summit of pleasure

the smell of coffee

the smell of coffee

 

Jen hurriedly tucked folders into the drawer while her computer hummed its shut down tune. She was already trembling from anticipation. A pen dropped down accidentally and she picked it quickly. Eagerness heaved in her chest. The more she thought, the more the yearning grew. As she pushed back the drawer, her mobile phone chirred angrily on the desk. She almost slammed against it the wall.

She rolled her eyes as she placed the phone over her ear. Her heart beat faster as it had always done when she was agitated.

“But sir it is late already.”

Of course not lousy swine. Jen did not dare say that out loud.

“No sir, but I have plans.”

She curled her lips while she listened vainly to the person on the other side.

“No sir.”

She lied.

At last, she was made to type some letters, send contract mails and contact a few clients. The clicks from the keyboard of her computer irritated her and she hit them wildly as if meting some kind of punishment. Jen was exasperated by the time she rose from her desk. She felt like rushing to the ugly boss and gouging out his big eyes. She sighed heavily.

Wisehierachy plaza stood defiantly behind Jen. Its gigantic glass windows glowed charmingly from the golden rays of the sun hitting them from a calculated angle. Jen stood by the road as people hurried by like a mob running away from a menace. She held herself from looking at the rectangular building behind her. The boss could be at the window intending to gesture her to come back once she made the terrible move.

Matatus and cars joined in a honking spree while stuck in the string of traffic jam she had watched grow from the same spot for the last four years. Jen was certain that a person, who was too lazy to use the footbridge, had been knocked off the road or too many cars had clogged the roundabout not far from where she was denting the smooth movement of the vehicles. She also was certain that it will move only and only if a traffic police officer appeared.
She breathed deeply and a smell of petrol mixed with rubber almost choked her. She coughed hysterically. A taxi driver waved at her but she knew what she wanted. In such motionless traffic, it was prudent to use a bodaboda or tuktuk. This, she had learnt over the years after she had had to miss her sessions due to crawling traffic.

Suddenly a tuktuk rumbled towards her and she hit it.

While the driver made dangerous maneuvers in between vehicles and on the sides of the road disorienting the crowds of pedestrians, Jen smiled at the back. A smile that was replicated in her heart. She twirled. Her inner thighs tinkled and she pressed them together tightly. The pearly eyes too clutched together as if in agreement. She spewed out a gust of air, reached into her clutch and fished out a small mirror. The driver peeped through the rear-view mirror just in time for the seductively smacked lips. A woman was heard cursing loudly. He had missed her by a second.

Jen smiled wryly. A sharp shrill cut her short. She lifted a canvas cloth serving as a window; an extension from the roof piece and in the middle of the road the woman they had missed was lying placidly, blood oozing from her mouth and nose. A bodaboda and its rider lay a few paces from her side by side. The rider was motionless. Passersby rushed to the scene like a group of vultures running towards a carcass. Nobody in the vehicles ahead of them alighted. Her driver did not even stop either.

After a few minutes of silent drive, Jen tucked black earphones deep into her ears. She let the song she loved wash away the horrifying scene from her memory. The ripple of the intense guitar strokes hit her head scattering the ghastliness like a lion roar does the antelopes grazing in the savannah.

Jen alighted, paid and without waiting for the change walked away swinging her hips like the girl in the song Uptight Skirt. The driver watched the wide hips in lust until she vanished. As he turned to go, he kissed the ass of a white range rover.

A waft of a strong coffee aroma welcomed Jen into her favorite Java. She felt gay right away. The smell gave her a pleasant sensation that she only got from this blessed place. She almost worshiped it, okay she kind of worshiped it. How else would you describe a woman who would rather miss her periods than the evening coffee sermons?

Jen looked around like she had always done. The maroon leather seats, the gleaming dark brown wooden table; brown like the coffee beans lying gingerly on a silver tray, the brown light bulb cover head hiding the fine white light overhead, the elegant waiters and waitresses in their brown and white clad and then the people. Seated in the ambience of the distant smooth music whose source could not be established. And lost in subdued conversations.

She knew her corner more than the contours of her face, everyone else as well did. In this peaceful spot, Jen bathe her lungs in the sweet smell of roasted coffee, had a view of the stagnant traffic jam and the busy streets and watched as the sun sunk away with the tentacles of its red rays desperately imploring her.

“Hello Jen, welcome.”

Jen flashed her killer smile. He smiled back.

“Hello Pat, make it a little stronger today please?”

“As you say, Jen”.

Jen loved how the tall dark waiter pronounced her name. It made her love the java more. Perhaps this was the charm that the java management used to imprison its clients. She felt so special every time her name was pronounced as if this was a tribe and she was a member.

While waiting, Jen pulled out a note book and placed it before her. The blank page stared back at her like an obstinate kid refusing to carry out its chores. She looked around with the hope of stumbling on an idea to no avail.

kahawa

The brown cup of cappuccino was placed before her, the bottom of the cup thumping the table gently. All the small sounds around Jen melted away into nothingness. Her eyes shut involuntary. She found herself lying in a vast bed of dark coffee beans, grabbing some and tossing them up, laughing loudly and gyrating like a possessed human.

She held the cup delicately. Her arms brushed against her nipples and certainly her breasts were firm and tingly. She gasped. The coffee poured into her tongue and immediately burst into an immensely delicious taste emphasized by a faint bitter sensation. Jen swallowed and all the pores in her skin opened. As she sipped again and again, she lost herself in the pleasure. At some instance, she felt like driving her hand in between her legs.

This was the ultimate relish she was always searching for in the java. A summit of pleasure she could not have even from the sweetest of men. Each day was one more day of great evening coffee; a friend who never disappointed, a companion who dealt with her ruthlessly, a drink that knew her struggles and relieved her and definitely a perfect one to make her hectic days bearable. It was her stress portion.

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