It didn’t even occur to me that I had not asked for her name at the mall. “Oh, Bridget, how are you?” I hurried, in fact, ran away from the crowded tables. I wanted the conversation to flow without wearing her out with the urge to repeat herself.
He drained his glass at a swig and she refilled his glass again. Johnny held his drink with one hand and tickled her breast with the other. She took in the smell of his perfume as she snuggled up close to him, spilling his drink and they kissed. She traced imaginary lines on his hairy chest; she knew he loved it, she knew it from his breath.
“Your answer is not biblical. What if the person in the video just looked like the sister? There was this case of that Igbo pop singer who was said to be in a sex video and it turned out she was not the one. People do look alike. Isn’t that a possibility?”
“Listen to me: that flab on your stomach has to go! A flab on your stomach says you are lazy, it says you’ve been eating too much, it says you are fat and need to cut down. If you are not pregnant, your stomach has to be flat.
One rainy evening when we were alone in my room and I knew she could not leave, I decided to act. I moved to kiss her.
I did kiss her. She responded to the kiss, it was a brief kiss; okay, maybe not so brief. She wanted to know how many women I have kissed like that.