify the feeling, as he traced virtual lines on her tummy in a pattern. The good feeling made her shush and hash, as his strong hands made love to every part of her body.

Her moan cut through the darkness like the cries of a dying warrior. This whole thing wasn’t fun anymore, it wasn’t what she figured and bargained for, but for her indecisiveness. She didn’t know what to do. She was so lost in thought that she couldn’t enjoy the moment; when it is all there was. She feels short-changed because it was not what it promised to be. She actually wanted to be fingered very well and thoroughly till she was spent, but here she was with an insensitive man who is just practically rubbing her tummy and caressing her thighs.

The mat on which they lay was becoming a pain in her neck as she suddenly feels like she was lying on the bare floor. Nobody could hear her cry through the eerie night, let alone salvage her from the clutches of the sadist lying next to her.

Over the years, the politicians have maintained this kind of relationship with the ordinary citizens, fingering them on their straw mats because he can’t possibly take her home to his mansion that was furnished with a bed, the size of a tennis court. They come down to us in our various cottages, eats with us, at other times; they ride in our rickety passenger buses and in extreme cases buy some of our delicacies like kenkey. And that is the only time they will ever have such an experience.  Yes! Election years are characterized by unprecedented actions and reactions.

They play with our emotions, senses and mostly our resources such as time, when we could have been gone, in search for otherwise better spouses to really end whatever they have begun with us. They always stick around and throw tantrums whenever they see indifference. They promise us heaven, show us the blue-print to support their claims and also guide us through the process, to enforce how feasible the plan is, only for another night to pass by without climaxing.

The electorates have given their all to the Politician, who is considered to be the provider of the relationship but unfortunately, it is otherwise. The populace work from nine to five; a modern form of slavery that has made many lose their sense of identity and purpose in life.  They tell us all sort of things only to tell us that the plans are in the pipeline. Can you imagine how choked that pipeline is?

Somehow they find a way to rephrase same statements to us without any remorse. They are head-strong and incorrigible. They don’t care about what we say behind them because they know that we don’t know our worth as the king-makers and the power we wield. We say all kinds of things only to find ourselves forming queues under the hot sun to mandate another ‘dzimakpla’ in the helm of affairs.

We have to follow them to their homes where we would deservingly be treated or in instances where they cannot take us home, they should get us one at home. A straw mat is way below us, and to think that they come around to sleep on it (when they come and put up those gimmicks, like eating in our ghettos, joining our Trotros and buying kenkey with the media in tow) is insulting. We have to leave them to make love to themselves in their plush residences so that we can also live in peace.

Since it is imperative that we have to agree to agree or to disagree, let us all agree and tell them in the face the next time they come around that, we are tired of being fingered on a straw mat. We deserve better!