After Love – Chapter 9 — Graduation

For The Previous Chapter of After Love, “Sibling Rivalry” – Click Here

“I know I’m late, I’m sorry”. I said as I parked the car, quickly rolling up the window and looking at Namisa.


“You haven’t changed”, she said, “Always work first. You did the same with Oarabile”.


I didn’t need her reminding me that I missed a lot of his life. I want to blame the situation, I was student and working towards being a man who would provide for him but truth is, I only saw him on weekends and when it was time for exams I could go a month without going home so that I could concentrate and the responsibility fell on her to bring Oarabile to me.


She looked over to the passenger seat and frowned, I could tell she wanted to ask but held her tongue.


“Lonwabo had an emergency. One of her pupil’s parents called her and she had to rush to assist. So today it will be just you, Ora and I but she will do her best to join us later”.


Namisa sighed, “Birds of a feather I guess… It’s just a shame, Ora was really excited to see her.”


Sometimes I wonder if she is naturally sarcastic or wilfully sharp-tongued but in all the years of dating her, I learnt not to engage her in every comment.


“I’m ready to go. Where is my princess?”, I asked.


“Did you finally buy a car seat? I was hoping we could use your car. I don’t feel like driving”, she responded.


I was glad I bought the car seat, so she could finally stop nagging me but I had already made them wait an hour for me, so saying no to her request would have led to an argument. All I wanted to do was stare at Oratilwe the whole day. The last thing I anticipated was having to work on my day off but when the boss says he needs a report done, you get it done. I tried to work as meticulously as possible, so I wouldn’t be called back in today or tomorrow when I would be spending the day with Ora. It was my weekend with her.


We agreed that the three of us would take leave on Friday, go to the different crèches and not only see the premises but also see how the teachers interact with the students. Lonwabo was supposed to handle the talks on curriculum and with her not being present, the responsibility fell on me. We knew she was just in crèche but the plan was to keep her in one school for as long as possible. In my mother’s pursuit to giving me a quality education, I changed schools almost every year. Whichever school she felt was the best she would send me to that school, I even went to boarding school at some point but she didn’t like the distance and made me move back home. Eventually I got a scholarship and they were in charge of which school I went to but all I learnt from that was I wanted stability. I wanted Oratilwe to never have to make friends and lose them but rather to get a sense of home that I didn’t get.


Even though Lonwabo wasn’t going to be there, she gave me pointers on what questions to ask and I promised her I would report everything back to her.


Turns out as a man, I knew which university I wanted my daughter to attend because I knew how expensive studying can be and so I saved for that but I never put thought into what impact the crèche she went to would have on her.


We visited different schools, laughed at uniforms and batted our eyes at a few costs. All in all it was a good day. After all the evaluations were done we drove back to my place.


Lonwabo was yet to come home. Namisa and I agreed that it would be wise if she waited for Lonwabo to get home before she left, so we could discuss all the schools and try make a decision together.


She was in charge of keeping Oratilwe busy while I got dinner started.


“You know… You never cooked for me while we were dating, I wonder if you are any good. When it came to where to eat out, you knew your stuff but cooking… You never did, except breakfast. You make an amazing omelette.”


I looked at her and laughed, “If I want to afford to send Ora to any of those crèches then I need to cut costs and cooking meals instead of take-out is one of the ways to save. The tuition at those schools could feed a small family.”


“A small family?”, she giggled hard enough to almost sound like a laugh.


I forgot the way her face would light up when she was happy. Thinking about it, today was the first time the three of us were actually together like a real family.


“What?… Why are you staring at me?”, she asked while playing with her hair.


“Nothing. I am just thinking about today. I never tell you this but you are a great mother to our daughter.”


“Really? I am?”, she said jokingly, “Then I should be the one to pick the school right Baba ka Ora?”.


“Nope.”, I said, “If you pick the school then she’ll end up at that school you liked… What was it called again… The one with the purple uniform.”


“That was a great school. It was a black school and they taught Xhosa and Zulu. Oratilwe would have loved it there.”


I wondered if that was her deciding factor and why it mattered whether her child went to a black school or white school. I understand the fear of a black parent, sending their child to a school where their child may experience racism and I could tell her that racism exists in the world and not only in certain schools but I’m sure she already knew that.


“Maybe if we take the possibility of racism into account, the school has some merit but what do languages have to do with it Namisa?”


“I want my daughter to learn about her culture Angelo.”


“And why wouldn’t she learn that at any other school? How does going to a black school teach her culture?”, I asked.


“It will teach her how to fit in with people of her colour or are you saying white schools are better than black schools?”


“I never said that. Don’t put words in my mouth”, I said.


“You didn’t deny it either”, she remarked. “Predominantly white schools have been proven to lack the ability to accommodate South African black languages in their curriculums however are able to include Afrikaans. Therefore this results in idea that there are languages that are more significant than others hence decreasing the agency of learning African language by black pupils.”


Namisa’s words had me rolling my eyes. She loved culture and always felt it was her most defining feature. I admired that about her, the way she could speak about herself and where she came from and I wanted to give the same to Oratilwe but at what cost? Would I sacrifice my child going to a school that I felt would give her a great education in favour of one that had the option to teach her an African language.


“So you are blaming schools for children not wanting to learn about their heritage? What is the purpose of sending your child to school? If you are sending them to have a career and get an education then isn’t your argument flawed if your emphasis is on learning black languages and using them as a guise to absorb culture?


If you take into account the fact that languages can boost a career or allow opportunities overseas. Would you want our daughter to learn a language like Zulu that can’t be used in any country except South Africa, whereas a language like Portuguese is spoken in 10 different countries?”


I saw her place her hand on her hip and I knew an argument was coming.


“Angelo, do you then disregard the fact that your child is human, that she needs a sense of belonging and being rooted. Do belittle culture just because we aim for her to have a career oriented. In a case whereby your child has aspirations to be a musician or poet that uses their home language to express themselves do we then tell the child that no you can’t do that because it’s not globally recognized?”


I shook my head. “No, our daughter can be whatever she wants to be but other than becoming a poet or an artist, where would learning an African language take her? I want my daughter to go further than I did, even if that means she goes to live somewhere far away like Germany.”


I wanted to understand where she was coming from but I couldn’t. Maybe she wanted our daughter to learn to communicate better or maybe I didn’t value culture enough but no matter what she was saying, I just could not agree with it.


“She needs to be cultured, can we at least agree on that?”, she said with her tone slightly raised. “Going to a school where she can learn a language close to home will keep her cultured and give her a sense of pride. She will be spending around eight hours at the school or crèche and the one you liked had about two black teachers. She is going to come home speaking a language she can’t use, what is the point in that? You learn more about any topic or subject when you get a chance to study it. For example Zulu, you learn about the customs that are involved in that particular culture it is interpreted and understood. She will learn diversity at that school.”


“What? So you expect the school to teach her culture?”. I asked. “There’s a difference between expecting a child to be raised by a school and expecting a child to be exposed to a place that is accommodating and doesn’t plant a seed to make a child feel belittled or less significant than another. You want her to learn an African language basically because it is a nice skill to have and you want the school to take over our responsibility. If you can predict the future and our daughter wants to be a poet or maybe a language teacher then I can agree to send her to a school solely on that.”


“Angelo, if she won’t learn it at school then how will she be taught culture? Where will she learn it?”


“Here… With us… She will learn culture here. You and I are from different cultures ourselves. So do we now force her to take on English and two other subjects so that she can get both cultures or one culture takes preference over another?”


“No Angelo. That’s not what I am saying.”


She could see my blood was boiling despite me trying to keep my cool. We kept on going back and forth, arguing and moving closer to one another. Stating her case and me arguing mine.


“Angelo. Namisa”, Lonwabo yelled. “What’s that smell? If two could stop flirting from a moment, you’d see the pot is on fire.” She ran to the kitchen to turn off the stove.


Namisa and I got so caught up in our argument I forgot I was cooking and didn’t even hear Lonwabo come in. Slowly we backed away from one another. Namisa looking a little embarrassed and picking up Oratilwe from the mat.


“Come on Princess, let mommy take you to the bathroom and make sure that you nappy isn’t wet. If you’ll excuse me guys”.


She took her leave and left Lonwabo and I standing in the corridor, staring at one another. She looked at me and shook her head.


“I had a really long day”, she said, “And I am too tired for this. I don’t want an explanation. I just hope you know what you are doing.”


She said her peace and went upstairs. I thought today was supposed to be about Oratilwe, it baffled me how I was the bad guy once again.


Graduation – PDF

Jade Novelist ©️ 2019

After Love – Chapter 8 — Sibling Rivalry

For The Previous Chapter of After Love, “The Trouble With Faith” – Click Here

I could see the tension rise with every second. Lonwabo sat in her corner and Namisa in hers. They muttered a few words with long pauses in between but I couldn’t clearly make it out.


For a long time I wondered how it would be when they finally had a chance to sit and talk and today it was happening.


Staring at the monitor did nothing but build anxiety, everyone was waiting to see if they would attack each other or just give up on the small talk and sit in silence.


Malume Ntando apologized several times, saying he doesn’t understand how it happened but his top priority was making sure that his niece and my girlfriend were okay. I could tell it was awkward for him to refer to Lonwabo as my girlfriend, the idea of me being with someone other than Namisa still hasn’t settled in for many of our relatives. They always believed she and I were soul mates.


“Hello Mr Blake, we are working on getting the sound fixed in the meantime.”, he said with his head bowed.


“You can call me Angelo, are they going to be fine?”. I asked.


“Yes Sir. As long as no one is claustrophobic, they will be perfectly fine. Would you like tea or coffee?… I can get one of the maids to get it for you”.


Tea or coffee? I needed something stronger than that. My girlfriend and mother to my child were trapped in an elevator and he wanted to give me a coffee.


I shook my head, “No thanks Zweli. I will be fine. Just get the sound fixed while we wait for the maintenance manager.”


How could a simple vacation turn into such a disaster? Lonwabo and I wanted to take a break from our lives and go away for a bit and now here we were, I in the control room and she stuck in an elevator with Namisa.


I thought bringing her to the hotel would be great because I knew we would get special treatment and she would be pampered. Everything had gone so well and she was on her way to the lobby for check-out when she bumped into Namisa.


At first I thought maybe God was against me but it turns out that Namisa hired out one of the conference rooms to a friend as a wedding gift, so she was here for the reception and was making sure the decor was sorted and that the newlyweds room was prepared and ready.


The hotel was initially named Jabu’s House but after Oarabile was born, Bab’Jabulani wanted to rename it but we could never settle on a name. We thought of using Oarabile’s middle name, Thamsanqa but we felt it was a bit cliche.


Bab’Jabulani was a business man, he had a neck for it. I think it’s why I decided to become an accountant, I wanted to be as amazing as he was. He was a mentor and a father to me, and in death he showed how much he took me as his son.


When he died, I was surprised to be called in for the hearing of his will. I was shocked as to how many assets he had but also how much he cared for my mother and I. He knew my mother loved charity work and so he left a sum of money for her to donate to a charity of her choice. For me he left a sum of money, a few assets and a letter.


“Angelo, my son.


If you are reading this, then it means I am no more.


I am sorry that I am no longer there to offer guidance but I hope that I died at old age and you and Namisa are now husband and wife.


Thank you for taking care of my daughter. Both of you would come to me and complain about the other, so I know she can be a handful but seeing how you were with her through it all, it shows that you genuinely loved her.


You had your flaws too but I often overlooked them because you were the son I never had and like any man with their son, you tend to focus on the positives.


Thus I am positive you are going to be okay. That you will take care of the family in my absence. That you will raise Oarabile to be a great man like his grandfather and that you will carry on and make us proud.


In the case that I passed before you have finished school, then I encourage that you go back as my soul would be at ease knowing you became a man with an education.


The decision to put you in this will was not mine alone but rather that of mine and my wife, Nomthandazo and as such, the decision to leave these assets to you was not mine alone…”


The letter carried on for 3 pages and I often read it when exams got difficult for me. It contained a breakdown of all his assets with instructions of how they need to be handled, how he chose me as the inheritor of the estate because he believed Namisa and I would maintain it together as husband and wife but also because he believed I have a good head on my shoulder.


Before we broke up Namisa used to joke and say he only gave me the assets because I was studying accounting and he knew she would blow all the money on traveling. I never let Namisa or my mother read the letter in full, I felt it was personal and only meant for me but also it was clear it was written before Oarabile passed away, so I felt like there was someone else who also refused to accept he was gone.


Our break-up felt rushed and sudden but we managed to find time to discuss the assets. Our friends suggested that we strip the businesses and sell the company assets because we were inexperienced and had a lot on our plates for us to run the businesses but the thought of closing down and leaving so many unemployed did not sit well with us.


Namisa didn’t want to go against her father’s wishes, so we decided to leave the estate the way it was, the assets stayed in my name and I would take over all the businesses three years after I obtained my accounting degree but in the meantime she would get 80% of the returns and the remaining 20% would be mine but she would have to donate it to one of the charities my mother was partnered with.


The agreement was enforced with all assets except the hotel franchise. The hotels were given to Oarabile, in the letter Jabulani stipulated that if well maintained they would not only be able to help pay for OB’s education but also give him something to start his life off with after university.


He left us the shares to the hotel, on the condition that we transfer them to OB on his 18th birthday but seeing as he had passed away, we decided to keep the shares and all the money from the hotels would be put back into the business so that Jabu’s House would continue to grow. We would however keep the benefits such as using the facilities and hotel for personal events whenever we wanted.


Namisa and I became silent partners of some sort. As long as she received her dividends on time, there was never any cause to argue or communicate with one another. We were sure to select skilled individuals to be in charge of the day to day running of the businesses and I would do random checks of the finances and entities to ensure that things were going well. I was told sometimes she would do the same just to remind everyone that she hadn’t completely neglected her father’s property.


Everyone we hired was hired on the merit of their skills except Malume Ntando, being Namisa’s uncle and Bab’Jabulani’s brother, it made more sense to have someone who was family involved in the hotel business.


“Do you still love him?”.


Hearing the words broke my concentration and brought me back to the situation. Someone had managed to get the sound working. I looked to monitors and Lonwabo was looking at Namisa waiting for her to respond.


A part of me wanted to text Namisa or Lonwabo and tell them that we got the sound working now and we could hear them but a bigger part of me was more interested in the conversation, so I quickly told everyone to clear the room and asked Malume Ntando to get the elevator sorted.


“It’s okay. I won’t hold it against you. I just want to know the truth…. Do you still love him?”, Lonwabo asked again.


Namisa looked at her and then down at her phone, almost as if she was hoping that someone would open the elevator door when she looked up.


“He is my son’s… I mean my daugh… Hmmm… Why do you want to know? He is with you, so what does it matter now?”, Namisa asked.


“We’ve been stuck here for almost two hours. Earlier on when I asked you if he was a good man, the way you spoke of him, it felt like more than simple admiration.”, Lonwabo responded.


“I don’t think I ever stopped and I don’t think I ever will but I’m not sure if that’s what you are really asking me right?”.


They looked at one another, Namisa waiting to see Lonwabo’s reaction and Lonwabo wondering if Namisa knew what bearing those words meant for her future with me.


In the control room, Malume Ntando was looking at me, wondering if I would say anything or react.


“You want to know if I am still in love with him and the answer is yes, I’m still in love with him. I thought I was over him but when we crossed eyes, my heart pushed restart and I was back to being the woman who wanted him to love me”, Namisa said and paused. She then reached into her bag and pulled out a slab of chocolate and offered Lonwabo a piece. “Here, I normally have snacks on me all the time, Ora loves them, especially chocolate… Don’t worry, I won’t tell him how I feel though. It wouldn’t be fair”.


“Fair?”, Lonwabo asked.


“We are talking woman to woman right?… I want him back but it must be his choice. Telling him I’m in love with him and having Ora will make it hard for him. I don’t want to get him back because I’m his baby mama, I want to be chosen.” She said and looked away.


I could see Lonwabo was not pleased by the response, it was written all over her face.


“No offense but you sound a bit arrogant”, she said.


Namisa giggled, “I suppose it would sound that way but you’ve known him what, a few months… I’ve known him over 15 years. I know how to make him fall in love with me again. Do you know his favourite meal? Do you know what song he listens to when he is stressed? Do you know where he goes to when he needs to clear his thoughts?”.


Lonwabo opened her mouth to speak but all she uttered was silence. I felt bad for her, Namisa might have been out of line but it was all true. There was so much about me that she did not know and it would take time to learn.


“You must be special though. He has been single all this while and you managed to catch his attention, he even moved in with you. Whenever I brought it up, he would say that he wanted to wait for marriage.” Namisa said with a grin then asked, “How did you do it?”.


“As you said, you’ve known him for years. So you know he is a gentleman. I used to live with a friend from university but her boyfriend used to make advances towards me. Eventually he moved in with her and he would have his friends visit. Long story short, I don’t like unwanted attention from men and I don’t want to live alone. It’s not safe in this country. Women are being kidnapped and killed, so if I had to go home and have a man make advances or try touch me, I would rather have it be someone I’m in a relationship with, so when Angelo offered, I agreed.”


Lonwabo never invited me to her place, I always thought it was because she was trying to be the lady that she is and avoid sex but its clear now that it was because she wasn’t comfortable there.

She and I had gotten closer and more open since she told me about the rape and abortion. Her bond with Ora was also growing, on weekends when she’d visit, Lonwabo would let me work and watch her by herself. Seeing the ladies in the elevator talking gave me hope that maybe we could all make this work.


“He is a gentleman, he is a good man.”, Namisa said with a smile on her face.


“What do good men deserve? Don’t they deserve to have their daughters in their lives?”, Lonwabo asked.


“No offence but you don’t know me well enough to question my decision.”, Namisa reacted with clear annoyance in her tone. “Why I kept him out of her life is non…”


“Wait”, Lonwabo interrupted. “That is between the two of you. What matters to me is right now. You want him and he is with me. If he picks you, you play happy family but if he picks me, what happens? Do you take her away from him?”.


Namisa looked at her and I could see she was upset that Lonwabo even insinuated such a thing but quickly her expression changed and her face looked more relaxed. The Namisa I knew would have moved to her corner and sat in silence but in that elevator she surprised me and showed me she had grown.


“Hmmm… He is her father. We have our history and we lost our son but he and Ora are close, so I would never want him to lose another child. No matter what happens, my daughter will have her father in her life and you too”.


“What? Me?”.


“Yes you too Lonwabo. For the past two months you’ve been spending time with her. I think you love her too don’t you? I won’t take her from your life too.”


As Namisa spoke, I could see Lonwabo fight back the urge to smile. She was really happy to hear those words and so was I. She had grown to love Oratilwe in the past two months, planning play dates, buying her outfits and even


“Would you like to come with us next week? I’m not sure if Angelo invited you but we are going crèche hunting for Ora, the one she’s currently going to keeps increasing prices but all they do is make her draw pictures and make her share her lunch with the other kids. Having you there would be great, especially with you being a teacher”.


Namisa suggested that we go together and look for a crèche. It was her way of trying to make me feel more involved in Oratilwe’s life and to try and co-parent together. I say Namisa but I think I have therapy to thank for it.


Lonwabo suggested that Namisa and I should go for therapy to help us parent better. She was afraid our unresolved past would cause unnecessary conflict. I was sceptical at first because I thought it would do nothing but bring up old wounds but as the weeks went by, our communication improved. We agreed on visitation schedules, play dates, boundaries and now we were going to pick a crèche together.


Namisa was always very possessive and never one to share, it was rather strange that she invited Lonwabo to join us. I wonder if she was really trying to include her in Ora’s life or did she have another motive for asking Lonwabo to tag along. A few months ago our lives were normal and now it is like we are on an episode of Sister Wives.


Sibling Rivalry – PDF

Jade Novelist ©️ 2018

After Love – The In Between – Memories & Slow Songs

He was late.

I cooked a three-course meal and he was late.

Trying to imagine what was going through his mind was driving me crazy, this couldn’t have been easy for him but he knows how much punctuality means to me.

I wanted to be there for him but he wanted to go alone. Losing Oarabile changed him. He smiled less, went out less, it was almost as if he had no desire to make his presence known in the world. He just wanted to disappear, actually he disappeared.

I can’t blame him though, I wouldn’t be myself if I lost Keamogetse. Being a single mother is hard but a child is the truest love one can ever find. She changed my world and on most days I think she is my soul mate.

When I found out I was pregnant I didn’t know what to do. It caught me off-guard, I didn’t even know when it happened but I was grateful. The idea of bringing a child into my life scared me. I was struggling to find a job, my boyfriend had just broken up with me and things were awkward between Angelo and I. I had no one I could turn to for the first few months.

“Mommy, mommy. Someone is at the door….HE IS HERE”. Kea run up to me, she was excited that her favourite human in the world was here. She and Angelo got along really well. She saw him as her father. He loved her dearly but I could see he always kept his feelings reserved and was guarded. A huge part of me hoped that he wouldn’t do that with Oratilwe but I also hoped that finding out about his daughter with Namisa wouldn’t come between him and Kea.

Sometimes I wish Namisa had kept Ora a secret, Angelo was finally learning to make peace and move on with his life. He was happy with his job, started dating Lonwabo and was making efforts to go out more, to spend more time with his friend. However if Namisa hadn’t come back into his life, maybe he wouldn’t have found the strength to visit Oarabile’s grave today. I guess one must always take the good with the bad.

“Hi Vuyo… I’m sorry I’m late”, he said while wiping his feet on the doormat. “I had a flat tire. That took a bit of time and I had to drive slowly, couldn’t risk it”.

“Wait”, I said as he tried to give me a hug. “Let me get Kea to get you a towel. You’re wet. I don’t want a mess all over my house. Dry yourself off and go freshen up in the guest bedroom.”

He said it was a flat tire but I’ve known him long enough to tell when he’d been crying. Rain and tears, this was just like that night.

Watching him play with Kea always warmed my heart and this night was not any different. She knocked on the guest room door a few times before he came out and so began their antics. Piggy back riding, watching television and talking about what she wanted for Christmas. Their conversations were as loud and animated as ever but fun to watch.

“Goodnight mommy”, she whispered and ran to kiss Angelo on the cheek. “Oh… So where is my kiss” I asked.

“You’ll get it in the morning”, she giggled and ran to her room.

As soon as Kea shut her door close, I looked to Angelo. He had that look in his eyes again but this time it wouldn’t work.

“I know you have a lot on your mind Angel, talk to me. Don’t shut me out”.

He looked at me and then at his phone. He asked to be excused so he could call Lonwabo and tell her that he would be getting home late, he wanted to wait for the rain to calm down a bit. He wasn’t always this cautious. Trying to stick to the speed limit or driving carefully are traits he developed during his period of reclusion. It wasn’t necessarily that he was reckless but he just seemed to not trust himself as much.

I wanted to offer him a drink to help him relax but I was afraid he might think I was trying to recreate that night.

I remember seeing him walk up to me. He first sat on the couch, stood up, sat again and then gave me hug that felt like he was throwing himself in my arms. I was confused but I figured he would open up to me and after a few drinks he did more than just open up.

I remember that night vividly including how bad I felt but the way he kissed me and the way he held me, it was wrong but it felt right.

He spoke about the funeral, about how he tried to tell Namisa how he was feeling about losing their son but she would just burst into tears, and that he felt that her pain was greater than his.

After a few drinks I was opening up too.

I wanted to let him talk that night but I had been bottling up so much. I told him that Thabo used to hit me, that Thabo was seeing other women and he made me feel not enough. I was a cliché. I was basically a desperate woman and I needed attention. I must have convinced myself it was okay, as I moved closer to him that night I had to remind myself that he said he and Namisa fought and he was sure it was over that time.

I was still with Thabo but I told myself I was going to leave him, I had had enough of the abuse and cheating. I don’t know who kissed who first but I know I didn’t pull away, I know I wanted more. For the first time in a long time I was being kissed by someone who I knew loved me even if I wasn’t sure it was the kind of love I wanted to feel.

Quickly we realized what we had done was wrong. He smiled and laughed nervously and I played with my hair while looking away. He was tired that night and asked to sleep. I obliged him but I was still curious.

We had just kissed and I wasn’t sure if it was the alcohol or emotions but he needed comfort and I needed to feel something. I went to my room while he slept on the couch and put on my night dress. I always liked how the black lace felt against my skin, so wearing it, hopefully it would give me the courage to persuade him to continue.

As I made my way to him, Namisa and Thabo were the last thing on my mind. I was however concerned about our friendship. I wondered if it would survive the night and would I be able to stop myself from wanting to feel that again.

I kissed him on the lips again and put his hand on my waist. I kissed him once more and put a little more effort into it. I felt my tongue graze his teeth as it made its way to his.

He opened his eyes surprised, he wanted to speak but I feared he would say her name and so I put my finger on his lips. He sat up and we looked eyes, him looking at me, me looking at him. We were in a stale mate and I knew he needed a push.

I went on my knees and felt my nerves build up. My hands were moving on their own as I tried to convince myself to go further, “Vuyo. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay. Just try and if he says no, then you stop”.

Slowly I unzipped his pants and prepared to taste his manhood but quickly the nerves faded as the size filled my mouth and his moan fed my ego. I continued, making sure all the lessons I got from Thabo were put to use. He always said, ‘Make sure it’s wet before you use your hands and don’t forget, pressure. Use the right amount of pressure’.

Angelo was silent, hardly moving. I wanted to see if he was okay and as I began to pull back I felt his hand pushing down on my head, urging me to take more in. I obliged and heard him whisper “Oh, GOD”. I kept going, every so often moving my hands along his inner thigh, rotating between taking it in, focusing on the head and playing with his sack.

I felt him get close, he was almost there. Ready to explode and I wanted it inside me. I made him lean back against the couch and positioned myself on his lap. I wanted to do it but I paused.

My nerves were back. I froze and just stared at him. I blushed and looked away. As I was about to pull away I felt his hands on my waist lowering me down onto him and I felt him open my gates. It slid right in. My walls surrounded him and we were one. With eyes closed, I let out a prayer in the form of a moan and there was my first orgasm.

Even though he belonged to someone else and I, to another. Me in his arms and he in mine, making love made sense and I reserved tomorrow to focus on today’s regrets. That night I realised I was actually in love with my best friend but there was never a right time to tell him. He was with Namisa by the time I was ready to accept my feelings for him and I was pregnant.  He had lost his son and the last thing I wanted him to do was be a step-father to a child he wasn’t ready for but while I was waiting for him to heal, he fell in love with Lonwabo and now here I am with him beside me, watching listening to music, reminiscing a weekend we have never acknowledged happened.

After Kea was born, he visited me often but this was the first time this couch symbolized something else. It was the place he lay me down and put my feet in the air. I remember him looking down at me and shame running across my face, I was afraid he could see how much I was enjoying it.

How I was enjoying his chest pressed against mine with my knees to my head. His thrusts and my moans were in rhyme. He had his way with me and I was happy. I knew he was using me as an escape but it was amazing and a moment I cherish.

We made love in different ways, in different places all over my house and in that I learnt so much. I learnt so many things about my friend. When I sat on his face, I found out that his tongue feels like silk. I learnt that as gentle as in nature as he is, he can be forceful when he wants. He showed me that he knows where to place his hands while a woman rides, how hard to hit when her rear was in view and how hard to pull her hair when she wasn’t being loud enough.

I don’t know if I let him have it or he just took it but it was his over and over again. Begging him to go deeper, pleading he go faster and begging that he do it again. On all fours, against the wall and on the floor.

Angelo made me feel like a woman again and I lived on that high for a few days until I had to get the morning after pill. Filling in the form and answering the questions felt like an insult to my experience. ‘Yes, it has been 72 hours… No, it wasn’t rape or sexual assault… Yes, I want it.’

The only question left was to ask if the person I slept with was my boyfriend or not.

I don’t think I will ever find the right time to tell Angelo how I feel about him but to be honest, I would rather be keep my feelings hidden than risk losing him. I have my daughter and the man I love in my life. Even if not romantically, it is more than enough. So even though he was spending the night at my place today and we would not be recreating that night, I was just happy to know that he was next to me as I lay on the couch and fell asleep with my head on his shoulder.

Thank God for rainy days.

Memories & Slow Songs – PDF

Jade Novelist ©️ 2018