THE GIRL NEXT DOOR
The first time I met her, I knew she was supposed to be much more than a next door neighbor. There was something about the way she spoke about her life that gave the vibe that she just might be in need of a self-affirmation.
She makes the meanest pancakes and runs her syrup down her plate making it look so heavenly every three mornings. She makes the most jokes about how her culinary skills don’t matter because she doesn’t care much about food but who am I to argue. Even her cup of tea is always in the most proportionate manner.
Her sonorous voice in the morning would make you think an angel decided to join the earthly bodies. She hits the highest notes while going about her daily activities, no negativity in sight. She speaks baby language and five others, you’d think she’s a secret agent. She does martial arts too, I wonder what her childhood must have been like. She never gets visits from family or friends, it’s always herself and her shenanigans.
Friday nights are her favorite time of the week.
Blasting Chun Li by Nicki Minaj, she screams along, leaving me bewilderedly wondering if she’s the same woman that sings her heart out during laundry days. It’s always like her doppelganger takes over on this day.
In those diehard high boots, panty hose paired with the sexiest leather skirt I’ve ever seen and a bodycon blouse, she strides off into the night, already half-drunk but still able to make sense of her activities. Her perfumes pierce my nose with such aggression, you’d think it knew I was observing her.
The limousine arrives at exactly 10:00pm, never a minute late while the driver, a clumsy big man stumbles out to open the door and at the same time guide her so she can successfully enter the ride without bumping her head. He fails every time, I wonder why he bothers trying again every week. He must be paid so heavily. She either bumps her head or his head, I would never understand which one is unstable.
They zoom off always in a hurry, covering the night sky with thick, grey dust. This makes me wonder what exactly causes the grey dust. Could it be the cement factory down the street or the supply of yam flour in the compound next door every new week?.
Should I just ask to find out. Hold up, why would I want to ask!. My deep set curiosity just might be the end of me one of these days.
Back to my alluring neighbor…
She always arrives at dawn with a new man on her arms, black sunshades and the smell of desire in the air. Kissing and charging at each other like starved animals, they devour one another piece by piece.
Her high pitched moans fill her apartment with so much hunger and her companion’s soft grunts literally making you wet yourself. She sure knows how to pick her men. They always grunt so softly, thrust so roughly yet enviable and the unmistakable sexiness about them, pheew.
Her happy screams every time he does the right thing would leave the neighbors wide awake and wishing they were in her shoes. She doesn’t joke with satisfying her endless hunger. When she’s close, her voice kicks up a nudge, leaving you to imagine her nails digging deep into his back, his back perfectly arched to bring her home and her eyes rolled to the back of their sockets. When she gets there, you hear her laugh and say, “you’re amazing, I should keep you”.
If only someone could inform the hardworking mister that every Friday fellow hears that line.
Not minding that they just might need to rest after such successful missions, she instantly kicks them out into the cold, bolting her door behind to get off on her own. She is either never satisfied or she finds more pleasure helping herself. Her irresponsibility leave me enticed, I think I just might be living through her.
In the morning, she looks refreshed once more. What could be her secret?. No way will I have a night that wild and still have the energy to stand.
She’s up to something. She must be. How else to explain the sudden switch in personality and the bits of my observation that makes no sense.
Always making sure she catches me unaware, she comes to the window that faces my bedroom, almost like she knew I’d been watching. She watches me so intently, with no facial expression but making sure I see her watch me. She starts by pulling her night gown over her head, proceeds to remove her lace underclothing and then sits on her window sill to pleasure herself in my presence. She keeps those eyes locked and goes on and on in the most repulsive way. I find myself agitated but aroused. It’s like she knows just what to do to set my loins on fire. When she’s done, she slowly moves with a mischievous grin, never saying a word, never inviting me over.
I cannot take it anymore. I need to speak to her. Her silence is driving me nuts. I need to understand who she really is.
After a restless day, there she was. As I dragged my unwilling feet, I struggled between desiring her and wanting to pull her hair for stressing my simple life. I said hi, she returned and stared on, waiting for me to spit out my reason for disturbing her day. She looked like she was seeing me for the first time. I still don’t know if I was shocked or too relieved that I don’t have to bring up that conversation. I just stood there, swallowing my words. She finally asked if I stay in the neighborhood and then it dawned on me….
The girl next door is not the girl next door.
