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As-Time-Goes-By-Ekua-Holmes

Nobody tells you this: that you would feel the opposite of euphoria after ejaculation.

Nobody tells you that the mad rush of desire that spurred you to hold unto her waist like your life depended on it would diminish into oblivion the second your back is arched instinctively from the pleasure of release and your legs shake like a miniature volcano.

You come down from on top her body and lie on your back to catch your breath, beads of sweat darting all about your face. You keep staring at the white asbestos ceiling high above you, breathing heavily…deliberately…because you do not know exactly what to say.

You don’t feel like holding her anymore, or calling her ‘baby.’

Perhaps, you would have been more prepared for this feeling if someone—your brother or one of your friends—had told you to expect it. They knew you were going to have sex for the first time. It was their duty to give you a heads-up. You are inexperienced after all.

You continue breathing heavily and looking up at the ceiling as Amaka wears her clothes and rearranges her hair.

When you finally look at her and realize that she is fiddling with her mobile phone, you say “Amaka, are you okay?”

She looks at you for half a second, turns back to her phone and nods, implying the affirmative. You can swear that in that half-a-second glance you saw disappointment in her eyes.

“I want to go,” she says when the silence has stretched on for over three minutes.

“Let me walk you,” you reply, standing up from the bed.

She does not answer.

You shuffle with your boxers and then your jeans. You walk with her to the gate with no shirt on and no words in your mouth.

Why the hell do you feel this repulsion? Why do you feel this unfathomable guilt?

At the gate she tells you “I can walk to the junction alone, don’t worry.”

On prior visits when she had said things like this, you had insisted otherwise. You had walked her down to the junction, her appeals regardless.

Today, however, you do not argue. You simply say; “Okay, take care.” Although you do not intend to, you do not add the affectionate titles ‘dear’ or ‘baby’.

The guilt and repulsion continues in your chest for two days, and when on the third day you summon up enough courage to finally call her, she picks up the phone and says, in reply to your “Hello, Amaka,”“Tony, shey you have gotten what you wanted?”

 

****************

Post Image: As Time Goes By, by Ekua Holmes via Manufactoriel

 

About the Author:

AnyaduNnamdi Anyadu studies at the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. He is currently working on a collection of short stories for children. Follow him on twitter: @The_Africanist 

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I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

25 Responses to “After Sex | By Nnamdi Anyadu | Flash Fiction” Subscribe

  1. deebayuu 2014/08/06 at 09:31 #

    very nice story realistic without unnecessary embelishment.

  2. INJ 2014/08/06 at 12:34 #

    The ceiling I’m staring at may be POP or PVC strips ceiling though, not necessarily asbestos, lol. Nice piece.

  3. Beni 2014/08/06 at 13:33 #

    Valid!! Good Read

  4. Francess 2014/08/06 at 14:24 #

    Wow nice beginning and ending. I wasnt sure wat to expect but you just put an excelkent touch to it.

  5. Chuklegend 2014/08/06 at 15:02 #

    Thats some serious shit… then u try to prove to her that u dont just wnt the sex then u do anoda one and anoda and anoda till u finally tell her… “I dont really think we are meant for each other”

  6. Judesky 2014/08/06 at 15:14 #

    Lolzz…Experience alone could av inspired this. Thumbs up, supa proud of u.

  7. peace jasmine 2014/08/06 at 16:07 #

    Very nice one bro…now you are my competition 🙂

  8. peace jasmine 2014/08/06 at 16:09 #

    Very nice bro….now you are my competition

  9. Larry 2014/08/06 at 17:31 #

    typical Nigerian girl…..lol…..nice one bro

  10. Nas 2014/08/06 at 19:04 #

    Interesting piece…thumbs up.

  11. ehis 2014/08/07 at 06:08 #

    nice one

  12. Jennifer 2014/08/07 at 06:49 #

    So down to earth and unpretentious…me likey 🙂

  13. Kingsley Ohioma 2014/08/07 at 12:41 #

    A well wrought piece. You got me to read each line.

  14. MOGEE 2014/08/07 at 14:02 #

    LMAO!!!!!! TRUE STORY KEL! Tho I can’t quite shake d feeling that this was a personal experience

  15. Anuli Nzewi 2014/08/07 at 14:24 #

    Loooool!!!!! This story is amazing ooo. U should have like a blogspot!!!!
    Ur super talented brova!

  16. Chibuike 2014/08/07 at 14:30 #

    Realistically true…seems Tony did not do a good job. Poor Amaka. Nice write up Mr Anyadu. Continuation of this will douse the suspense. 🙂

  17. Marvels!!! 2014/08/07 at 16:16 #

    Dopest! True story…..Alobam ur gud

  18. Cecey 2014/08/07 at 21:52 #

    You sent the message regardless of the story length…more Greece to your elbow

  19. Gbolahan Badmus 2014/08/09 at 04:24 #

    Good one! Very realistic.

  20. Kelechi Anabaraonye 2014/08/10 at 17:01 #

    This is.. I don’t even know what to say. I don’t know what to call it. Its extraordinary. Such a wonderful piece.

  21. M.T. Adeleye 2014/08/14 at 10:13 #

    This is so good and so real, especially with the experiment on the second person narrative.

  22. ismail 2014/08/20 at 07:27 #

    quiet an experience i must admit i had some times back i stil lhavent got why i was mistreated. I was virgin what was i supposed to do

  23. Vundie, God of Olympus 2014/08/23 at 06:33 #

    Haha!

  24. Licia Gates 2014/09/27 at 18:04 #

    Really Nigerian nd most peeps can relate. Nyc job nd kip @it

  25. Mia DaBard 2014/11/02 at 13:01 #

    Very well written.

Leave a Reply

I hold a doctorate in English from Duke University and recently joined the Marquette University English faculty as an Assistant Professor. I love teaching African fiction and contemporary British novels. Brittle Paper is the virtual space/station where I play and experiment with ideas on how to reinvent African fiction and literary culture.

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