Living With My Grandma Episode 3

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???? Living With My Grandma Episode Three:

He carried me to the bed. We laid across it diagonally and he quickly began to draw the towel apart with care—to remove it as if it was a bandage. He eventually did, revealing my flesh, still smelling a little of soap. His hands floated onto me. [An Excerpt]

“I thought you said your uncle won’t have any reason to enter your room,” he whispered, frightened.
“Ssshhhh,” I admonished him.
The knock came the second time. “Go inside naa,” I gestured at him without speaking aloud.

He stood and tiptoed to the toilet with his clothes in his hands. “Yes. I’m coming. I’m in the toilet.” I lied. I need to take some time to arrange the room before opening the door. I then reached for my white towel and undressed myself while I tied it like I just finished bathing. I glanced at the entire room to be sure nothing would implicate me. There was nothing suspicious when I searched through the bed, but truth is, my heart was pounding faster than I could ever imagine. I haven’t been in such a mess all my life.

I finally reached the door, inserted the key and it got unlocked in seconds. “I was taking my bath,” I said even before I could look to see who was standing behind the door. Guess who? I’m sure you guessed it was my uncle right? No! Your guess is wrong. It wasn’t my uncle. It was never his friend, too. My grandma? Yes! She was unexpectedly back from the August meeting. I heaved a big sigh of relief realizing it was grandma but at the same time I was so unhappy she was back so early.

“Welcome mama. You came back so early today. What happened?”
“Your grandma is tired and needs some rest. I’ll continue tomorrow,” she responded.
“Mama, uncle Clinton is back. Have you seen him?”
“Do you think I’m just coming back now? I have been here before the light went off.” She replied in Igbo.

Even though grandma could hear and speak English, she was prone to speaking Igbo. I’d ask her in English but she’d rather reply in Igbo which she had long persuaded me to always speak. I wasn’t eloquent or perhaps fluent when it comes to speaking, Igbo but I heard and understood everything she said—except for some deeper ones that I asked for an explanation.

So, it happened that grandma had been in the living room with my uncle and his friend while Meska and I were rolling out ourselves in my room until the light went off and she decided to find out what I had been doing inside my room since she returned. Grandma then asked me to change into my clothes so we could prepare dinner. It was probably around 4:30 or so. We normally prepare dinner on time—because of grandma’s health challenge. The family doctor advised that she eats at least before 7 pm before going to bed.

“Ok, Grandma. I’ll join you soon.” I closed the door while she headed towards her room.
“Jeez! Grandma is also back. I’m doomed. How do I come out of this whole mess? I was worried.
“Meska,” I called inaudibly. He popped his head out through the door. “Come,” I signaled with my left hand. He stepped out. He was back on his vintage shirt and trouser, but both were looking rough.

“Who was that?” Meska asked inaudibly.
“Guy, that was my grandma.”
“Jeez. So quick?”
“See, I don’t just understand what’s happening today. How are you going to leave here?”

“And I have Band practice at church this evening.” Meska looked at his timepiece.
“Zee.” My uncle called from the Sitting room
“Yes, uncle. I’m coming. I hurriedly pulled off the white towel and hastily wore my clothes back. Meska reluctantly walked back to the toilet with a frown look.

At that point, my guy was already tired and frustrated. It was written on his face. One thing I knew for sure was, that Meska regretted ever coming. Though he didn’t say much, I could read him like a book. He sighed slowly when he entered the toilet. I felt it, but there was absolutely nothing I could do. Neither my grandma nor my uncle would take it lightly with me if they get to see Meska in my room. I couldn’t even imagine how disappointed they would feel. Like, I had the nerves to bring a man into the house? Not like they saw me outside standing with him. That thought alone scared the shit out of me. Now, imagine if my father hears such news, he would not spare either of us. He would come after Meska, and the outcome wouldn’t be so nice.

These and many more conflicted in my head as I unlocked the door to answer my uncle. Finally, they were set to hang out. My uncle was wearing different cloth.
“Help me plug this power bank if they restore the light.” He handed me his 20Amh power bank and its charger. “Alright, sir.”

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I went straight to grandma’s room to find out what we’d cook for dinner. “Mama, we’ll be back,” Clinton announced from the Sitting room. “Ngwanu, drive safe oo,” grandma replied in Igbo. She was undressing her uniform when I walked into her room.

“Mama, what are we cooking tonight?” I asked.
“Erm, what did we cook last night?” came her response. Grandma always answered questions with another question. She was prone to it and I detested that.
“Rice and beans Jollof,” I answered.
“Okay. Check if there’s still egusi in the cupboard. Let’s prepare the soup.” She said to my discomfort. I was sad, not because I hated egusi soup but because grandma was about to give me a task I detested. Your guess is wrong, it’s not what you think. I’m talking about washing bitter leaves. Gosh! I hated bringing myself down to do that washing of a thing. Sometimes I pondered who invented the use of bitter leaves in making soup? And sadly, that was grandma’s favorite vegetable whenever we made soup. We barely use pumpkin leaves to cook soup. She said bitter leaf is medicinal and was very suitable for her health.

I left to the kitchen and confirmed there was still egusi left in the cupboard; about two cups or so. I went to the backyard and soon returned with a small basin filled with bitter leaves. And that was how I got hooked in the kitchen while my Meska was probably in my room thinking about his life. The only way he would leave without being caught was if grandma leaves her room. Both rooms were in a way that if anyone leaves through my room, whoever was in grandma’s room would surely see the person or perhaps the person’s footsteps. I didn’t want to take any careless chance too.

Grandma later joined me in the kitchen and that was when I asked while Clinton came back unannounced. “One of his friends lost his father. They came for the burial at Nnewi.” Grandma announced. Fast forward to when grandma and I were done cooking, I looked through the window, it was twilight already. The sun had gone down completely. Twinkle stars dotted the sky. I became more worried. It seemed God want to expose me today; I had mulled over it while washing the dishes. I served grandma her portion of the food in her room after washing the dishes—and just when I was about to go inside my room, my uncle and his friend walked in through the sitting room. I was stunned. There was no single sound from the gate that showed they were back.

“Welcome uncle,” I said.
“Thank you.” He reached for the sofa and collapsed tiredly. His countenance revealed he was unhappy.

Long story short, his car broke down on their way home and he had to park it somewhere he barely knew. Grandma assured him that nothing was going to happen to it. My uncle was pained particularly because they planned to use the car the next day for the burial ceremony of his colleague’s father. The only option he had was if he could get a mechanic that would put it in order before 10 am the following day. I later served my uncle and his friend food before retiring to my room with the remainder.

My guy was already tired and seemed to have given up on going home. “Can you pass the night here and probably leave as soon as the crows cry in the morning?” I let out. He was dumbstruck by my question. “Hmmm. Ziggy that’s even riskier,” he said. “Then, what do we do? My uncle and his friend are back.” I announced. Meska didn’t say anything. He was more concerned about the food I brought for him. He quickly washed his hands and commenced molding the semo. I stared absent-mindedly. It was all looking like one of those affection movies I watched. There I was, playing the role of a brave protagonist. I had no appetite for food. The noodles we ate earlier in the day still filled my belly.

Meska’s phone rattled. He checked and found the caller to be his mother. He didn’t pick. it vibrated the second time, the same reaction from Meska. I didn’t even know what to tell him. We just stared at each other without uttering a word.
“Don’t worry I can handle it,” he eventually broke the short silence. And that gave me some sort of relief.
“How? What do you mean you can handle it?” I quizzed.
“I know exactly what to tell my mom. I’ll call her back soon,” he retorted.

I looked at the plate, the semo was almost finished. I took one of the meat and left the rest for him. When he was done eating, he washed his hands and went inside the toilet. I overheard him cooking up lies and I knew he was talking to his mother.

Meska dashed out of the toilet smiling. I knew he had finally established a lie that would keep him in my room till the next day. His smile was contagious, I smiled back involuntarily. “Bad boy,” I mumbled. “Bad girl.” Meska paid back. I went to the door and locked it. My uncle and his friend had gone upstairs and grandma was in her room. Though I knew she wasn’t asleep already. Unlike myself, it usually took grandma about thirty minutes or more before dozing off whenever she lay on her bed.

“Meska, I need to shower now,” I reached for my towel.
“Me too,” he said inaudibly. We both looked at each other and smiled. I walked into the toilet which also served as a bathroom. Meska joined me. I was going to tell him, no, but the will to reject him was not enough. I knew what he wanted and I wanted to try it out, too. I winked at him.

The water was running. The bathroom was dark, so we let the door open. The light from the rechargeable lamp in my room flickered lightly into the bathroom. Meska turned me around admiringly. He was very complaisant with all his clothes off. I moved readily to his touch. He smiled. I felt his beards. A bit of dark hair on his chest too. He crossed his hand and grabbed my slippery ass. The shower was dripping in our bodies. He soon began to soap my boobs which glistened like seals beneath the water. He scrubbed my back.

“What did you tell your mother?” I whispered into his left ear but it seemed he didn’t hear that. I didn’t ask further. Meska was grunting and satisfying. I wrapped my arms around his warm hairy body. It was a night I will never forget.
When we eventually had our baths, he wrapped me with my white towel, soft as a robe. He carried me to the bed. We laid across it diagonally and he quickly began to draw the towel apart with care—to remove it as if it was a bandage. He eventually did, revealing my flesh, still smelling a little of soap. His hands floated into me.

“I don’t want either of us to forget this night,” he said. I answered by plastering my mouth on his— and kissed him in a way he never thought was possible. I sucked his tongue and he copied me too. I brushed my boobs across his face. He wanted to take one of my boobs into his mouth. Meska was a boobs freak. He was frantic; my boobs were killing him. My watermelons, like he had described them and smiled sheepishly. He was gentle with the way he fumbled them. Knowing what he was doing, I felt my nipple rise and that send some sweet sensation into my nerves.

I slid further down, introducing myself to the rest of him. His neck, his nipples. His chocolate brown belly. I tasted him, salty in my mouth. He then sat up and drew me back to him. I felt his belly tighten under me, hard as a board. I felt my wetness slipping on his skin, he took my nipple in his mouth and cradled my other breast in his calloused palm.

When my guy finally reached the orgasm, he slump tiredly on the bed and slept off without a word.

TO Be Continued