Storymoja

Celebrating East African Writing!

Quiet Storm

Written by Timothy Pany

Out of a script of a déjà vu, a replication of the unfolding events gave a theatrical act. The scene presented a mastery piece of typical emotive presence that though the charged atmosphere depicted a false relieve, reality underlined every aspect of the moment.

“Wow, you sure have lost weight.”

She had noted.

The magnitude of the sentiment though carried undue analysis as to why such a simply laid sentence had to ignite a thorough diagnosis. But whatever the mystery, it seemed like a deliberate attempt to flounder this unprecedented proceeding.

“I hope not,” echoed the response.

Clearly, morbid perceptions had long strayed from my mind that was riddled with morass happenings even though this wasn’t in anyway related to the task at hand, and subsequent determent of my rather high spirit. It just remained certain that she was more gorgeous than my rejuvenated mind could configure, that is in the recent past.

Her ridiculous ploy to lick the glossed lip dispensed a seductive effect further constricting my almost clear throat, as she sat herself at the opposite end of the table. Though not inclined whatsoever to linger into such traverse thoughts, the concept of the latter couldn’t steer clear of my suppressed allegiance forcing me down the dreaded course nonetheless.

The plumpness of her cheek still angled to be touched against the effect of being sure if this could trigger a calamity for the onslaught. I could almost touch it, but the nerve to do so had eluded me and indeed in my own capacity, this necessity couldn’t be substantiated anytime soon.

Pretty weird as it seemed, seven months incommunicado and still a spark of emotion was rekindled, it had to be definitely absurd.

Thinking, maybe I was the one at fault, or she, or certainly both of us.

“Tom, this is me eight months due,” she said.

She deliberated as she reached out for her purse to unearth a picture of herself a month or so earlier. It was a rounder, more bulky version of her and clearly had a bulging belly to that effect.

In a concealed way I blatantly gazed back and forth at the picture and her, as if to give a verdict to the cause. Not a word was uttered for long moments as I continued to fidget with the picture between my palms.

“But I lost her Tom, I sure did lose her.”

“Always thought that she would be a baby girl….and which…she was… but never to be.”

She lightly sobbed but in a cautious way as not to rouse the prying eyes of the other tenants at the establishment. It was even weirder trying to conceal the sentimental actions that were trying to ensue before me. I just couldn’t blub to her that hey girl, am severely touched by your plight that tears is starting to stream down my eyes.  It was man pride, and in such situations according to my crazy mind, maintaining cool no matter to what extent the emotional implications are tagged is the best option.

Jenny was just ten years older than my twenty one years of existence, but I had to hand it to her that she had an agility of a teenager. She still wore a pony tail, graced our college “pa-a-teys” and was even bold enough to speak her mind that is, when not firmly tutoring us.

But her face seemed to have aged just a tiny little bit, judging by the skin creased at the back of her ear. I could eloquently notice this taken from the fact one too many times we had played mock nibble of the ears.

“Anyway, how have you been honey pie?”

She asked but I believe in an attempt to hoodwink me into believing that she was alright under the current circumstances.

“I have missed you, a lot Tommie….but I guess you are riding someone else in the sack now you rascal, and that makes me jealous.”

She still got it. She still got that flirt that was direct and straight to the point. But the way she has said Tommie sounded more of a pet name to me than a pep name.

And under the prior circumstances, wasn’t this that got us into trouble in the first place?

The memory had since remained vivid; I mean how does one forget such an affair?

“And who do you think you are?” Jenny blurted as the rest of the cavalry and I filed up at her office door.

It is seemed redundant in an annoying kind of way as to why college tutors acted cavalierly towards students.

“Students actually, and looking for counsel about the course.” I responded being the one bold enough among the countable mass waiting on her. She seemed overtly offended but her effort to hide played along.

“Then I guess I will only see your leader over here, who in turn will brief you if he chooses to.” Well, for the genesis, the office was a précis girlish; neat piles of books expertly stacked, a small audio receiver and a computer monitor angled elegantly to suit her prescribed dispensation on lie at the oak desk. Further away on the wall to the right was a portrait of her, which as I was to later find out hid a mirror behind it. That is where she spruced up after her escapades.

She was calmer now, a whole lot jovial and outgoing, contrary to what we or I were accustomed to. Her face had this whack aura of superiority though that seemed to want to not defiantly be contained, but still she managed to suppress it.

“You can take a seat mister……”

“Tim will be accurate.”

“Oh, and he has a sense of humour too, intriguing.”

To me she had that girly look that was somewhat suggesting well, you know. According to an anonymous tip, and from what I could read from her personality, she was either undersexed or a nymphomaniac. And there is this crazy statistics that a man thinks about sex or sex related issues every eight minutes. Maybe this was my eighth minute and I was just being what I was supposed to be, a man.

That is when the shocker came.

“Can we discuss this over drinks; I mean you are over eighteen right?”

“You guessed it right and you are not even psychic.”

I reiterated her request. It wasn’t even day that you got to have drinks with your tutor, especially an attractive one as she was. Also, she had a great sense of homour and I felt uncharacteristically comfortable around her, typical of my timid self. And a college student given an offer for drinks on a Friday that he is not paying for, that needed not a second request.

All I remember is that a couple of drinks later, she was blubbing something about me being attractive, and then we were back to basics. Boy meets with girl, boy likes girl, girl likes boy back, and the missing piece of the equation equals sexual interact. So I wound up tapping the booty, her booty, Jenny my tutor’s booty.

We were all over the place, her office, at her house, during the trip to the coast and even once during a tutorial, in the washrooms. I must admit it was exhilarating amazing.

“Tom.”

“Yeah.”

“Can I be your girlfriend?”

She wasn’t even afraid to ask. Honestly, I wasn’t only flattered, but I sure felt we had this bond between us. And landmarked, it wasn’t everyday that a girl asked you to be his boyfriend, especially one ten years your senior and I was honoured. I looked on hesitantly then grabbed her face in a handful.

“Yes Jenny, you can be my girlfriend if you let me be your boyfriend.”

I responded then we had made love at the backseat of her car.  And she became my girl that is until she started to grow something inside of her, and then she was summoned for contravening work ethics. So here we were ten months later after she had been suspended and two after her miscarriage.

I stole another glance at her. Damn, how dumb was she to suggest such a thing. Maybe she knew me all too well, for sooner or later as long as she was around, I was bound to find my way into her pants, her flower pot and I didn’t even need to struggle.

“And you know what the best part is Tim, you don’t even have to worry about me being your tutor anymore, see I have been transferred.”

I only smiled but deep inside I had to be excitedly gape as I drowned the last volume of the drink I had long forgotten about.

©Timothy Pany 2011

If you would like this piece to be the Story of the Week, please vote below on a scale of 1 to 10, with 1 being weak, and 10 being excellent. The numbers will be tallied on Sunday and the story with the highest figure shall be Crowned Story of the Week on the next Monday. Be sure to fill in your name and verifiable email. You can include your critique/comment after the vote.

11 comments on “Quiet Storm

  1. Tim Pany
    January 17, 2011

    hey guys. i am the author of quiet storm. ad really appreciate it big if you post your comments since this is the only way i can better my writing.ave also noticed disparities in the story which is vested on your discretion to highlight. otherwise vote for me for story of the week.

  2. ALLAN
    January 17, 2011

    i give you a ten. you’ve got the words to captivate nice language and creativity too

  3. Paul
    January 17, 2011

    Such talent I definitely can’t fathom, this is a ten!! A revolution has began to change the way we relate to vocabularies and the flow couldn’t get any better. Are you a poet? Check on the small grammatical errors.

  4. wynn
    January 17, 2011

    i give you a ten, a great intriguing story

  5. wynn
    January 17, 2011

    i give you a ten, what an intriguing story especially how you use your vocabulary.

  6. Tim Pany
    January 18, 2011

    yes Paul, i am a poet, a comic book writer, an aspiring newspaper or magazine columnist, script writer and studying film and television. so i cant be blamed for trying to be artistic, because i believe i have a way with words and more so ideas…..really crazy ideas

  7. Roger
    January 18, 2011

    2/10. All the author is doing is sticking flashy words/well worn phrases/clauses here and there thinking he is creating a great effect. Where’s the story here? The piece is saturated with cliche. Nothing impressive.

  8. nelly
    January 18, 2011

    i give u a 9/10. a short span of time echoed through a year.interesting piece

  9. Tina
    January 19, 2011

    1/10 the language is over the top and the over use of descriptive words is almost comic. I only read four paragraphs before giving up.

  10. angie
    January 19, 2011

    1/10.. had skip all the flashy words to get to the meet of the story.. the characters were too flat

  11. Eve
    January 28, 2011

    I love your piece very much….got such rare talent!

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