Entangled

Laughing out loud at the irony of the whole situation, she moved closer to the mirror and started applying her makeup. The excitement was still there, how she loved living on the edge. Earlier today she brimmed with same excitement as she covered the last of the body parts with mud in the last of the holes she had woken up in the middle of the night to dig in the garden. Being too tired to finish her mission, she had stumbled to bed with mud all over her nightgown. She had planned to finish burying the body parts before her son woke up. And now she had better hurry…?
Mum what are you planting this early?”
Junior spoke just behind her; almost giving her a heart attack.
“Planting? Oh yeah, see these stems of ixora and Queen of the night? With little nubs growing on them? I’m planting them, Mrs. Bankole gave them to me”
Oh wow, that was the closest she ever got with being discovered. She had dutifully planted the flower stems on top of what remained of the beast as Junior looked on.

The irony of it all was her ultimate satisfaction, anyways she wasn’t really a sociopath; was she? She had emotions, she loved her son. Didn’t she?

As she was done with her makeup, she wore a long wig, hazel contact lens, heavy silicone buttocks and breasts. Even her makeup made her different, dramatic. She had to look different from her real self while hunting, no need turning up on the 8.pm news because some stupid CCTV captured her.

……………………………………………………………………….

Desire and confusion flashed in Muna’s eyes and I knew that he wasn’t intentionally taking advantage of me. He withdrew his hand reluctantly and apologized bashfully.
“Cassandra I’m really sorry for that.”
He didn’t seem so sorry because his eyes still lingered on my smooth thighs as my short skirt rode way up and clung to my hips. The look in his eyes was lustful, this caused my heart to start doing the salsa. what was wrong with me? Maybe it was because I had not had sex for so long but this sexy stranger looked ravishing. I crossed my legs and leaned back in the seat, silently exhaling through my mouth. His eyes followed my every move as he mercilessly heightened the sexual tension with his soulful eyes that shamelessly took off my skimpy skirt stitch by stitch. I swear I’m not the overtly sexed female, infact I haven’t had some for ages; not for lack of a partner.

I had been so engrossed in my quest of gathering information about my mother that every other thing simply took a back seat, I had been celibate for almost a year.
I moved uneasily on the seat trying to stop the twitching I felt deep in my belly. His husky voice was subdued as he said.
“We had better start going, it’s almost 8.pm”
I nodded, not trusting myself to say a word. How could this guy affect me this way? He had an animal magnetism I haven’t felt before.

What my friend Haley told me back in Washington when I had just started working came to my mind.

“Cassie, be careful. These Naija guys are so smooth, suave and sharp, else in no time they will have you eating outta their palms. Many of them will even marry you just to get US citizenship.”
Now I could feel the smoothness from him first hand. I shook my head lightly to clear my mind, dude oozed sensuality.

He drove in silence, nodding to some Naija banging new song on Sound City FM, drifting through the speakers. I broke the tensed silence between us in the car.
“So Muna tell me about yourself?”
He flashed his Morris Chestnut smile and said
“I’m typically from the street, what I do? I’m a cinematographer. I shoot music videos and advertisement for companies.”
I liked him already so I prodded for more.
“So you are this influential music cum movie maker in the city?”
He laughed. Okay by now I had come to realize that he wasn’t intentionally being seductive, his voice was just sexy. He said.
“I don’t know if I can be called influential, I’m what you will call a hustler. I do have my circle of influence though; it’s not beneath me to cover certain weddings or corporate events with politicians and money bags. Whatever gives me cheese.”
I was impressed.
“But you know back in the US, if you say you are a hustler? You probably sell meth or crack around street corners.”
“I know, but down here in Naija hustling means surviving. You see, I left home after my secondary school, so you can call me a self made man.”
I lowered the volume of the car stereo, our gist was getting really interesting.
“Self made man? I like that.”

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