Saturday, 25 April 2009

They say. . .#3: The end of the rainbow




I was at the gym, at a bench, loading up my bar with some weights. It was Easter the week before, and I was looking to work off all the celebratory gluttony that transpired. Then from the corner of my eye, I saw her walking toward me. She was hot. Kinda. She was toned. Well. She wasn’t fat. She was milfy. At least 15 years older than me I guestimated. Dressed in a lime green velvet gym Capri-pants that was tighter than a fat guy in spandex and a white vest that flaunted her assets quite extravagantly, her hair, tied back tightly making her seem a tad younger, but I saw through that. Her walk, rather spicy for the sweat clad halls of the gym, a look of kinky intent in her eyes.

She was still new to the gym, or at least to our timeslot. The only chicks that gym before work in the wee hours of the morning are whales and raggedy milfs, who funnily enough always seem to undress me with their eyes, which is so most uncool. So, anything this hot was eagerly ogled by the guys.

She walks to me, and gingerly, in a marshmallowey soft voice asks; ‘Could you help me please.’ Without giving away to much emotion I agreed, followed her to the leg press contraption, and helped her, thinking, why would she want to take the weights off here, if the leg-press machine that used the cable was open? When I was done, I said ‘cool’ and stealthily returned to my bench, too afraid to steal a look at her deep, brooding eyes.

Somewhere during my workout I noticed how she would just happen to be close to where I was. Where ever I was working out, she’d be within a 10m radius. At first it was kind of disconcerting, but after a couple of days I got used to it. Then one day I was in the aerobics room doing some abdominal toning. I was doing a side plank, facing away from the gym and its people. Then upon turning around to do the plank on the other side who’s plonked next to me? Ja. You guessed it. I thought to myself; ‘Damn woman, aren’t you married or something?’ Apparently not. She geared herself up to do knee tucks on the fitness ball, and I was busy doing crunches on my ball, when wwwoooops! She loses her balance and falls slap bang straight onto me, sending my ball ricocheting off the wall behind me. Her fall planted her soft body right onto me, her lips, inches away from mine, her twins, quite happy to see me from what I felt, caressing my chest like a freshly ironed jersey, her eyes, locked onto mine. She breathed in and unleashed a minty whiff of lasciviousness right into my face. It made my eyes tingle a little; ‘I’m so sorry, I just lost my balance,’ she whispered, and as she got up she slid up on me, knocking her bodacious buxom bosoms in my face and her love muffin over my family jewels.

I was speechless.

She walked away like nothing had happened, leaving me with a taut twanger and her card. . .

I thought to myself, you know what, I might learn a thing or two from this woman, it also doesn’t seem like she’s going to stop stalking me anytime soon. So I asked if we can meet somewhere away from the gym. We sat down for a coffee that Saturday, and from then on we became good friends.

We went out often, to movies, to shoot pool, stuff I liked, but also to watch ballets and opera and theatre stuff, things she liked as well. Our odd relationship was blossoming, but we were too afraid to tell our respective families. They wouldn’t understand.

Then one night, our romance reached its apex. She told me she was tired of us being just friends. She wanted more. She took me home with her, on the pretence that we were going to watch a movie there. Who was I to say no? She led me to her living room, sat me down, and said I should make myself at home, she was just gonna organize some snacks.

She returns a few minutes later, but with no snacks – or clothes. The dim light from the kitchen lighting her sturdy curves, accentuating every nuance of her supple skin, her hair, draped across her shapely shoulders like sunrays on the waterfront on a summer’s morning. Her lips glistening with strawberry lip-gloss akin to sauce drizzled onto ice cream. Her breasts like ripe apples, juicy and firm. Her stomach, enchanting, entrancing, as she waltzes towards me with libidinous ideas. Her eyes, provocatively looking down on me. Her legs, like pillars of marble, leading me to the pleasure palace of this amazing queen. She mounted me like a jockey about to ride the J&B met and kissed me passionately, while unbuttoning my shirt and rubbing my chest, she continued to undress me, then, my phone rang.

It was my girlfriend.

I was having so much risqué fun with her that I clean forgot to mention the fact that I had a steady girlfriend of 5 years. She was shocked. She couldn’t believe I’d taken her for a ride like that. But as I found out later, as a wife and mother of 3 children, she was a little bit too unchaste herself. I asked her why on earth she would want to pursue me in the first place, knowing that she was married. Apparently my father, may his soul rest in peace, pursued her when he was her age, and she was mine, and it was the best loving she ever experienced. When she saw me, she recognized him in me, and immediately craved for the raunchy times she spent with him again.

I followed the rainbow. I thought I found the secret treasure of a lifetime. An experienced minx whose words seduce men like a hot knife through butter, melting them away with consummate ease, but then, like Medusa, she turns to stone, her vengeance and wrath after what I done, is like a death-thirsty black widow, mustering every bit of her demented energy to destroy you, to end you.

She tried everything in her power to break me and my girlfriend up. She wanted me to fulfil her sick fantasies of the past. I refused. And in doing so she became the bane of my entire existence. Until one day she tried to commit suicide while talking to me on the phone. And on her death bed in the hospital before she died she dropped the bomb on me. My now wife-to-be could never be my wife. It was her child. She gave my fiancé up for adoption just after she was born. It was the love child of her and my father.

. . .

It was my sister.

This photo was taken at 08:04 on the 19th of September 2008. They say a picture speaks a thousand words, this on spoke 1168 words.

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