Suicidal

He alighted from the  taxi at the bus stop, staggering all the way. The driver hurriedly jumped out of his car and went after him demanding for his fare calling out to the alighted passenger a number of times. It took a shove to get the attention of the well dressed but extremely distraught man’s attention who quickly offered his apologies in incoherent tones whilst bringing out a note he pressed into the outstretched palms of the driver.

The note was far more than the price for the taxi fare but he did not seem to mind for his change as he staggered on, drawing a few glances from those who had witnessed the little spectacle.

He trudged on oblivious of his surroundings. His mind was in turmoil, wandering in circles of despondency and penury not fixated on anything bright but dwelling on hopeless thoughts. He only had his current destination in mind, once he gets there he was sure he was going nowhere else.

It started drizzling, lights showers invisible from sight till felt on the skin, creating tiny speckles on clothes, from the look of the sky, the rain was going to fall in heavy torrents. People scampered, trying earnestly to get to their destinations faster. Females sought shade, their hair of utmost concern. Those with umbrellas utilized it for its purpose, different colors lighting up the sidewalk. The rain being true to the look in the sky got heavier. A few persons who bothered to notice was in awe of the grim-faced bearded gentleman dressed in a white shirt tucked haphazardly into a black trouser, black shoes, black belt and a crimson red tie hanging loosely from an unbuttoned collar, hands shoved deep into his trouser pockets. He walked with an indifferent swagger like it was a cool summer evening, one suitable for a leisure stroll. The rain pelted down on him making his shirt one with his body.

Few days ago he had the comfort of his office, a nice looking girlfriend, a condo on the good side of town overlooking the serene grey waters of the Atlantic. He was a diligent worker, an honest man with a good heart who always strove to be the best he could be.

One mistake had ended it all.

He still had himself to blame for succumbing to the desires of the flesh, he could not berate himself enough. From the rekindling of an old flame to circumstances hitherto leading to present predicament.

She had appeared on that fateful day as he turned the curve leading to his nice freshly rented condominium, a familiar face, one that had lit his adolescent years on fire, all those times he had spent in the bathroom or behind closed doors, lube in hand setting his soul on fire with mental images of what time with her would be like.

The more he had looked in the rear view mirror, the surer he got, he reversed and true to his suspicions she was the one in flesh, the years had done justice to her, her pretty face had not changed much just a bit more mature, the flesh of her mid twenties accentuating in the right places, full breasts and a nice butt protruding coyly from her tight denim jeans. She had seemed ecstatic to bump into him, the years had done him good too. The up to date Mercedes could attest to that.

Things moved on quickly, a couple dinner dates and some sight seeing. She was new in town and he was all glad to play tour guide. She took him back to the bathroom and the closed doors and whenever he made love to Margaret his girlfriend of four years it was with new zeal and ferociousness, Margaret’s face and body pixelating to form the object of his desire.

Room 267 at the Winston hotel proved to be the room of doom. It had to be a hotel, he had carefully orchestrated everything, Margaret had the spare keys to the condo so he was not taking the slightest chance of unleashing his desire under duress. She had come dressed to kill, tight leather skirt with a flimsy chiffon top that did the best work to her cleavage, her breast firm and peaky like two mountains on the Himalayas. He suspected a boob job but who cares about silicon.

Room service brought Guittard chocolates and a bottle of Chianti which they savored inches away from their body heat reliving memories of high school and how they had had the hots for each other, he confessed of his clandestine activities with thoughts of how. The wine sank. Expensive wine had an exhilarating way of loosening tongues and bubbling libidos. No sooner they were locked in a kiss, tongue probing the depths of yielding mouths, the bittersweet taste of the chocolate lingering, leaving the kisses with aftertastes. Necks were nuzzled, tits fondled, throes of passion at its peak. She disengaged and reached for her bag, something wrapped in an aluminum foil. Cocaine. He had not engaged since that fateful party during law school. The last of a few times. She owned up to not being a regular, once or twice in the past six months. She had gotten the current stash from a junky friend, really wanted to get kinky for the night so she had brought it along.

They snorted and snorted with crisp bills for a pipe at first in turns then at random washing it down with Chianti. From the drab classrooms to an expensive night in a four star hotel suite. Things got wild pretty quickly, he was soon snorting from her bikini line, inhaling the musky scent of her juices, sometimes proffering a wet tongue to tease her warm snatch which sent shudders and brought moans. She repaid with a long line of snorting all the way from his abs to his ramrod cock before gagging on it. She was skilled in deep throating. A really wild one.

They got down to the main course, starting with her on all fours. He rammed and she screamed. He was a man possessed, the narcotics taking over his body and mind. They switched positions at will. He had a fetish for throat grabbing and it dominated his actions. He basked in the euphoria of her screams, taking it as condiments of her wild pleasure, she was soon thrashing as he clinched tighter, lost in this thrusts. The more she thrashed, the more he clinched and rammed. It took a burst of his semen to realize she had stopped thrashing for a while. She had probably climaxed and was spent he thought to himself as he flopped on the bed beside her. Ten minutes later, not a sound nor movement.

He crossed the road, cars screeching, drivers cursing, horns blaring as he recalled the words from his lawyer.’Enter a plea bargain and you might get twenty five, it’s better than life.’ His face has ruled the front page for the past week, his firm would have none of him, his life up in flames. What use facing jail if you weren’t even sure to be out by sixty. The rigors and condemnation of prison life. He had posted bail because he had the money and a plan not because he felt he stood a chance. Not even a miracle could make a jury prove him innocent, was he even innocent? Only the drugs could send him away for years, not to talk of second degree murder.

He was now seconds away from the bridge, he had never learned to swim, always been afraid of the water. He was going to end it all with the grey waters.img_7418

 

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