In the absent books of writhe

The un-chronicling of naughty

“You’re a naughty boy”, that’s something I had heard many times from when I was a boy and even so now that I am someone’s lover boy. With that comes the threat of something one might or might not enjoy, but that is left to be seen and felt.

Apparently, there is a journal, a mythical black book with fictional ideas of what a naughty boy has done, written in invisible ink, one would suppose because evidence of all that is as scant as watching the divinations of a shaman, for only they can see whatever they see and interpret what is not within the purview of the supplicant.

It could be put down to the usual banter the jousting between a black book with blank pages, then again; if the pages were black, what is written therein might not be seen but for the sake of highly fluorescent ink against the fact that the evident notepad with a pen always within reach and the propensity to tap away at a keyboard to produce a blog.

Maybe it is not a contest, just a whimsical notion of readiness and lethargy, no winners to celebrate, just that naughty is all part of a spectacle, present with many and left to fester by some. Then, rather than call someone else a naughty boy, history came crashing in with an excellently deployed putdown, along the lines of before your cheeky face appeared. That should leave some chuckling with a naughty giggle.

Bashful Reticent Introverted Amusing Naughty - III

Patient in impatience

The morning could not come soon enough, I must have dreamt some of the most beautiful dreams in a long time. What I could not forget was the embrace we had, it was like my body was more prescient than my head. The feeling was calming like my blood pressure had come down a good few points. Not something I could remember I felt but from 15 years before.

I was eager for the day to get on, yet I had to curb my enthusiasm. Mid-morning was the limit of my restraint when I sent a message inquiring if he slept well and was up for the lunch date. When he responded in the affirmative, I sent a cab for him as I prepared for our meeting. I had a good mind of where we should go.

Soul with a soulmate

At the hotel, we made for Melrose Arch and found a restaurant for a healthy lunch. I probably spent more of the time talking. He was reserved, he later said he was nervous all through. I was too mesmerised to notice. After lunch, we called a cab for Sandton City during which I discovered his quick wit and nothing could conceal his smile that took over his whole face.

After ice-cream at Häagen-Dazs, we returned to my hotel to relax, taking pictures before he left for his friend’s place and then for Bulawayo. I think by then, I had decided there was going to be more to our encounter, I was already planning my return to South Africa. His overnight bus trip back to Zimbabwe might have been totally inconvenienced by my messages. I think I have found a soulmate.