Memoirs of a Loverman, Series

Memoirs of a Loverman: Entry 1

By Fungai Chigumbura, Zimbabwe:

I remember my first time. No one forgets their first time. It's as vivid to me as any memory can ever be and I'd like to think that it has remained untainted by the rusting wear of time. I remember every little detail; what she smelled like, the lighting in the room, the rush that came over me when I was done and had finally gotten that monkey off my back. It was thrilling, it was exhilarating, it was unmatched by any feeling before or after. Often times, I have tried to recreate the exact feeling of that first time. I've searched for similar looking girls, in similar environments; I've arranged and re-arranged rooms to look just like that small dingy room where I had my first experience of the true pleasures that life has to offer. I have tried, and I have failed and still I try.

Tonight, I'm sitting in a corner in the bar, waiting for that special kind of girl that captures my imagination. My tastes are simple: I like my women not older than 25, small breasts, tiny waist, and ample bottom. I am not picky with these physical features, but where I absolutely refuse to compromise is the eyes. They have to be big and round and bright. I want to always look into her eyes through the act, whatever dimensions it might take. And yes, even though they are prostitutes and some might even say my victims, I like to think that some of them enjoy it. But that's neither here nor there. I will not lie and say that when I am with the whore, indulging my needs, that her pleasure is the first thing on my mind because it really isn't.

I've been sitting at the bar for almost an hour. The perfect girl walks in. She's as slender as they come, light-skinned, with legs long enough to share with the world. But more importantly, her eyes have that undeniable spark that I like. She glances around the bar and I make a deliberate effort to catch her eye in that subtle manner that lets her know immediately that I am familiar with this whole game.

She sits down next to me and I pretend not to notice her presence for about a minute before I turn to her and smile genially and ask her what she's drinking. She smiles coyly and her eyes fill with the light of the entire room. I feel a stirring within my being; I know there and then that I am going to enjoy this one. She orders a beer and we talk about nothing and everything for about ten minutes. Duly, I inform her that I would like her company for longer than ten minutes and in a more intimate setting than a bar. She tells me that she has a room close by, but I tell her that I have a room at a nearby lodge and would much prefer that. She obliges, with the caveat that that particular location will cost me more.

We leave the bar and walk down the dark, deserted streets in the cool night air characteristic of summer nights in this part of the country. She is silent; this allows my mind to return to memories of my first time as I do every time I'm with a hooker. It was a night much like this one; dark, cool, with me slightly inebriated. I needed to be slightly drunk; there was no way I was going to do it in a sober frame of mind. I was much too scared for that. My first girl had been similar to this one, although not quite as tall or light as my current escort. She had also been quite talkative, which had made me apprehensive of the possibility of her screaming and alerting everyone to what I was doing. I was still a teenager living with my parents at home and my hometown was so small that word would spread and I would become a social outcast for my…indulgences. I certainly did not want that.

We arrive at the lodge. It's a small establishment on the darkest corner of the street with barely any lighting. My room is in the back. We enter and I tell her to make herself comfortable. She sits on the bed, legs slightly parted, with a look of pure invitation on her face. Her eyes have taken on a mischievously dark tone. She beckons me and I move closer. She starts undoing my belt buckle. I close my eyes and think back to my first girl. She was even more forward with her advances and I had allowed her. It was my first time and I really wasn't too sure what I wanted. I had taken control eventually, but not before she had wasted a good deal of my time with what I guessed was supposed to be foreplay. This girl is almost done with my belt, but I push her back on the bed before she finishes. She giggles and slides up the bed closer to the head board. I get on the bed, with my knees on either side of her.

The lighting in the room is dim, but I can still see her bright eyes. I tie both her wrists to the bed posts with my tie and make sure the knot is tight. She grimaces a little and I know that it's just tight enough. I stare at her in that position for a while and close my eyes and think about how it went that first time. Back then, I fumbled around quite a bit because of my inexperience, but I've gotten better each of the twenty-two times I've done this since. I reach into my back pocket and pull out the necessary.

I unfold it carefully, looking into her eyes. It takes a few seconds for her to register just what I'm holding, but when the blade catches the shallow lighting and glints, her eyes widen in horror. She tries to let out a scream, but in the moment it takes her voice to escape those perfect lips, I plunge my knife deep into her throat and the scream whimpers to a muffle. Her eyes well with tears and they flow down the side of her face, leaving streaks in her not-so perfect makeup. I reach back for my other knife and plunge it deep into her gut. My stabs are sublime and only faint trickles of blood escape. I grab a pillow and place it over her face. She squirms and tries to fight me off, but the two injuries I've already inflicted have taken away most of the fight in her. I hold the pillow over her face for another minute after she stops fighting before I lift it and look down into her dead eyes. The pain is written on her face, but all I see are those tear-filled eyes and the magical mix of fear and confusion present within them. I get up and straighten myself out. I remove all evidence of my presence and walk out and lock the door. The night is colder now, and there's a strong breeze blowing. It unsettles the leaves, but inside me there is a calmness that I only ever find after the act. I am serene and satiated, just like the first time. Well, almost just like it.

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