Loving someone is never easy, especially if that person is your coursemate. After my talk with Jake, he made me understand that some men are scared of moving things too fast. Relationships that move quickly may scare them away. Leniey had texted that night and wished to have a heartfelt conversation with me, which we did in person after the 311-unit exam was completed. He had told me that love was a foreign concept to him and that he was afraid of it. He wished the person he loved would marry him, implying that he was afraid of committing to someone who would harm him. Loving Leniey was never some sort of gamble or lottery; I did love him. His patience and the way he articulated his ideas concerning him and me made me admire him so much. His friends' experiences with love had made him give up on it, especially the fact that his own brother had divorced two months after they got married. I didn't know what to say after he told me his reasons, but all I did was nod. I then added that whenever he was ready to commit or set aside his fears, then we'd gladly get back together. I knew he didn't want us to leave or anything; I knew what he wanted—some kind of "no strings attached" type of thing, which I'd learned never works and leaves one with more damage than previous relationships had. So, then, our relationship with Leniey kind of got put off before it had even started. Not on his terms, but on mine; I didn't tell him to stop, but from my side, since I wasn't expecting any kind of collateral damage. The exams were challenging, but I conquered as much as I knew, and soon I'd be heading home. I had a lot on my mind, including the attachment and the verification of my passport to the UK.
Despite my subjective detachment from Leniey, he did call and text all the time, and when he had time, he would visit. I knew he loved me, and deep inside, I felt it. I knew he saw how I pulled away from him. I did not want to initiate much of my conversation with him. He had felt it and had texted me, asking if I had found someone better than him. Loving him at this moment was a mistake in the truest sense, for I was soon heading for international studies, and my future was not sealed, especially if I ever will come back to my native country.
Leniey's texts and calls would objectively make one get attached to him. He bought me gifts such as candies, chocolates, milkshakes, and food. He had changed his attitude toward me and had started treating me with some care and love. He had brought his laptop for me to watch some of his movies, bought me a shoe lack, and replaced my gas, which had suddenly finished. How wouldn't you get attached to someone of this kind? Without thinking, my love for him flourished. This time the love was mutual, and we could feel each other's frames even when we held each other's hands by mistake. He had stayed at my place most weekends. We did nothing but sleepovers. When it came to me, he was exercising pure self-control. I'd watch him lust for my body, but he would gaze away as soon as I locked mine with his.
Leniey's phone was one thing I chose never to look at, especially in the adverse condition that we still had no label. Every night, a new girl was used to calling his phone, either asking for a night out, inviting him to some party, or requesting to watch some Netflix with him, with which he just clicked and hung up. I was curious how he felt about women after all that. I've seen men become misogynistic as a result of a bad heartbreak, women become celibate, and men choose to focus on wealth after the former happens as a lesson.
Leniey was trying his best not to screw up. He was scared of touching me, although sometimes he would lose control, but as soon as he would realize his acts, he would stop. One thing I realized was that he was a good singer. He had his own verses that he had composed; one was called Night Frame, some sort of singing and rap mix. He was good, though; he had good dancing talent, and he could easily break dance and flexibilize his legs for some amapiano dancing. I liked the fact that he chose to show me his talents.
Currently, we are heading to his house. I'm the one who might be having a sleepover today, so yeah, we're going to his place. He had taken me out to dinner, and we had spent several hours walking around and admiring the calm of the night, particularly the stars, which twinkled back at us with great admiration. Whenever I watched the stars, Leniey was used to watching my eyes. He stated that the first time he saw me, my eyes reflected a twinkle that the stars lacked a parameter of. His lines were difficult to pick out and respond to at times. He once told me via text that he had already read me like a book and now wished to turn me like a page. I knew where that conversation was going, so I chose to leave it on read. Despite all the beautiful sayings Leniey had, he'd never asked me to "please be my girlfriend." He was used to pushing that word away. Labels, he said, are a people thing; they are boring, they extinguish the flame of love, and they are nothing more than peer pressure. He always had the notion that people who labeled their relationships were promiscuous, insecure beings who were selfish for not letting their partners go. He'd go on to say that relationships should be open-ended and that anyone who wants to leave should just leave. Honestly, I hated it when he made such statements. I knew he knew very well what he meant when he said those words and to whom he was saying them. As much as his words broke every piece of me, I still hoped for a place in his heart where he hoped to change his perspective on labels. Nothing has ever come close to being called a girlfriend by someone. It felt lucky to walk holding hands with someone, have some goals, and call each other some cute names. Leniey used to call me Angie, Love, and Chief, but I didn't think much of that to term it as a label for lovers. I was insecure and scared I would lose him even before we started a label, and I knew its apprehension might end up being a dream.
Leniey opened his house door and requested me to enter by uttering "ladies first." His house was a well-groomed place for a bachelor's stay. I would give him ten over ten for that. He had neatly spread his bed, and the shoe rack had neatly arranged shoes from sneakers to sandals at the bottom. His wardrobe had neatly folded clothes and well-hung shirts, jeans, and winter coats. I envied him his cleanliness; he'd beat me up about it, especially remembering the first time he came into my place, clothes were all over the place. He poured some hot water and invited me to join him for nighttime coffee, which I would have been foolish to decline, so I agreed. We conversed till around eleven. We talked about life, movies, the streets, my view of him when he first entered school, our past, and many other stories. With Leniey, time flies so fast that we never get bored of each other—even in class, he'd text me while the professor is busy explaining something at the front.
Our conversation was cut short when Leniey held my hand. He was always used to holding my hand, but this time he held them steadily and softly, locking his gaze with mine, and kissed my knuckles, saying, "Your fingers, which I admire." He stated. My heart had started racing, and I was scared I would start heavily breathing, which would get his attention. His touches, no matter how minor, always seemed to bolster my defense. He then stood up, switched on his woffer, put on some romantic country music, and then started singing along, looking at me, who was seated, confused about what to do. "Did you know I like country music?" He states and continues, "If I asked you today to be my lady, would you mind saying no? Assume it's prom night. By the way, you've always been my girl; I don't know why you wanted to complicate things. He then steadily looked at me and stated, "You are mine in the same way that I am to you, I deeply desire you in every accept, no account of labels or anything, but even if my words may be filled with honey or salt, trust me, you've been the one all these years." He then held out his hand for me to catch and made me rise steadily. With his left hand holding my back and his right hand holding my hand, we started swaying to the rhythm of the song. He was literally smiling while doing all that; he would watch me and make a little smirk, then hug me tighter. After, we held each other close, with his nose tip resting on mine. His breathing had become heavy, and he was looking at my lips. This time, he was neither afraid nor nervous. He just looked into my eyes for assurance and then crushed his lips with mine. This time it was a medium-soft, rough kiss, but trust me, it was sweet. I was aware of how powerful he was on my body, so I let myself go after his kiss. He was holding me so close that I could feel the bulge underneath his pants. His right hand trailed to my left boob, and he held it, caressing it carefully, wishing to rip my clothes off and feel its fullness on his hand. My pants were soaking; I knew because my legs were jelly, and at some point I couldn't feel them. He then laid me down on his king-sized bed and whispered in my ear, "I promise you won't regret it." His words were always a turn-on. This time, nothing was on my mind but him. How big is he? So he can initiate intimacy after all. He then started undressing my blouse buttons one by one. His hands were hot, and I could feel his fingers trailing down, undressing me. He already knew I had given him consent, so his desire to impress me was all that was left. He looked at my breast underneath my bra, and I saw some eyes look at me. This wasn't lust; this was something else. He unhooked it and caught a glimpse of one of my boobies while traulling downward to my vaginal area with the other hand. He had not yet removed his clothes; just his shirt was unbuttoned and his trousers were still on. "Can you handle two fingers?" He asked. I could not speak at that moment. He inserted one after another into agility, and a gasp left my mouth. It seemed that that was what he hoped to hear—my voice in my vulnerable moments, with me at his mercy. He looked at me and kissed me, then stood up to remove his clothes. He was huge, and I knew this time someone would rip me off for the first time. I had never told him I was a virgin, but today he would realize it. He then went down, kneeled on the bed facing my legs, and started kissing me from my knees towards my inner thighs. His kisses left me with hot and ferocious feelings that made my entire being crave him—the whole of him inside me. He then kissed the tip of my area and sucked it from the front to the back. This time, my sounds echoed around the room, some of which I had no idea I could remove or alter in my revived life. He then rose and kissed my lips, widening my legs for his entrance. I felt the tip of his penis point at my small part and then whisper, "Hey, Love, is this your first time?" I did not nod. I just wanted him, so he shrugged and began penetrating, "This might hurt you, but I love you; I'll never hurt you." His words didn't stop making sense at the time; I was experiencing thousands of emotions. It was a painful sensation that turned into a comfortable feeling with him thrusting slowly in and out. I was weak; my legs were jelly, and at some point it became all dark.
"Angel, Hello, Angie, I love you. Hey, come on, wake up! It was Leniey's voice. What happened? I was still laying on the bed, with Leniey carrying a tray with him. He was just wearing black shorts. What the fuck happened? Oh my God, did I pass out in the act? I have always heard stories of women passing out, but I never thought that at some point I would end up being such a woman. Crazy isn't it. "You worried me all night." "Here, have some breakfast." I tried to sit, but my legs were still jelly and the pain was fresh. I looked at him, and as if understanding me, he took the bread and started giving it to me like a child. His eyes looked at me with worry and some sort of love. One thing I knew about Leniey was that he never looked at any other woman the same way he did with me. After breakfast, I lay in bed with the hope that the pain would ease away, especially given the fact that I needed to book a ticket for my travel back home.