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Writer's pictureCAFTA Co. Writer

The First Supper

Written by: Freddy Nyezi

 

My skin is coarse. You trace your fingers over my fissures, glaze your hands over the dents and the bumps. You’re caressing my body but my shaven-and-growing-back hairs are pricking you. I am resisting your touch. I don’t know of what but I am afraid, but I know I want this.

I am unbuttoning my shirt, and you’re planting your lips on my arid neck. You trickle your tongue down my torso and the touch is tickling, I break out into a guffaw. I’m sorry but I’ve never done this before. I’m new to all of this. It’s strange to me, and maybe slightly hilarious that people can be this intimate with each other, see each other so naked and bare and find it normal. It’s unfamiliar to me and my laughter is the only way I can make sense of it all.


We resume.

You’re unbuttoning your shirt and my eager fingers jump to help you. I want to see me like the way you see me, like the way my sight hungers for you. I tear a little, it’s a tad bit much for me, this moment. It’s real. It’s happening. My eyes are drooling, they cannot wait for their appetite to be satiated.

We both get up and unbuckle our belts and awkwardly hop out of our jeans. You look like you can’t wait to feast on me. I see you in your wholeness, I don’t know how I’m going to stuff you in my mouth. This manna is in abundance. This body might just live off of flesh alone, enough words have been exchanged.


Your touch returns to me and I shrivel again. I’m a tiny wrinkled ball. You’re so very

sure of every move and I just don’t know where to step but you’re dancing with me and I’m catching the tune. I’m finding the rhythm. We are intertwined and entangled and woven into each other. We are beats drummed. We are hymns hummed. We are sores numbed and mouths dumbed. This is our rain dance.

My skin is silk now. I am no longer cracks, I am smooth. My hairs no longer prick you, they brush over your skin and cushion you. My deserted neck is now an oasis, the ground no longer dry but fertile for you, fertilised by you, flowers blooming because of you and you are reaping what you have sowed in me. We have absorbed ourselves in this harmattan whirlwind and everything is hazy.


I have come to you.

You have come to me.

We arrive to each other.

We succumb to ourselves.


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