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You match with a sweetwun on Tinder and after two days of chatting, you decide she's neither a thief nor a catfish so you invite her over to your place; blind optimism fueled by unbridled horniness.
It's not really your place though, you're-
It's not really your place though, you're-
just a tenant in your landlord's boysquarters but she doesn't need to know all that, does she? She comes wearing a maxi dress, holding on to an 'away night' bag; but all you're reminded of is Maggi Chicken Mix because what a spice this woman is.
You're happy the scented candles you lit won't burn to waste because you strongly believe a romantic evening starts with aromatherapy; also something about how they both have the same beginning letters. You're a sucker for coincidences and seeing between thin lines.
19 minutes into Netflix & chill, she says "let's cuddle". You immediately bounce into position, amusing her with your excitement. She leans into you as you caress her and your hand stops short when it feels something unusual.
"What are you wearing beneath the dress, sweedarte?"
"What are you wearing beneath the dress, sweedarte?"
She lifts her dress to show you a leather gothic corset and all you can mutter is a questioning "oh". It finally dawns on you that when she asked earlier if you were sub and you replied "yes! im a super sub", she wasn't referring to the team you played football with on weekends.
She misinterprets the confusion in your eyes for awe and what you thought was a change of clothes in her bag, turns out to be an assortment of pleasure toys and cuffs; an exchange of misinterpretations.
She whippingly whips out a whip whipfully and a forgotten memory comes to you in a rush as you’re suddenly reminded of your primary school days when you couldn’t conjugate “Aller” in Monsieur Apaloo’s French class.
But one fierce kiss from her allay your concern, probably because of how French it was and you’re amused that the effect on you was a word sounding similar to the ‘aller’ you couldn’t figure out in class 5. See? You’re doing the reading between lines and parallels thing again.
You psyche yourself to become a better sub than even Daniel Sturridge - a super sub, the very best Obodjo District is about witness.
You start thinking with your other head because she asks if you have rope and all you say is "Just a moment" before stepping out. So here you are, standing in your landlord's backyard at 08:24pm wearing boxers with a kitchen knife in hand; about to cross a line. A dryline.
