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Again I’m trying something new. Please enjoy, & please vote or leave a comment. Us writers always appreciate it!
For thy sweet love remembered, such wealth brings
That then I scorn to change my state with kings
Mwali was whispering things again. If you sat near her, you would often hear little scraps of words, like prayers, or spells. This was one of the first I had picked up clearly. It was a warm, quiet afternoon at school. Even though it was our final year – with final exams coming – nothing much was going on and I felt like getting distracted.
“So, what’s ‘scorn’? Is it a kind of corn? And are you changing your state? You’re not moving interstate are you?”
“Scorn is dissing, totally rejecting. And ‘change my state’ doesn’t mean that, silly, it means to change my status, my situation.” She said the last word African-style, ‘sit-wey-shun’, for emphasis. It always made me smile when she did that.
She raised her eyebrows and her eyes flashed in contrast to her very dark skin. “You should know about States of Matter, Mistah Science!”
She’d got me. I liked Science and was good it; I should have made the connection. I smiled at her. “Kenya 1, Aussie boy yet to score! Nice work. Where’d you get that stuff from anyway? It sounded pretty good, if a bit fancy.”
She looked around to check no one was listening. She leant close and whispered furtively, “Shakespeare”.
“Shakespeare?? To be or not to be? All those boring plays?”
Mwali glared furiously. “They are NOT boring! You just have to get inside them, then you see the people inside them! Heroes and fools, murderers and lovers! Shakespeare made them all.” It was like I had insulted her dearest friends.
“And besides, he is a poet more than a playwright. His sonnets are each one diamonds.” Daiyah-munds. “That was from Sonnet 29, one of my favourites.”
“Seriously, 29? How many are there altogether?”
She laughed at me. “One hundred,” she paused, “and fifty-four, Aussie boy! Then he puts poems in the plays too. Diamonds, every one.”
“Diamonds, eh? A hundred and fifty-four… you could win someone over with that kind of loot. Tell me some more, princess.”
Her face softened as she spoke.
Yet seem’d it winter still, and, you away,
As with your shadow I with these did play.
Quite close now, she looked wistfully into my eyes. I could sense a passion behind them. We stared, locked together. Then bashfulness overcame her and she dropped her eyes. Abruptly she moved away from me and went back to her work.
It left me stirred in an odd way. Was Mwali speaking to me, not just quoting an ancient poem? And what did it mean anyway? Then it came to me…
It seemed like winter when you were away,
And I was only playing with your shadow.
Was Mwali saying that to me??
Next day, coming into class, Mwali was there already. I said hello and she glanced up. She looked up, her eyebrows went up, then she hurriedly looked down again.
I saw something in her look for sure. She was pleased to see me, then worried I would notice, I was certain… now I was really intrigued. I opened my computer and searched online. Sonnet 29; only 14 lines. I could read them…
When in disgrace… I got that straight away. All alone… I admit, the rest of it was a challenge, but I got the sense of misery – and the uplifting change at the end, Mwali’s snippet from yesterday. As I wondered, the sense of it just came to me:
When I remember your sweet love, I feel so rich
I wouldn’t change places with a king.
Mwali’s look, those words, her intensity yesterday, what was going on??
That weekend, Mwali’s words kept coming back to me. Also her figure. She had a way of standing and walking, quite straight, almost regal. With her shoulders back it was hard not to notice her well-developed chest. Other times she could lounge around like a Burmese cat, long dark legs carelessly flopped over chairs or steps. I actually found both attractive. (That said, I found most girls as attractive as any horny 18-year old boy would…) Mwali had very dark skin, with darker shades in her creases, which seemed to highlight her lines and curves.
After the weekend, I saw her outside the school in the morning. I didn’t get too close, just gave her a smile and a wave. She smiled back warmly and I thought, that didnt frighten anyone, lets hope it stays that way.
Somehow it did, even getting better. I asked her to explain some of the sonnets, and she was delighted. She knew them really well, which made it easy for her to explain them. Over days and weeks she showed me many of the emotions in them: misery, pleasure, anger, frustration, joy. I started to hear the poetry in her speech. Sometimes Shakespeare’s word order or a phrase would come out of her, such as when she said “For shame!” or “the solve is this”.
She liked to sit outside, in parks and gardens, or if there was no greenery she would look up to the sky. She would read a sonnet to me, often looking into the distance if she knew it from memory, as she often did. Then poker oyna she would smile and wait for my response. If it made no sense to me she went over it patiently as if I were a child. If I got it she beamed and leant against me or held my hands.
I could feel something growing between us.
The proof came when we looked at Romeo & Juliet. “So sad! Such a trrragedy! The lovers, so good for each other, but the stars decree, it will not be so!” Mwali looked ready to weep.
She explained how the opening was itself a sonnet, that explained the whole play.
“So that kind of gives it away, then?”
“Yes, but the people must see it for themselves! To see the purity of their love, to see the troubles of their parents, the rage of the impetuous boys.” Imm-pet-wass. “To feel the hot tears of grief and sorrow! Romeo’s last speech, unless you be made of stone, you must cry for pain!” Mwali’s eyes glistened at the thought.
It was a warm evening, “the same as the night of the ball where they meet. They touch, they kiss, but they do not even know each other’s name!”
We read the sonnet in which they kiss – unusually, it is spoken by two characters, Romeo and Juliet, together for the first time. In the poem Romeo compares her to a saint and wishes to kiss her hand, but it goes further. For some reason we had swapped roles, so Mwali finished the poem:
Then move not, while my prayer’s effect I take.
I had been reading from a book, Mwali of course knew it by heart. She was facing me as we spoke the lines; at the end she came to me, putting her hand on my shoulder so that I moved not. She kissed me, long and gently, just lips to lips, as Shakespeare would expect.
I couldn’t move. I felt sensations washing over me, the warmth of her skin, her spicy scent, her big, soft lips against mine, faint breath on my face. Her eyes were closed and I could just make out long eyelashes against her cheek and her face framed by her rich black hair. I could feel her hand squeezing my shoulder, pulling me slightly closer. I felt dizzy with amazement and pleasure.
We separated. Still close, Mwali whispered, “Sin from thy lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.” She kissed me again, gently, this time playing lightly with my lips.
We separated again. We looked into each other’s eyes for an age. Then she whispered, “Kiss me.”
I kissed her. This time her mouth was open wider and I unexpectedly brushed my lips on her teeth. I opened wider just as her tongue brushed my teeth and tongue. And we were into it, holding each other tight as our mouths explored each other. My senses seemed to shimmer with pleasure and the dizziness increased.
We stopped at last. Everything felt unreal. Mwali looked amazed as well. “Now I see! What it is that drives him on, to kill and die! Where comes her great courage!” She kissed me lightly and rested her head on my shoulder. I sat and wondered who she was talking about.
At school, we tried to keep things normal. I was pretty quiet and reserved anyway, so it wasn’t surprising I didn’t talk about my romantic affairs – as if there had been any before this. It had been a wonderful thing, but much more than I’d ever done with a girl. In the back of my mind I was terrified of going any further, to be honest. Mwali as usual chatted endlessly to her wide circle of friends, but as I got the usual attention from them (none), I guessed I wasn’t a news item.
We had our sonnet meetings still, usually after school, in the city library or the gardens nearby. They nearly always finished the same way, with long kisses, hugs and caresses. It became a kind of ritual, like her asking me where we should sit, then always choosing herself: outside. We would whisper Shakespearean compliments to each other, then laugh at how silly we sounded. But we still enjoyed the compliments.
We were at a party. My routine was to sit quietly, laugh at the jokes, maybe tell a funny story. Mwali was different. The noisiest crowd, the craziest dancing, the loudest laughing, she was in the middle of it, usually leading it. It made me smile to see her, then think of the other girl I knew, getting all teary over Othello as he destroyed his beautiful wife, and himself.
She found me. “Ah, Manny! A sweet sight to behold!” She wobbled slightly as she walked, but somehow still kept her upright bearing. She came very close to me, further indication she was a bit drunk. “You do not look yourself… do you wish to be, somewhere else?” Her lowered eyelids put another meaning on what she said. She took my hand and sat me down on a nearby couch. Then she gracefully sat herself down, swinging her legs and crossing them at the same time. She turned slightly and looked at me over her shoulder.
The ease of her movement, the sensuality, the curve of her smile and her breast, I was stunned. And she could see it. She laughed, lightly and kindly. “What are you thinking, Manny?” she asked.
“I… I think, think you look great. Amazing. Elegant.” Part of me was cross at the way I sounded such an idiot, part was just enjoying the sight of this lovely canlı poker oyna young woman.
Mwali was gracious. “Ah Manny, not smooth, but sincere. Which is better if you must choose.” She leant forward and lightly touched my nose. “I have something I must ask.”
She moved closer. “I have finally looked at them.”
“Them? Looked at who?”
“Not who, what. I looked at black ones and white ones. It was very strange.”
“Mwali, you’re not making any sense at all.”
“Then I will start at the beginning. I showed you the beauty of Shakespeare’s poetry. Then you showed me the secret of the lovers’ strength in Romeo & Juliet. The force that joins them. Brings them to marriage… then I thought of the next step: the consummation.” Cahn-summay-syun.
“I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I looked it up. Oh, my Lord. All the girls on those web sites, so many naked, doing things they never would want to (would they?). And the men! It was worse. Some are bored, some are nasty, so many are uncaring. Where is the love? Oh my Lord.
“But I want to see a man’s uboo, his dick. What is it like? I look at them. Oh my Lord.” Mwali’s eyes were round at the memory, but she gave her hips a tiny wriggle.
“I have looked at them. Black ones, white ones, brown ones. Some have hair, some have none. Is that itchy? To shave down there?”
I was stunned by the whole talk, so I wasn’t ready for the question. “I… I have no idea. I’ve never seen it in real life.”
“That’s just it! The pictures are not real life. Maybe a few, but most are set up. I can tell you, most girls are not that thin. And not with the fake boobs either! Now. You bring me back to the thing I must ask.”
Why did I feel just slightly uneasy with the direction this conversation was going? Mwali looked slightly uneasy too. She took a big breath.
“Manny, I must see one! One I know is real, with my own eyes!” She stared into my eyes.
“A real one?? You mean… mine?”
“‘Or any other part belonging to a man!’ Yes! Show me!” She was now leaning close to me. “You have listened to me so much, and given me such understanding, please give me this!”
My mind was reeling. “Mwali, I don’t know-” but part of me did know. It wanted to. Another part was terrified I’d be a joke compared to the porn stars that had so startled her. Another part was saying mate, this isn’t really happening is it.
“Manny, please! Don’t make me beg!” she begged.
“Come this way.” She could tell my resistance was weak to start with, now it was giving way. She took my hand.
The party was in an old house, partly (and badly) renovated. The main activity was at the back of the house. At the front, away from the crowds, was a second bathroom. Mwali led us in, locked the door and stood, looking at me expectantly. I was trapped. I wasn’t enjoying this like I thought I might.
Sitting on the toilet lid, I undid my pants and slid them down a bit. There was my uboo, my dick, small and soft between my thighs. Not at all ready for my close up, Mr de Mille.
Mwali stared. She was about to say something, but mercifully didn’t. She smiled, then took it in her hand. My white member nestled in her tinted-pink palm. It felt nice. She curled her fingers round it and played with it lightly. I saw the dark outer skin of her fingers in contrast to my almost see-through skin. My dick grew slightly and she nodded approvingly. She continued to roll it in her fingers.
Then I noticed Mwali’s nipples. They sometimes stood out a bit at school – I tried not to stare, but she was so good to look at. Now they were like small pebbles on the curve of her breasts. Boldly I reached over and brushed one through her top. She gasped. Her breathing got heavier.
She also looked down. My dick was growing with my confidence. As I stroked her breast she pulled my foreskin over the head to reveal the shiny helmet. She pulled the skin up and down and it stood up proud. Then someone knocked loudly on the door.
We hurriedly straightened me up, then Mwali walked regally out into the party. I followed, astonished at how she could pull that off. She looked back at me and her eyes said, “Later”.
But there was a gap between that and our next meeting. Every afternoon one of us was free, the other seemed to have other things on. I tried not to stare at Mwali in the playground or in class, but I couldn’t stop recalling her nipples as they stood out for me. (Sometimes it was tricky, because she clearly enjoyed being looked at. She wasn’t arrogant or overbearing, but she had a stance and posture that told you where to look.) At night I replayed our two minutes in that bathroom over and over. A need grew in me.
Then she asked if she could help her with some Science homework “and we could look at some poetry too.” At the library and her house afterwards. I had been over just once before, for a group drama practice; her parents seemed nice.
At the library we looked at Romeo & Juliet’s start to Act 2. They are in love, but their families hate each other. “But passion lends them internet casino power, time means, to meet.” As we went over the lines, I kept wondering. Was Mwali giving me another message? We finished with our usual sweet embrace, before catching the bus to her house.
No one else was home. A note told her there was a meal ready-made for the two of us and to expect the parents later that evening. I had a crazy sensation Fate was pushing us along.
We didn’t do a lot of Science. Mwali led me into her bedroom, sat me on the edge of the bed and again looked at me expectantly. I undid my pants.
Again I watched as her dark-skinned hands played with my pale dick. She stroked and stretched the skin as the shaft grew with her touch. She hummed approval. I reached out and brushed her nipples and she moved to give me better access.
I felt bolder as my dick grew harder. I stretched her top down to reveal her satin bra. I tweaked and pulled her nipple and felt it grow with my touch. I pulled down the bra to show her chocolate-coloured nipple ringed by its areole. Her breast rolled out and swung slightly across her chest.
It was too exciting. Her hand squeezing my dick and my hand feeling the soft heavy flesh of her boob brought my climax rushing up. I just managed to croak, “Ah, coming- ” as a warning when my come spurted and dribbled everywhere. Mwali gasped as she worked the skin up and down. She laughed lightly as I bucked against her firm grip. Then she smiled gently as I lay back on my elbows, panting. She’d had enough warning to lean back slightly so my come was mainly on me and her dark fingers, but a tiny drop was sitting in her hair, white against the black. I reached up to wipe it out. When she saw what was on my fingers she laughed again and kissed the fingertips. My whole body tingled to the touch of her lips.
“Mmm, tastes of… nothing much. Salty? Wheaty? Not as nice as me!” She sucked on my fingers.
Now I knew the stars were driving me. My climax, the sight her fingers, her soft breast, the tingling kiss… now the idea of her taste, everything took control of me. I sat up and smiled at her.
“I need to see this for myself!”
I tugged at her top and started pulling it up. She stared at me for a second, then lifted her arms up and let me take it off. She reached behind and unclipped her bra, so that both her beautiful, heavy breasts were free. I quickly took my shirt off.
Her breasts moved with her increased breathing. I stroked and pressed them, running two fingers up each side of each big nipple. Mwali whispered, “Oh yesss.” I loved the subtle differences in the colour of her skin, darker in the creases, lighter around her breasts and in her armpits.
I pushed down my open pants and stood up. I brought her up too, paused a second then drove on. I started undoing her jeans. Her hand flashed over mine and we froze. We stared at each other, motionless.
Shakespeare saved the day. He somehow gave me Juliet”s words
“I have bought the mansion of a love, but not possess’d it.” My fingers unclipped and unzipped under hers. “Though I am sold, not yet enjoy’d.” As I started to wriggle down her pants I felt her hand pressing on mine, but now it was urging me on.
We were naked, standing facing each other, holding hands. For a crazy second I imagined us in a Shakespeare play, intense lovers who take their lives in the next Act.
I couldn’t stop myself admiring this beautiful young woman in front of me, from her thick black hair down. Her eyes were half-closed, but I saw a flash of white in them, above her broad nose and big, generous lips. I noticed her eyebrows for the first time, two perfect arcs on her smooth forehead. Her skin was dark brown, but had so many tones in it, it seemed to highlight her generous curves in the late afternoon sun. Her breasts, naturally resting lower on her chest, proudly thrust out her dark nipples. Below was her gently curving tummy and hips. Between them a triangle of black hairs in tiny tight curls. Her erect posture emphasised her beauty.
“You look amazing. Royal.” I murmured.
For an answer she drew me in and kissed me. Her big lips to my thin ones. We drowned in kisses, hands clasping, then arms up, around shoulders and arms, feeling skin on skin. Everything else stopped.
At some point I stepped back and felt the bed against me. I sat back, drawing her over me and giggling we fell together onto the bed.
Now we kissed more and our hands roamed more, touching each other’s head and back and thighs. I felt Mwali’s hard nipples pressing into me from above, or she would pause, raise herself up and offer her swinging boobs for me to catch.
I stopped us. “You said you tasted better. I think we need to test this!”
She beamed a lascivious smile at me. “That can be arranged, Aussie boy!” And she sat up on me. She walked herself on her knees up my torso to my armpits. My view was filled with the sight of her thighs spread across me and her body towering above. Her triangle of dark curly hairs was on my chest and I could make out her outer pussy lips among the curls. Her scent was much stronger with her pussy so close to my face. It was a wonderful, powerful, arousing smell, sweet but tangy. The sight of her, the touch of her skin, her smell: my senses were driving me forward.
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