Cockpit

There were times that I used to love. I still love though not in the ways of the past. Not in the childish ways of kuja tufanye tabia mbaya behind the dark corridors of Manyatta, neither in the boyish ways of I would climb the tallest building to scream your name and tell you how much I love you. I am sorry, the only time I would scream your name is the only time I would be crushing on your cherries. If you are lucky sort of.

There were times that I used to love. I still love though not in the ways of the past. Not in the promising ways of the present, when we were eager to plan the future. I remember the kids we were supposed to have and the house we ought to have. I remember our wedding like it unfolded in our fantasies. We made an oath and swore, that we were soulmates.  We were the duo who believed in destiny and despised fate. We were the duo who believed that age was just but a number. We were the duo who grew up together and saw each other’s worst mistakes. You were there when my mother ruffled me with bamboo sticks. You always waited on the outside while licking fresh mucus rolling off your nose.

We were playmates, we played with each other’s toys. We were playmates, we grew up and begun playing with our toys. And like boys, we begun measuring the size of our cocks, and the length of our pee. Pride begun to set in. People talked, Girls mature faster than boys. You became a woman when I was an adolescent. We talked about it, but you couldn’t see. We were blind to reason and hoped that just this once love could prevail. Your hips begun to sway, and men wanted to have a taste. You grew taller than I, till men begun referring to you as my aunty. Men dreamt of having you in their weak timber beds, and sometimes they gave me letters to deliver.

You used to sit me down in assurance to tell me that you had no business starting something new with a stranger, leave alone someone old enough to be your big brother. I saw you for who you was and couldn’t keep up with who you were becoming, a woman. I understood what you needed, but hated what you wanted, strong manly arms to love you with experience. What did I know about love at that time? What did we know about anything except removing clothes and trying to fit something in a hole that wasn’t meant to be drilled? Soon, it would be your time to perch. You wanted space, so I gave you a break. Even though these are mere reminisces, I wis with no regrets nor with saddened grief. I wasn’t your first.

There were times that I used to love. Those times you would be the object of my affection and that thing between your legs was something I never paid attention to. We said, we could always be in love even when sex wasn’t in the equation. For us, love and sex were a schism, they were like blood and oil. Mounting you was like molestation, and I loved you too much to break your innocence. It was my own way of respecting you. Little did I know that this is what you wanted – someone manly enough to break you. You wanted someone to taste you, lick you and do all those nonsense you craved for in your devilish thoughts. You needed someone to hurt you and I couldn’t do it. I became your brother. I was always your brother.  

Written by Phill Ibsen, Master of Descriptions.