WHAT MANNER OF MANHOOD

I tried not to look but I couldn’t shut my eyes nor remove my face. My eyelids and neck wouldn’t obey my half-hearted will to unlook. It was an arresting sight. She was wearing a sleeveless vest which, as she bent dishing out the food, revealed a large chunk of her young full breasts. They were just an arm’s length away, and clenching my fists together on the table was the only way I could prevent my hand from reaching out to grab and squeeze. She wore a silver coloured necklace whose amber pendant dangled at the bank of her cleavage. As she worked the two ripe black pears did tiny dances that sent watts of electricity down my spine.

“Is it enough?” Her voice jolted me. The dished rice, I saw with the tail of my eye, was twice what could satisfy me. I nodded, not trusting my voice. My eyes, savouring, unblinking. She reached for the flash of stew. Her breasts heaved and a tiny sigh escaped my being. My manhood was now its seven inch force, stretching my boxer to its elastic limit. Gratefully, the table covered this region/incidence.

After covering my rice with chicken and dark red stew she stretched to her full height. Any other thing, her pretty red lips inquired. I swallowed hard unable to completely tear my eyes from her chest, which held me in a tight lecherous grip, which now clearly revealed the dent her braless nipples made on her vest.

“Any other thing?” she spoke out.

I shook my head slowly.

“I am in my room in case….” She turned and began to walk away, calmly. I watched her round firm bottom sway this way and that with sensuous laziness. Her miniskirt exposed freshy portion of her laps which added fuel to the furnace of my urge. My groin hurt with frustrated desire and my body shook with suppressed craving.

She was gone but I still saw her. I saw her lying on my bed, naked, her bare boobs slightly sagged, smiling at me, daring me. I was sitting on her crotch lost on how to begin. To explore or not to explore, with my palms or tongue?… I just fell upon her body my lips taking in hers, my chest sizzling with passion at the warm joy of the contact.

I shook this thought vigorously from my head. I shouldn’t be lusting after her, she being just a child, seventeen. I picked out a spoon with shaky hand and drew the plate of rice closer. Eat and forget her; but even with a spoonful in my mouth, I didn’t forget her. I saw her, again, still naked, lying down, her middle finger inside her, exploring. She could do that, she was no saint, nay, no virgin.

I dropped the spoon and sat back to analyse this point. Who had disvirgined her? When? Where? Had she ever brought a boy home and had him under this roof? How often did she have sex? What was her favourite position? Phew, I would never find out. But one thing was certain, some rams was tupping at this beautiful ewe. I sighed, picked the spoon from the plate and tightened my lips with renewed determination to banish the evil thought forever.

Then I wondered, what manner of man am I, a man who lusts after his own daughter?