See Through

The first time he touches you, it is between your thighs. His left grazing the innermost part of you as the right covers the outside. When you turn around in shock to meet his face, he apologizes. He says he thought the body bent over the fire was his woman, your mother. He further adds he would never do that to you. He is sorry. He promised to be more careful with identifying his lover.

You do not mention it to your mother when she returns from the errands.

The next time he touches you, you are sleeping. His grip over your mouth is solid, you cannot stir. His body holds down your own. Over the streetlight illuminating your room with a glint, you see it is no stranger making room for himself in your body. You wish the house was being robbed and you were being compromised by men you didn’t know.

He starts by finding a frequency to tune to. He twists your nipples which have hardened due to fear. The left then followed in quick succession by the right. You feel the other fingers pressing down into you as he inserts the mid one into your vagina. In and out. He slides his pants off, something hits your thighs. He holds it in his hand, finds a position and proceeds to strike right in the middle. A little scream escapes you but is muffles by the hand still covering your mouth.

His face goes up and down as he shoves himself into you. You are staring straight up. You can feel the motions, you can see his face daring to come into vision as he moves. You do not let it. Other than the tears that came with the impact of the initial contact between your not-so-private part and his hardened member, you do not cry.

When he leaves, you await silence to return. In yourself and in the household. There are no apologies this time. It was not a mistake. You open the door with the careful precision he had used not to awaken you. In the kitchen, you boil water. You use some to wipe yourself. You attempt to scoop out some of the liquid he poured into you. The rest you use to soak a small bath towel which you put between your legs and shut them together.

Hot water is the cure to all manner of pains.

In the morning while serving breakfast, he will be next to your mother. The same hands that were on your body in the night are being used to caress hers. He is smiling with his wide mouth; her smile dances until it reaches her eyes. The picture perfect of happy: Happy wife, happy life! Yeay!

He keeps coming to cum. With time, there is progress. You have learnt not to make any sounds. Be a good girl and have no voice in the presence of men. To not resist. To surrender all of your body to him when he enters. He has grown more confident with exploration. He twists your body into the positions of the Kamasutra. Sometimes, you arch your back a little bit more to give him more leverage when he flips you over. Your body has become accustomed to bending in favour of his wants.

There is sequence on the nights he finds you are bleeding. Like in the army, you only pass one word to him. He sneaks into the darkness of my room in his white vest and checked boxers. With a smile playing on your lips, you say, “Period.” Just before he is beside the bed, when the urgency of his needs has him undressing. Usually, a click of the tongue escapes him on his way out.

This period follows a time of his staying away from your room. You see each other during mealtimes or when watching the compulsory news bulletin to be in touch with the outside world. You are on the lone sofa while he and his woman cozy up in their togetherness. Picture perfection!

On the 7th day, punctual like on a dentist’s appointment, he always shows up. You have not learnt to lie about your cycle. Some days, you wear the pieces of lingerie you have acquired using the money he occasionally leaves with you. A lace underwear which he sniffs before discarding. His favourite, the push-up bra, because he gets to have sex with my breasts without my hands getting in the way. Other days, red stockings which get to stay on as he spanks you lightly. Silence continues to prevail in it all save for his grunting on release. Except the lips, all your other body parts touch.

You want to forgive her. Maybe she sleeps like the dead. But how can one share a bed with another and not feel the emptiness, the void created by their absence, if only for a few minutes in the night? Every night? The hinges of the door creaking, if even very slightly? The measured steps? The graduating from long pants to boxer shorts when settling for the night? The aloofness between the two people under her own roof? The gorge of distance and remorse from the fruit of her womb? Surely, she must know.

He never wears a condom, so you do. Hours before you prepare to sleep. Each night without failure, after popping pills the first time he deposited himself into you, you protect yourself, himself and the woman you call mother, who should be recognized for her great contribution to the acting world.

2 Comments Add yours

    1. Thank you for sharing.


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