WHO'S THE VILLAIN?

         

He had become accustomed to staring hard at his room's fluorescent light bulb in the dead of night, contemplating. This time, he was wondering whether his experience had duly built up to a concrete, socially-conscious story. He'd however never grown fond of how he'd loosened up to this cheapness. He wondered if the story's vile nature would make it thrive as a masterpiece of timeless reverence and relevance or at least earn him some 'deserved' literary stature.

         Last night, twenty-one-year-old Riko had finally stepped across the threshold. In the nick of time, he had met Mama Toto on the corner leading to the flat's drain and washrooms just as she was leaving the one at the middle. It was shortly after midnight and most of the flat was definitely fast asleep. She usually went to sleep earlier but had to wake up to lock the main door at midnight, which was the flat's gate-closing time, thereupon instinctively answering a call of nature. She was a mother of five but her body would merely pass for a lady in her mid-twenties. She was in her mid-thirties, probably older, but definitely not in her forties, he'd inferred. He could make out the petite, sexy figure through her old, baggy clothes. Poverty had robbed her of nature's gift, he always insisted to himself.

         They had grown fond of each other.

         The soul searching nights in his room, which was last in line on the hallway leading to the tap and washrooms, had surely turned to listening sessions. Wen he wasn't reading late into the night, he would lie on his bed in pitch darkness, having switched off the light in his room, waiting to catch her as she approached or left. Meanwhile, he would fantasize about undressing her and how her consent would tame his guilty conscience.

         He'd finally got his fingertips on her tits and now only the arousal of the sight of her crotch would transcend what he felt. And although he didn't get to that point, the bliss that experience evoked was just inexplicable.

         Like he had previously done severally, he'd put on a plastic smile and started a not-exactly-casual, low-toned conversation whilst proceeding towards her as she attempted to walk past him from the washroom door. She looked tired; half asleep. Knowing clearly what his intention was, she had responded with a disapproving frown to no avail. Today he wasn't going to abort the mission, Riko had assured himself. Besides, the sound of her pee spattering on the ceramic bowl, which was reminiscent of a porn star squirting on his favourite explicit website, had culminated in his rarest of hard-ons. The moment was definitely called for. He tricked her, moving his hands in different directions- one towards her bosom and the other her groin, cueing for her instinctive preventive response, but then astutely switching them inversely almost immediately, such that her hands missed his. She however responded in tandem and aggressively wrestled his right hand against lifting her skirt up her thighs. Meanwhile though, he had been fast enough to penetrate his left wrist under her blouse as she bent forwards and before she realized he was running his fingers on the areolae of what he now believed were the cutest and most arousing titties he'd ever seen and touched.

         But he quickly let go and got into the washroom when she let out a loud, hysteric whisper:

          "Wacha ujinga."

          She sniffled almost to the point of crying and he was convinced she probably shed a tear while hurriedly walking away to her house. His boner couldn't let him pee so he tiptoed back to his room, as quickly and quietly as possible, fearful that the scuffle might have roused a soul or two.

          In the warmth of his bed and the darkness of his room, the vividness of her breasts' memory was simply photographic. It was rather unimaginable that five, maybe six mouths had sucked those nipples. Her genetic structure was definitely to die for. If only she had let him... He was, however, quite surprised at her reaction. Her gestures to him that day had definitely been a call for action, or so he'd thought. He remembered how, prior to that month, she'd begun making suggestive statements regarding him while they were on a queue for water at the tap. He remembered gathering the courage and asking about her conjugal relationship with her husband and how her not-entirely-evasive reactions had been intriguing.

         "Hehe, mimi ni soso..." she'd answered in her richly native accent, coyly smiling and toying with her keys when he once declared her beauty to her.

         One evening at the tap, he had given her the liberty to sneak into his room without knocking on the door, assuring her that he'd leave it unlocked from the inside for her to push open. He had, however, forgotten to do so, probably due to the selective amnesia caused by the pot he had smoked later that night.

         "Aki wewe ni mbayaa..." she'd said, forging a smile, upon seeing him the next morning, much to his regret. Last night, however, she had acted paradoxically.

         Well, it was probably all in his mind, he concluded to himself just minutes before dozing off.

         After buying chapatis for breakfast at Dahasla's the following morning, he found her outside the main door, bent over, doing the laundry. He stood on the threshold and eyed her up briefly.

         "Sasa Mathe?" he greeted upon realizing that she was shying off from looking.

         "Aki sitawai sahau..." she stood upright and replied in a tone bearing a somewhat pitiable resonance, but he noticed her mischievously trying to hide away a smile.

         "Hmm, kumbe uliskia poa..." he said, nodding with a broad smile.

         "Nkt. Wewe enda ukule."

         He looked her in the eye cueing for her smile until she yielded. He winked and walked into the building towards his room. He was surprised to realize that after that he wasn't conscience-stricken.