I Used To Love The Rain

I've never liked thunder. The loud claps and rumblings have always made me feel uncomfortable (maybe scared), but I learnt to be cool with it. I was cool with thunder because when it thundered, it rained. And I loved the rain.

When it rains, I can smell the earth and I just adore it. I love the sound of the drops hitting the ground and the lightning cracks across the sky. I loved to watch the tiny droplets race down a window. Most of all, I loved the rain because it was like magic to me.

I convinced myself the rain had special mystic powers. Good ones. Cleansing ones. I believed it washed everything bad away. Kinda like a bath, but not just for my outside. It'd wash my insides too. It didn't matter what I was going through, or how miserable and lonely I felt, because I knew it'd rain and everything would be okay again. Yeah, I loved the rain.

You're supposed to feel safe in your own home. Among your family. They're supposed to be the ones who love and protect you. But this isn't usually the case. Turns out your family are the ones who hurt you the most.

When you're younger, they make you do it by tricking you, or threatening you. Making you feel like it's your fault you're doing such dirty things. Those are the mean ones. The nice ones make you think you're playing a game. Afterall, there's nothing wrong with games. And then you get caught, and you're forced to tell. So you tell on the ones that were mean, and you get punished for being filthy. Punished double, because it only stops for a while.

And then, you're a bit older. It's been a while, and you've pushed the memories into a secluded corner of your mind and forced them to stay there. It's your family. You tell yourself you were young and you love them. But you're smart enough now to not let them do it again. You've grown out of those games, and the same tricks don't apply anymore. So, he tries new tricks. He tells you it's natural, and he wants to help you learn. It's perfectly okay since you're so close. He tries to make you feel bad for not trusting him, your own family. When you don't budge, he tries something else. He decides if you wouldn't give it, he'd take it. And when he's done, he just looks at your quivering body and tells you to go clean up. His voice cold as ice.

You can't tell anyone. Because it's your fault. You gave him the opportunity. But someone finds out and promises she'll take care of it. She doesn't. You push past it and move on. What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. You know it'll never happen again. You'd die first.

So many years later. You're much more grown up now (at least in some ways). And like you promised, you've managed to protect yourself. But then he comes to visit, because he knows you're home alone. You let him in simply because it's him. He pretends to be concerned about your welfare, offering to take you to eat something, or leave you some money since you've exhausted the one mummy gave you. And then he touches you. It's just a light brush on your exposed legs, but it's still very inappropriate, so you move. And then he laughs and tells you not to be shy, he wants you to be comfortable with him. Why don't you come sit on next to him and tell him what you want him to get you? You refuse. You tell him you think he should leave. And then he gets upset. He pins you unto the floor and starts to touch you. All the locked-away memories burst free and engulf your mind. You can't scream because no one will hear you. You're mad at yourself because you're weak against this person. And then his lips touch your cheeks and you remember. You're much stronger now, and he shouldn't be doing this. You struggle and manage to push him off you. And he has the audacity to ask why you're doing this to him. You open the door and tell him to leave.

But now, you remember again. Because you still can't tell anyone. Especially not her. She wouldn't believe you, or she'd blame you. So, you learn to deal with it again. And you take all the escaped memories and start to shove them back in. You'll move on. You'll survive.

So now I lay here in the dark, unable to sleep. It's raining and I don't feel better. I'm unhappy. I can't smell the earth like before, and there are no droplets on my window. I most definitely don't feel clean. I just want it to stop. The magic is gone. I don't like the rain anymore.

Who's Got The Poison? Part 1

Anyone watching would know she was agitated. She'd readjusted herself on the impossibly uncomfortable bar stool more times than she would have liked to, her long, caramel-toned legs subconsciously coming to rest at positions that most would refer to as far from decent each time, and her feet, clad in gold-coloured, stiletto-heeled sandals, dangling just a few inches off the ground. She made no attempt to still the gentle swinging motion her legs had begun, and the chime that emanated from the clashing of her heels against the stool was audible to only she above the blaring music. Yes, she was agitated.

Shifting for what seemed like the millionth time, she glanced at her watch. Realising she'd been waiting for eight minutes didn't ease her mood. Waiting on people she despised from the depth of her soul and she cursed whatever spiritual force had compelled her to leave her house without receiving confirmation that he was already at the appointed venue. Making a mental note to chalk this up as one of the reasons why change wasn't as wonderful as everyone seemed to think it was, she picked up her drink and took a sip.

She smiled to herself. She was an attention whore, and sitting directly beneath one of the low-hung bar lights had made sure she got plenty of the attention she craved. Of course, the men could have been staring for any number of reasons. It could have been those long smooth legs that led up to thighs that were barely covered by the brown dress she had on, or the dress itself. That strapless, skin-tight brown dress that complimented her tan skin and hugged her curvaceous body, revealing smooth shoulders covered in glitter. It could have been the head the shoulders carried, or, more accurately, the lightly made-up face. She hardly ever put make up on at night. "Who needs more than some powder and lip gloss at night?" She would often say. And she didn't, her facial features caught attention without any help. Almond-shaped eyes that were a deep caramel, a button-like nose, and lips that were just off the coastline of ridiculously small and pouty, were carved perfectly unto her oval face. As the bar light highlighted all these features, the attention it brought her was the only reason she'd remained on that stool for as long as she had.

She glanced longingly at the exit, and that was when she saw him. He was seated at the other end of the bar, surrounded by a small group of people and, although there was nothing particularly gripping about his features that she could see, her eyes couldn't stray from him. She found herself wondering what he and his companions could possibly be discussing that made him laugh as hard as he did. "And why is he the only one sitting? How very rude. I'd be really peeved if..." She jumped and almost slid off the stool when someone tapped her on the shoulder.

"Did I scare you?" His voice easily carried over the blaring music, and she turned around to assess the human being that had jolted her out of her thoughts. He appeared to be about the same height as she, if not slightly shorter, and a bit on the lanky side. "This wouldn't do." She thought to herself. Because she prided herself in wearing heels everywhere, this meant she'd always appear taller than he was, and she couldn't bear the thought of being higher above the ground than her escort. There wasn't much to be said for his looks. His head, in her opinion, was oddly shaped like a light bulb and not at all proportional to his body. She panned her gaze down, towards the shoes he had on, deliberately refusing to place too much thought on the hideous blazer, t-shirt and jeans he had chosen to wear. He had on white trainers. One that was particularly similar to the kind she had rocked as a child in the '80s and '90s. Her mind was in amazement "What year does he think this is? Chai! The devil is truly a liar." Just then he extended his hand "I'm Kevin." He said "I assume you are Kemi?"

Struggling to keep her voice level and her face expressionless, she shook her head "No, sorry."
"Are you sure? Because I'm supposed to be meeting someone here, and you're wearing the same dress she said she would wear." He waited for her response. None came. She just took a sip from her glass, so he continued "Anyway, it doesn't really matter. Like I said, my name is Kevin. May I know you?"
Unable to tolerate his presence a second longer, she rolled her eyes and put her drink down "Come. I thought you said you're meeting someone. I have now said I'm not that 'someone'. Please, kindly move from my plane of vision." Shocked by such a cold response, Kevin could only stand there and babble incoherently. This further agitated her. "You know what?" She picked her purse up of the bar and slid off the stool. "Stay ehn? Lemme excuse you. Good luck with whoever it is you're waiting for." And with that, she walked away towards her regular booth in the corner. She smiled at one of the pole dancers on her way. She loved how secluded the booth was, mostly because she could very comfortably watch all the happenings at the club unseen. Once she'd settled in, her gaze wandered around the scene that was now quickly filling up. The neon beams of light only focused on one spot for a fraction of a second as they danced around, seemingly in tune with the music blaring from the speakers. She watched the dancer she'd smiled at for a couple of seconds, and then she moved her attention to the bar. Someone else had taken her place, and there were a lot more people standing around. Her eyes moved down along the bar. He was still there. Still laughing and talking with his friends. And then he turned, and their eyes met.

It Is What It Is

She lay next to him in the dark, staring at what she assumed was his back. He'd fallen asleep a while ago, as most guys tend to after sex. She, on the other hand, couldn't sleep. A chill ran down her spine, compelling her to shift closer to his body. Warmth radiated from his skin and she fought the urge to wrap her arms around his sleeping body. That wouldn't help. Not in the least. Thoughts danced around in her mind. Stupid, crazy, senseless, and downright absurd thoughts. Shoving them forcefully into the restricted section of her brain, she turned her back to his, shut her eyes, and willed sleep to come.

Sleep, of course, wouldn't come. It was probably caught up taking care of people it felt were more deserving of such a luxury. Instead, her body was flooded with a rush of emotions. She felt her body heat up as memories of the amazing sex she'd had just minutes ago filled every crevice of her brain. But it wasn't just the well-satisfisfied and content feelings there. No. There was something else.

She turned to face him, and ran a finger along the middle of his back repeatedly. More feelings. Shaking them off, she spread her palm on his back, and just let it rest there. She was horny again. He seemed to sense this, and turned to face her. No words. He took her in his arms, those strong, firm, secure arms she had come to adore in just a few minutes, and kissed her gently

For those guys who don't know, in most cases, this is what happens when you fall asleep after sex. Painful as it is, most females have to battle not to let their emotions get tangled up in casual sexual relations. Most succeed in this battle. But I'm not here to talk about them. :)

For the girls who fail to keep their emotions locked up, I am sad to say it's a long and torturous road ahead. But, you probably already know this. STOP IT! Stop it NOW!! Sex is not going to make him automatically develop deep, emotional feelings for you. IT IS JUST SEX.

Mixing sex and feelings only leads to unnecessary complications. In fact many friendships have been destroyed because of the inability of females to hold on to the reigns of their sanity. The second you let yourself start 'feeling' you change. You start expecting and wanting things from the guy that he may never be able to give you.

I'm now rambling. Anyway, I hope I've made my point. SEX IS SEX. Of course, feel free to leave your own opinions.

*Peace Out*