Verses By Beordoon

Musings of a Maskuraid…

MADE IN HEAVEN

BLOODY ROSE

The dance floor is well within sight of where I’m seated, and I watch as bodies move in various styles and directions to the music the DJ is throwing down from his corner. Colorful strobe lights sporadically illuminate sweaty faces in random flashes, briefly giving them grotesque appearances, but I have seen enough over the course of the evening to be convinced it will be him.

The target, dressed in a red silk shirt with huge black buttons in the shape of hearts, black baggy jeans and black sneakers is cute. With a moderate sized head, neatly kept beards and broad shoulders, he stands well above six feet tall and ticks all the right boxes. That he dances very well too is a bonus. Of course he is alone, without a companion. That fact I have been careful to make sure of, as that is the only way my plan will move to completion flawlessly.

 

Occasionally sipping from my robust glass of chilled chapman, I watch him from beneath my lashes until the DJ changes tracks, bringing on a ‘blues’ song. Dancers with companions quickly ‘fuse’ together, as if recreating some earlier planned choreography. That serves as my cue to move.

 

In quick calculated steps, I leave my table and walk up to him as he debates whether to leave the floor and find a seat or try his luck with one of the few single ladies on the dance floor.

 

“Do you mind if I claim this dance?” I breathe in his ear from behind, loud enough to be heard above the gentle music.

 

He whirls around, his face showing a mixture of surprise at my boldness and pleasure that he didn’t have to leave the floor after all. I watch in silent amusement as he switches on his swag while drawing himself up to his full height. Men and their overly bloated egos, he probably thinks I’ve been mesmerized by his irresistible perfection.

 

“Please, my pleasure…”

And he bows from the waist.

I just smile.

 

At first he is hesitant, unsure of how best to handle me. By the middle of the second slow jam however I’m all over him, letting him feel my alluring softness move fluidly all over and around his manly body. He gains confidence and grows bolder in his demeanor, just as I had anticipated.

 

“What’s your name?” he murmurs as I bring both of my arms up to encircle his neck. I perceive a faint whiff of alcohol on his breath, another boon for my cause.

“Joanna” I reply throatily.

“Nice name” he says.

“Thank you. Tempting body; and you smell like new money. Nothing smells better and lifts a woman’s mood higher like new money.”

He pauses and draws back a bit to look into my eyes, trying to see if I’m being sarcastic. I just continue smiling innocently. Then I wink, and he laughs.

“I like you Joanna.”

“I like you too, although you didn’t tell me your name.”

“Sorry hon, I’m Edafe. Ofeimu Edafe.”

“I’m pleased to make your acquaintance Edafe. Let me tell you a secret, I usually don’t do this, but ‘tis valentine so….”

I shrug and draw him down and closer, my full boobs pressing tight against his chest and playfully nibble on his lips for a few seconds. Something hard rears inside his jeans and poke me as he drags my waist to him and squeezes my bum in retaliation. I let him, swaying gently to the rhythm of the music as his palms wander all over the smoothness of my considerable derriere.

 

“Another secret I should let you in on, I’m not wearing panties.”

 

He freezes.

This time I laugh.

 

“Don’t be scared, I don’t bite. You’ve never had a girl tell you that before?”

He starts moving again, laughing a little louder than before but his hands stay in place, owning my pliant posterior moons.

“Why would I be scared? Of course I’ve heard that before, too many times to count.”

“That’s good then; it means you know what time it is. Maybe we should step outside for some air, I feel a little clammy down ‘there’.”

 

This time there is no hesitation. I can almost hear the shout of triumph bursting in his brain as he leads his conquest out of the hall and into the night, towards a secluded part of the garden on the other side of the compound. The anticipation of things to come quickens his steps, and we walk until we find space big enough for two behind some giant potted palms strategically positioned to keep out prying eyes.

 

“Close your eyes Edafe, I have a surprise for you.”

So powerful is his thirst that he obeys without question, even placing his palms over his eyes to convince me that they’re well shuttered and he can’t see a thing.

 

The plastic syringe flies from its secure ankle holster to his neck in a flash. Before he even has time to react to the prick of the hypodermic needle, 85 mg of Suxamethonium chloride is running riot in his system, delivering instant paralysis.

 

He goes down like a stone, his head bouncing off one of the concrete pots.

 

Quickly looking around once more to be sure nobody is observing, I bring out the stiletto strapped to my inner thigh and stab him straight and true right in the heart, forcefully pushing it in to the hilt. His grunt as the blade roars in could have been mistaken for sexual noise, had anybody been listening that closely.

 

Then I remove the white plastic rose petal from my hair and dip it briefly in the rapidly expanding pool of blood around his torso to stain it red, before dropping it on his chest as he lay there drawing his last breath.

 

“Another one for you my angel, have a very happy valentine.’’

 

Then I get out of the hotel in double quick time.

 

Much later as I lie in the tub, covered in suds and reveling in the fruity smell of exotic bath salts, I let the tears flow. Today makes it three years since my younger sister Angela died as a result of the horrific injuries she sustained during a brutal gang rape at a valentine night party in the University.

 

Nobody has ever being arrested for the crime, and although the police made a halfhearted attempt at investigating, the case has probably been filed away as one of those numerous unsolved mysteries.

 

I however refuse to let my darling go just like that, so every valentine night I find a party, identify a guy with all the qualities I feel Angela would have liked, and stab one male heart in her memory to ensure she never lacks excellent company in the great beyond.

 

Matchmaking is sometimes part of what a good big sister does …

 

 

 

 

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8 Comments

  1. Othuke

    I couldn’t stop reading once I started. But the end almost ruined the experience for me: it revealed everything too easily. Well done.

  2. Beordoon

    If e too easy, na set up…LOL. Thanks for reading.

  3. Here I was thinking, a conventional love/hook up story…
    Only for the morbid to appear.
    Well done, maestro.

  4. Amenze

    Hmmm. This is rather interesting. Another great piece from a pro.

  5. Beordoon

    Learning like LASTMA, thanks for reading bro.

  6. Beordoon

    Thank you Eky, for always.

  7. TopsyKen

    Boy! D twist na die. But killing innocent fine boys is also wrong of Joanne if that’s her name.

  8. Beordoon

    Lol. Two wrongs don’t make a right, but a heart that’s hurting really doesn’t care…

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