Like Woman, Like God.
“I’ll make you feel like a woman” is a promise that makes you roll your eyes, always. What feeling is this ‘woman’? You ask yourself every time and when you wear your clothes in the morning, you wonder if this huffing and puffing is what it is to be woman and if it was, how was it a thing to be wanted?
But he had made no promises, not even of pleasure.
Yet he touched you from the start as if you were a prayer and sin and atonement, reverently went for the centre and squeezed. You wanted to complain, to give one of the hundred excuses your tongue keeps in its sac but your tongue betrayed you. The little fucker lay still. The lights from the bridges and houses on the opposite shore danced in your eyes, the lagoon seemed to swell beneath the balcony you lay on, your blood hummed passion’s siren.
And you turned to him, your body complicit in this saga of betrayal and suspense while your mind wept. He slipped his hand into the top of your gown, cradling your left breast and your mind wiped its eyes and watched. He took you on a journey that evening, a road you had travelled a hundred times before but he stopped to show you the sunflowers hidden on that path you raced through without thinking, then he showed you the mimosa that curled spectacularly as he touched it and you gasped- it had been there all along? As he called you beautiful, you didn’t murmur an objection, you revelled in it- your beauty.
But it was in the morning he showed you what it was to be woman, as he touched you and looked at you with eyes aflame with something you must have ignited. How did I do that? you wondered and smiled. And then you touched him, he writhed and whispered and you felt the buzz of lightning in your palm.
Glory, Glory, Halleluiah
You felt like a god, glorious and wanton as he moaned atop you, beneath you and behind you. With each sound he made, you shone even brighter, until you were so full of light that you exploded again and again and again and again.
You couldn’t stop smiling, not even after you were both dosing off entwined in each other’s bodies. Why are you smiling? he asked as he smiled too. You want to tell him how you never thought it would be him who would make you feel like you were fire and honey and electricity fused in vodka guzzling, egwusi hating brown skin. Or how you never thought of lovemaking as a glorious thing- only pleasure of the mundane kind. How could you begin to tell him that making love to him felt like worship, and for the first time ever, you were a god?
Then you remembered why man fell, God’s fear that Eve too would become like him. You wondered if that fear hadn’t come a little too late for God, and for you.