AMADIOHA

I open my eyes as the sound of Mama’s shrieks fill the air. Her voice, like the screeching of a hundred flocks of birds, scream my sister’s name. “Unoma! Unoma!”

My little sister must have done something in the kitchen area that has Mama at her wit’s end. She never shouts like this except it’s something that has to do with her kitchen. Unoma’s appearance from where she was makes Mama’s voice rise to a crescendo as she berates her for the waste of ingredients in her kitchen.

As she shrieks, my head starts to pound. At any moment, her screams would induce a full headache. And so, I rise from the bed and make my way out of the compound.

All my life, I’ve been taunted for my inability to stand noise and people. I can hold my own in a fight, do my fair share of farm work and hunting, wrestle with my mates, my back touching the ground as frequently as my opponents’ backs do. However, I know I don’t fit in here. I much prefer to be alone, to listen to the sound of my thoughts, to be one with the stillness in the air, imagining that the gods speak to me in the gentle breeze.

My legs wander beyond the compound and down the grassy path, taking me to a place I don’t know yet. I do not attempt to direct my feet. I just let them lead the way while my body and mind follow. Soon, I find myself in the one place I know I can have peace – the streamside. My legs, having done their duty, start to ache dully, making me find a place on the fallen tree trunk close by on which to sit. I close my eyes and breathe in the fresh air, with the clean smell of the water on it. My eyes remain shut for a long time as I lose myself in the peace and quiet around me. I hear the sound of thunder in the distance and I open my eyes just in time to spy the streak of lightning that zigzags across the sky in the distance. Something within me – as I close my eyes and return to my musings on the peace of the stream – wishes for a feel of that power, of that turbulent yet beautiful strength of nature inside me.

And then, I feel a stirring inside me. A low liquid heat pooling in my lower stomach. Eyes still shut, I smile. Because I know I caused it. I’d just thought about Nnaka. With the strong beams that are his arms and legs, the muscled trunk that is his chest and that face that looks like it was chiseled by Obiora, the village sculptor. Every time I think of Nnaka, I feel that heat inside me. A heat that soon extends to my penis, causing it to fill up and rise into a thick staff.

The breeze around me picks up, stilling my hand that is travelling to meet that staff, to stroke it till it attains release. I open my eyes to behold the turbulence. Dark clouds have gathered from nowhere, turning the day into a close semblance of night. The wind is whipping the grasses and the trees around, and even the clouds move with it. The light grows dimmer and I realise I need to return home before I am caught in the storm.

I know that I should leave. But I can’t. My body refuses to move. And so, I sit there, unable to move, incapable of lifting myself.

But rather than feel fear, I feel a growing sense of anticipation, a hunger for whatever adventure lies ahead.

Then, I hear the sound of thunder. I look up at the sky in time to see a lightning bolt crashing through it to strike the middle of the stream not too far from where I am. The water starts to froth heavily as if it is a huge pot of boiling water. But, not all of the water bubbles and froths that way. It’s just the area the lightning struck.

Now, I am a little scared. And I try to get up again. And again, I am unable to get my body to cooperate. I can only keep staring at the water as the turbulence within it increases.

Then, at the opposite shore of the stream, I see him. A tall man with features I cannot determine from this distance. And black skin that looks like charcoal that has been polished with oil till it shone. He steps into the water and swims towards me. And soon, he goes under completely.

I watch with bated breath as his head breaks through the water. I cannot help but gasp as I stare at the most perfect man I have ever seen. Nnaka, in all his glory, would look like a leper next to this man. His hair is locked in short dreads, beautifully entwined with cowries of various shapes and sizes. The water runs from his hair down his beautifully sculpted body in cascades, drawing my eyes to trace and follow each individual stream.

I sit there, lost in my admiration of him. I do not realise that his movements have stopped since after he emerged from the water and his gaze is pinned on me. Not until I raise my eyes from admiring the hard planes of his belly to look up at his face, do I notice his piercing gaze upon me. And I gasp.

It isn’t the raw, rugged beauty of his face that takes my breath away. It is his eyes. The hollow pits filled with ashen storm clouds with occasional flashes of lightning that are his eyes. It is a sight that is both alien, fearful and intensely exhilarating and sensual. I stare deep into them, unable to take my eyes off them. And I feel, for the first time in my life, that searing heat pooling in my belly for a man that isn’t Nnaka. A man who is more man than Nnaka.

My breath hitches as he starts to walk towards me from the centre of the stream. Each breath I take is short and jerky, filled with a fearful anticipation. My senses are lost in this god of a man. I am unable to pull my gaze away from his eyes. He comes to a halt right in front of me, my head tilted all the way back to look into his eyes.

And, he says, in a voice like the low rumblings of thunder, “What is your name?”

My mouth that was hitherto full of saliva suddenly goes dry. All I can do is open my mouth and close it again and again, like a fish out of water. It takes me a long time, time in which he keeps staring at me while waiting for an answer, before I croak out, “Ikem… My name is Ikemefuna.”

He chuckles and takes a step back from me. “Are you enjoying the view?” he asks.

I nod in answer, fearing that my voice will fail me this time. He chuckles again and sits next to me. I feel the heat of his entirely rugged physique next to me, but I exert control on myself and stare out into the open. The weather has changed. The wind has dropped and the storm clouds have dissipated. There is a grey tinge to the evening’s light. But it has never been more beautiful to behold.

“So, what is it about the view you enjoy?” he asks from beside me, his voice breaking through my mind.

Taking a sidelong glance at him, I answer, “Everything. The storm may have been scary at first. But I like the weather. Especially the sight of the stream being disturbed by the air.” I do not want to seem too forward, to talk about his appearance. Or the very many thoughts running through my head about what we could do, of what he could do to my body, of what I wanted him to do to my body.

We sit there, talking about several different things; running through life in the village, the things we both liked to do, the things that give us the most feeling of being alive. I feel like he’s keeping an important part of himself from me, but I don’t think too much on it. I know I am keeping something away from him. I want to lose myself in this conversation with him, so I don’t start to feel that heat pooling in my stomach again. Because I am very sure it will happen. And I would not know what to do in that situation, especially around him.

As if he intuits to my thoughts, he stops talking and the only sounds I can hear are the sounds of the wind moving, the water stirring and flowing. Each of them calls to something in me. And before I know it, I feel it. That tangible and forceful pull inside me to the man next to me. I am suddenly more aware of him than I have ever been of anything in my life. I feel that heat in my stomach, rippling through me in swift courses. It is all I can do to control myself.

He looks at my tapping foot, the only outward sign of the turmoil running through me. Without raising his eyes from my foot, he asks, “Do you want this?”

I need no clarification. I already know what he means. And my heart leaps within me for knowledge that my constant dreaming is about to get fulfilled by one so spectacular. I reply in a soft whisper, “Yes.” And I abandon myself to whatever pleasures lie ahead of me as I feel his hand snaking around my back to draw me close to him.

His touch stirs that heat inside me and I feel my penis filling up, rising up to create a very visible tent in my lappa. His eyes are drawn to it just like mine are drawn to his, to the obscene bulge he has in his lappa. It almost looks like a tree branch is poking out from between his legs. His hand reaches up to my neck, pulling my head back as he sinks his lips upon mine. I feel a gamut of emotions roiling through me from my lips, the pressure to feel intensifies and I lose it. One moment I am seated next to him with his lips on mine, one arm wrapped around me; the next moment, I’m on his laps, my body writhing against his. Our lips remain meshed, our tongues dueling for dominance. My hands roam over the turgid musculature of his trunk and arms, his cup my buttocks and run over my lithe frame. I moan against his lips as his thumbs brush against the nubs on my chest, writhing more intensely against him as I am lost in pleasure.

And then, I feel the crackle of something I’ve never felt in my life on my nipples just as he brushes them with the pads of his thumbs. It is a force that both stings and brings pleasure. Whatever it was that he did, I want him to do it again. I need him to do it again. He pulls away from my lips and asks me if I liked that feeling. I nod, not just because I can’t bring myself to speak but because the storms that are his eyes have gotten even stormier. Engrossed as I am in his eyes, I miss his next words. It is not until he taps my cheek that I listen to hear him.

“My name,” says he, “is Dioha.”

And, just then, lightning strikes. In that moment, it clicks.

Amadioha!

That is who I am frolicking with. A god. My people’s deity!

I do not know what to do. Turn and run? Continue with him? Curl up? My head runs a mile a minute.

He answers my questions for me. His head dips down to my chest and his warm mouth latches onto a nipple. Instantly, all reason leaves me as my entire world becomes focused on that nipple. The sensations of warm wetness, the pull of his tongue, the tugging and nipping teeth and the light crackle of electricity on my nipple reduce me to a writhing, blubbering mess. I grab and hold on to him for fear of falling off because it feels like my bones have melted. He licks and sucks and bites lightly in turn, my nipple stiffening to a hard peak under his ministrations.

When he turns his mouth and attention to my other nipple, he gently rubs his thumb over the other, the electricity sparking and crackling over it as my body convulses in crests of pleasure. His hand moves down my back to undo the knot of my lappa and, in one swift move, I am just as I was born before him. I fumble with the knot of his lappa as well and barely manage to undo it when his lips leave my nipple and settle back on my mouth. Our tongues go back to dueling and he gets up, my legs on his arms while I hold onto him, and his lappa falls off him.

Sitting back down, he licks a trail from my lips down to my engorged penis, pausing every few inches to nip and lick and suck on my skin. Once there, he engulfs me whole into his mouth. And again, my senses are overridden with pleasure. The electricity crackles around my shaft, contrasting with the warmth and wetness therein. The suction from his tongue and his bobbing head drive me wild. The hint of pain and overload of pleasure on my manhood causes me to hover at the brink of explosion. I feel my shaft slip from his mouth and, aghast, I open my eyes to see what is going on.

The sight of his fingers in his mouth as he sucks on them causes a moan to emerge from my parted lips, a sound that eggs him on in his actions. He slips his fingers out of his mouth and engulfs me whole again. I moan again as I grip him harder and I feel one hand parting my buttocks while his wet fingers seek out my warm hole. They circle the puckered entrance and flick against it, teasing me, while his mouth continues its ministrations on my organ. One finger rubs against that puckered entrance and just as it surges into me, I feel a stronger crackle of electricity across the skin of my penis, forcing my body to relax and open up for the finger.

He twists and turns and strokes and rubs all while sucking on me. My senses are overloaded as I lack a point to focus on. His single finger soon turns to two, then three, all while he keeps sucking me. How I haven’t reached the peak to come crashing down is a wonder to me. It is as if he is introducing my body to higher points of pleasure, points I would never have dared imagine existed. I want more. I need more. And so, I reach my hand out under me to grab at the hard organ under me. My fingers tighten on that hot and hard flesh of his, and I start to stroke him. The more I stroke him, the slicker his flesh gets as he oozes copious amounts of liquid from the slit at the tip of his shaft.

One moment, I’m stroking him. The next moment, I’m hovering in the air as he lifts me and starts to guide me down onto his massive organ. Just as the tip touches my stretched-out hole, he looks into my eyes. The storms that are his eyes have gone totally dark, only lit up by the incessant flashes of lightning in them. I sense the question he asks without him saying anything and I nod in answer. He has my permission to make me his.

I feel the crackle of the energy across my skin as he pulls me down onto his engorged organ. There is pain. There is pleasure. Both of them mingling to produce something I have never felt. The energy both tenses and relaxes me, allowing him to surge slowly through my resisting channel, opening me up in my most vulnerable of places, making me his. A harsh groan leaves his lips, the evidence of his control over his need to throw caution to the wind and surge wholly into me.

When I feel the hairs stinging my buttocks, I realise that he is fully encased inside me. I take a deep breath, trying to adjust to the feeling of overwhelming fullness. The next thing I know, he’s withdrawing from inside me. I gasp as the feeling of his flesh pulling out of me. The gasp changes to a garbled scream as he surges back into me. In that moment, I lose control of my body and allow my instincts to take over.

Bucking. Grinding. Writhing. Flesh against flesh. Man against man. The hardness of his body rubbing against mine. Seated in his arms on that trunk, wrapped around his body, I am initiated into a world of pleasure. We rock against each other, our bodies straining to give more, to take more, to meld into one. I notice that the storm clouds are back again, darkening the horizon and peppering the skies with flashes of lightning. After some time, he turns around and lays my back on the trunk, all without pulling out of me. Hovering over me, my legs trapped on his shoulders, he sinks deeply into me. Deeper than he had been before.

Our dance continues, that dance as old as time. Eyes shut to the world, hands roaming over his body, I feel everything. Every bit of his length as he works himself in and out of me, the static on both our skins, his lips locked on mine, his tongue dueling with mine. I feel my hard organ seeping liquid onto my belly, locked between our bodies. I feel the wind picking up and sweeping across the place, its chill raising goosebumps on my skin. On and on, he surges into me, occasionally changing his rhythm and angle, but never stopping his welcome assault upon my channel. I feel the heat in my belly rising inside me, filling me up with warmth from the inside. The heat rises as he pounds into me. And I know I’m nearing the edge of the precipice.

One moment, my eyes are closed as I am lost in the waves of feelings. The next, my eyes burst wide open as the heat inside me crests to a peak and swiftly rushes down from my head through my backbone and slams into my organ. At the same time, his lips leave mine and his face gets furrowed with lines of concentration. He hammers into me faster and I scream his name as I start to fall apart. His eyes fly open as mine slam shut and he joins me to fall over that precipice, unloading himself inside me as I unload myself between our bodies. With each spurt, I hear the thunder roaring overhead.

BOOM!

BOOM!!

BOOM!!!

I open my eyes to the same sounds of the thunder.

Only, I am in my bed, my boxers wet with the ejaculate I’d released while I slept. Outside my window, I see the lights from the many fireworks being set off. I hear my neighbours screaming, “Happy New Year” to one another. I can hear my sister and my parents adding their voices to the din as the booming fireworks wash over their sounds.

I smile as I get up to change my boxers and join my family downstairs to set off more fireworks. Running down the stairs, I hope that the god who possessed my body and my mind in my dreams would be watching.

This year, I think as I open the front doors, is definitely off to a great start.

Written by Mitch