“Aff you aff an idea ayam like you?”
Her cheekbones lifted the fleshy puff-puff encasing them, sent them to greet her eyes. Her lashes lowered, sent her gaze to the tarred road. Her fingers twiddled nervously, caressing themselves awkwardly. Her teeth appeared then, bit her lower lips softly, suggested a deliciousness in their luscious pinkness.
His lower jaw fell open just as his right hand rose to his head. His nails scratched his hair, he shook his head, then spread his left leg wider. A stance to communicate the confidence he hoped for?
“Ayam liking you too, but you Oga”
A sound rose from him. Nervous. Like the first cackle of fighting chickens. Then the night wind blew, the cotton shirt hugged his body, tickled the curled hairs on his chest. They had not been there when I was a boy, he must have remembered. The cackle deepened as his fears dissolved, became a rich dark rumble of stomach-deep pleasure.
It was then that his shirt shook. Up and down with the rhythm of his laughter, it went. Vibrations of a stomach so big, it was a life of its own.
I turned to my little Sister then. I affn’t affed an idea, before that night, how interesting it could be to watch people initiate conversations of love.