May I Have Some More?

People can compliment you on your cooking, your writing; whatever creations you make. They can say things like:
"Wow, you're talented."
"That was really good."
"I really enjoyed that."
And they mean it, and they're sincere and you probably believe them half the time. But you know what the greatest compliment a person can give your work is?
"Can I have more?"
It's true for food, movie sequels, and sex. It is most definitely true for stories.
And because a lovely young lady on Facebook asked me this week if I have more of the Ben and Zawadi story (that's what she called it) here is an outtake.
Enjoy.

"Zawadiiii!"
Anders startled awake at the sound of their mother shouting. He blinked a few times, trying to acclimatize to the brightness of the sun, shining through his yellow curtains. There was no response from Zawadi's room, just across from his, and he sighed, slipping out of bed to go shake her awake before their mother decided to do it.
If their mother had to come and find Zawadi, the day would not begin well. He trudged across the darkened hallway and banged on his sister's door.
"Z! Unaitwa," he shouted, telling her she was being called.
He heard some muffled groaning from the other side of the door but not much else.
"Zawadi eh!" his mother called sounding much nearer, "Kuja unisaidie." (come help me)
Anders sighed, deciding to just go down himself and help his mother before everybody's day was ruined. Ever since her father had left, Zawadi had been cold and distant with both of them.
But especially Anders.
She blamed him for their mother throwing her father out.
Thirteen years of doing nothing but drinking mnazi and spending their mother's hard earned money all the while insulting her first born child could not be it. Oh no, it was Anders who made mama chase her baba away!
Anders sighed, shaking his head as dismissed those thoughts. He took a step out the front door to find his mother with her basket of curios, ready to go to the market. He picked up a bag and put it on his head, and gripped another in his hand.
He walked slowly and silently behind his mother as they made their way to the matatu stage. She didn't ask where Zawadi was and he didn't volunteer. They both knew that only time could heal that wound.
They reached the bus stop, Anders' arms aching from the weight of the baskets. He put them both down, standing with his mother as they waited for a matatu to come.
"When you grow up and have your own children," his mother said suddenly, "make sure you will stay with their mother and support her until they grow up."
Anders nodded, his face troubled. He knew his father had gone back to Scandinavia long ago. Now Zawadi's father had left. But...he didn't think he could stay with a woman forever. His eyes slid to his right, where the Akasha boys were hanging out outside their shop like they did every day. There was one, in particular, he was tall and lanky, with light brown eyes and curly soft hair. Anders couldn't help staring every time he passed them. He didn't think he had ever seen anyone so beautiful.
He looked up at his mother, brow furrowed, wondering what she would think if she knew.
Not that he would ever tell her.
Never in a million years.

So in this book, I try to capture the local flavor of life as a Kenyan; although that is not a homogenous experience at all so it's just my interpretation. So there's some Kiswahili mixed in (all of which gets translated if only in the footnotes) and Kenyanisms that other people might wonder at (also check footnotes. My beta was an American so she was really helpful in pointing things out other people might not understand). Yeah, so do get back to me and tell me how I did. I would love to know.
Also, I entered this book in a book contest on inkitt if you wanna like go there and show In Search of Paradise some love.

Me Too

We've done character intros for Zawadi and Ben, today we're gonna meet Anders. In honor of girls and boys everywhere who are victims of society's failure to hold perpetrators accountable for sexual violence, we're gonna see how Anders lost his virginity.

Pwani

Anders was tall, gangly, not yet grown into his six foot plus body and very naive. His mother was proud that at sixteen years old, her son wasn't out there drinking mnazi and wasting his days. He was home every day after school, helped his sister with housework without complaining and was such a great support to her. During the weekends, when she had to leave them to go to Namanga for business, she knew she was leaving the market stall in good hands. Anders was always ready to help, ready to keep an eye on Zawadi; curb her more...adventurous tendencies.

So when he asked if he could go on a school trip to Lamu Island, she looked for the money till she found it. St. Charles Lwanga mixed day and boarding school was a Catholic establishment. They would make sure nothing bad happened to her boy when he was away from her. 

She was aware of Anders' effect on people. 

His height, cafe au lait clear complexion, long curly hair, his huge amber eyes, and prominent cheekbones...it caused people to look twice at him. 

Maybe three times.

Anders never seemed to notice though. She and Zawadi would sometimes exchange knowing glances when Anders was serving a customer at the stall. They always seemed to have a lot of questions to ask him, many of them nothing to do with the curios they were allegedly buying - both tourists and locals alike, female and male. Anders was always patient and polite, answering their endless questions with a smile. He always made a sale.

Anders' class would be staying overnight in Lamu at a tourist lodge. They would be accompanied by two teachers. It would be alright.

His classmates called him mzungu, which Anders found ironic since a lot of them were lighter skinned than him. But he was a half-caste Maasai and Norwegian, and they were full Waswahili so...them was the breaks. He didn't really mind, it wasn't said in any way that was nasty. He had two close friends in his class; Mo and Ali. They had kind of adopted him on his first day of school and now they were practically the three musketeers. They were all very excited about the trip. The first time for many of them - including Anders - that they would be staying in a hotel.

It was all the teachers could do to get the boisterous lot of them to check in without exploding with ebullience. Finally, they all had their keys - they were sleeping three to a room - and they all ran off to put their bags away. They had a full day of learning ahead and the buses were waiting. As one of Kenya's oldest continually inhabited towns and one of the original Swahili settlements along coastal East Africa, as well as being a UNESCO World Heritage site, there was a lot to learn from the town.  They had a full day's itinerary planned starting from Manda Island and ending with Lamu museum. 

When they got back to the hotel, their high energy was flagging, no matter how much fizzing enthusiasm they might have, the kids were hot, hungry and tired. They were sent off to their rooms for a shower and a nap, but most decided to go swimming instead.

Anders wore his beach shorts and jumped in the pool with his friends, reveling in the coolness of the water. There were a number of tourists sunbathing poolside but the kids ignored them and they, in turn, ignored the kids. Well...most of them ignored the kids. One man couldn't help noticing the tall gangly kid with the soft looking hair and the softer eyes. The open smile, the broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist. The long legs splashing through the water as he laughed with his friends. His long fingers that looked like they might be long enough to reach interesting places...He sat up, putting his magazine down and just watched them.

The teachers came to collect them for supper and Anders was more than ready to eat. It would not have been an exaggeration to say he was starving. Mo and Ali were equally excited about getting to choose whatever they wanted from the buffet. However much they wanted to eat! It was an orgasmic time.

After dinner, the students were allowed to sit in the lounge or go to their rooms. The rule was everybody in bed by 10 am. Anders and his pals could live with that.

"Let's go for a walk on the beach." Mo said.

"Hakuna wezi?" Ali asked, inquiring on the presence of thieves.

"Ahh, no. Hapa ni Lamu, such things don't happen here," Anders assured them breezily.

So they went walking on the beach, the moon was full creating a spooky effect on the water. It was ethereal and eerie and Anders shivered, just a bit.

"Hello," a voice said from behind them and they all jumped, spinning around fists up, ready to fight.

"Ey, relax. I saw you guys walking and thought I would join you. I'm at the same hotel as you." 

The boys put their fists down. It was just some old, fat white guy. 

"I am Rogers. What are your names?" he asked holding out his hand to be shaken.

They told him as he shook hands. Anders had to pull a bit to get him to let go, but he dismissed it as Rogers just being overfriendly with the light-skin. They walked for a bit longer and then Rogers offered to buy them drinks at the bar of the hotel.

"No-" Anders said just as Mo and Ali both said, "Yes-"

"You guys are Muslims, you're not supposed to drink," Anders pointed out.

"Oh we're not drinking alcohol, "Mo said exchanging glances with Ali, "He didn't say alcohol he said drinks."

Anders pursed his lips but went along with them. When Rogers asked what they were having, he said Fanta. Mo had some sort of fruity cocktail and Ali took a virgin mojito. Rogers sat with them, asking them questions about school and their families. 

"I've been greatly interested in sponsoring a local boy to university, " he said looking at Anders, "Would any of you be looking for such a once in a lifetime opportunity?"

Mo was all over that like a cheap suit, and Rogers asked him questions like he might actually be serious like how his grades were and which university he wanted to attend. Anders sipped his Fanta.

Ali looked at his watch, "Time for bed, guys," he said.

"Oh," Rogers said looking disappointed, "You have to go now?"

The three boys all stood up, "Yes we have a curfew."

"Okay, but I have some brochures and business cards in my room. Why don't we go there first so I can give them to you?"

"Okay," Mo said just as Anders said, "We can't.."

"Ah come on Mzungu, it's only a few minutes!" Mo cajoled, "We won't be in trouble."

Anders sighed, "Fine. But we better hurry up. My mom will kill me if I get suspended."

Ali just laughed and they followed Rogers to his room.

 Rogers was fumbling with some papers on his nightstand. He urged the boys to just have a seat while he was looking for, whatever.

Mo had made himself comfortable in the chair, going so far as to switch on the TV. Ali was looking around curiously while Anders sat at the edge of the bed nearest the door.

"I had them here...somewhere," Rogers mumbled. He picked up a piece of paper and turned around. Digging his wallet out of his pocket he removed a thousand shilling note.

"I can only find one copy. You Mo and Ali, could you go to the front desk and ask them to make copies? Keep change."

Mo was up in a flash but Ali was there before him, reaching for the money. Anders stood up as well. 

Rogers made a 'sit back down' gesture with his hands, "Anders you stay. You don't need three people to photocopy a sheet of paper, and I wanted to ask you a few questions."

"Umm," Anders said not really on board with this plan but Mo and Ali were already leaving. Anders watched the door slam behind them in surprise. His reactions seemed to have slowed a bit, and his head felt a bit woozy. He turned in surprise to find Rogers sitting right next to him, hand on his knee.

"Alone at last," he said and smiled.

Anders tried to stand up, to move away, but his body wasn't cooperative.

"What..?" he tried to ask but his tongue was so heavy in his mouth. Suddenly there was another tongue in his mouth and a hand on his crotch.

He stiffened trying to push Rogers away. But his hands were so weak.

Rogers was pushing him down onto the bed, pushing down his shorts. Anders tried to fight in earnest but he had no strength in his limbs. They would not obey him.

'What did you do to me?'  he thought frantically - his head the only part of him apparently still in his control.

'It's because he knows you're a dirty fag' a voice said in his head, one that sounded a lot like Akasha - Zawadi's father.

Whatever the man did to him, it hurt like a motherfucker. But the hurt dimmed beside the helplessness he was feeling. The guilt in his head telling him this was all his fault, he asked for this, why did he even come here.

He heard knocking on the door, and somewhere inside he sighed with relief and horror. His teachers had come to rescue him perhaps? He didn't want them to see him like this!

He lay on the bed, unable to move his hands so he could pull up his shorts, or pull down his shirt. The man - Rogers - opened the door a bit. Whoever was there he wasn't going to let them in.

"Oh, your friend?" Anders heard him say, "He left already. He wanted to go to bed."

Footsteps going away.

Ali and Mo were going to leave him to the mercy of this monster. 

Nobody would save him.

Anders tried to lift his hand, to move.

"Shh, don't worry. It will have worn off by morning. You probably won't remember a thing," the man said.

He then proceeded to take his shorts off, and lift his legs up in the air, "Just...relax," he said with a groan.

Anders would have screamed if his vocal chords would have cooperated.

'Help me, help me, help me.'

"Where can he be?" Mo asked as they entered the room.

Ali said nothing.

Mo turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"Maybe we shouldn't have left him alone with that man," Ali said softly.

Mo's eyes widened, "What are you saying?"

"Let's go back. Let's go back and ask him where Anders is."Ali said.

Mo stared at his friend who avoided his eyes. 

"Okay."

They went back and knocked, and knocked.

"What?" Rogers irritated voice said from behind the door.

"Anders is not in our room. Which way did you say he went?" Mo asked not bothering to keep his voice down.

Rogers opened the door, "I don't know where he went, now go away." he said.

Ali reached out and held the door as Rogers tried to close it, "Sir, this could be a police case if you don't help us. Anders dad is a mzungu also. Ebu tell us where he is."

Rogers' face blanched and he became pale, "He drank some alcohol and passed out. I didn't want to expose him but he's still here, sleeping." he said.

Ali stepped closer, "We'll take him to the room. It's okay," he said and pushed the door open wider so he could step past Rogers. He swallowed as he saw Anders curled up on the bed like a discarded rag doll. He pulled at Anders' unresponsive hands glancing at Mo to help him. Together they maneuvered Anders onto his feet, dragging him to the door.

"Oh, and here is your change," Ali said flinging it at Rogers.

"No, it's okay, keep it," Rogers said.

"No thanks," Ali said as they pulled Anders away.

Rogers was right, Anders didn't remember a thing in the morning. Mo and Ali never said a word.

He was still never the same though.

Fin

In Search of Paradise available for preorder now.

All pre-order proceeds go to the National Gay and Lesbian Human Rights Commission.

When I first suspected I was pregnant, I went to a Mayo Clinic near my apartment for a checkup. I told the doctor my suspicions and he asked me to strip. He was very skeptical of my self-diagnosis so I thought maybe he needed to do an ultrasound or something. He did not give me a hospital gown but told me to lie down on the bed. 

Naked.

There was no nurse.

He then began to probe me.

Even with all my prior experience of men being trash, it didn't occur to me that a doctor in a reputable clinic would take advantage of me in such a way. He touched my boobs, my vagina...and then he told me that yes, I was pregnant. He told me to get dressed and come back for a checkup at a later date.

It was only when I thought about it later that I realized that I had been violated. 

This is just one story. I have several hundred.

What about you?

Birthday Post - Outtake

It's my birthday and I'll cry if I want to,
cry if I want to,
cry if I want to.
I feel like crying right now because it feels like a shiv is stabbing my abdomen continuously. Ah, the joys of womanhood.

It's my birthday today; I'm turning very old. But I don't look it so it's cool. This year, my birthday is all about giving, so I'm gonna give you something and you can pay it forward by pre-ordering the book; you know by now that the proceeds go to charity. 
What I'm gonna give you, is...a story. Since it's what I allegedly do best. The little story Imma tell you is a snapshot of Ben's life. This snapshot is not in the book, but when you do read the story you'll be able to guess the 'when' it occurs in Ben's life.

Even If You Win, You Lose

Ben lay prone on the grass, blinking up at the Nairobi blue sky, breathing hard. That game had been brutal. His cousins might be young but they were all little savages; more difficult opponents than any rugby team he'd ever faced. He could hear his father and uncle laughing uproariously from the verandah as they sipped their Guinness and boasted about the latest achievements of their children.

"Sixteen tons and what do you get? Another day older and deeper in debt," he murmured softly to himself, not exactly singing.

He turned his head a bit as he heard her laughing. 

Esther Onyango.

She was very pretty with her long curly hair tied neatly in a knot at the back of her head, a precise part at the front showing her brown skull in a small neat line. Her lips were shiny with lip gloss, and her slightly slanted eyes outlined with black eyeliner. She looked very carefully put together with her shiny blue nails peeping from her open-toed heels, her white pleather skirt - so not suitable for this weather - not too short, and just clingy enough to let you know she was shapely without being too ratchet about it.

She kept darting glances at him, tiny smiles and secret looks like they were in on a joke together. They weren't. 

He wasn't ready for this.

He'd thought he still had a few years - to 'sow his wild oats' - before his father declared that it was time to settle down and pass on the family name to a new generation. 

Then Fidel Onyango and his wife and daughter came to town. 

Fidel and Ben's dad were old school pals from Alliance boys. Fidel had gotten a scholarship to study in England, where he'd met his British Jamaican bride and sooner rather than later; along came Esther and her sister.

And now Mr. Onyango had managed to convince Ben's dad that he and Esther would be a match made in heaven. Hence this little get together.

His mother and father could not force him to do this.

No, nor would they if they could.

What they could do, was look at him with disappointed eyes if he didn't get with the program. Left unsaid would be the albatross he'd been dragging around with him for the last six years, "Your brother would have never done this."

Alex Ojamong had been the perfect big brother, the perfect son, a great friend, a good guy; bright, going places, funny, friendly...Ben looked up to him and wanted to be just like him. His father knew that his legacy was in good hands. Until one random Wednesday night, he and his friends were driving home from Rock Night at the Carnivore when a drunk driver ended all those dreams.

It was a shock to Ben. 

One minute, he had a big brother. The next, he was gone. He was just turned fourteen years old at the time. A difficult age, one made more so by the upheaval his brother's death caused. His father was never the same, and his mother got sick.

Diabetes they said.

Ben felt like it was his duty to keep the family together. To be the perfect son so his parents didn't have to worry about him.He was the consolation prize and he knew it; it was his job to try - and fail - to fit his brother's shoes. 

So he could not tell his father that, pretty as she was, he had no interest in Esther Onyango. What he could do was get up, paste a smile on his face, and go and speak to her.

Feedback is love.

In Search of Paradise available for pre-order here.

Into the Bar

Harpreet's story part deus. Part one can be found here.

Jon stepped out of his bar to find a hot Indian chick dithering outside, lookin like she might be lost or searching for something she couldn't name. He took a step toward her, figuring he could help with that. His eyes traveled up and down her body, taking in her petite little bod; flat ass, long legs, perky small breasts...he could work with that.
"Hey babe, what's poppin?" he said to himself before stepping toward her.

They talked, he offered her a blunt and she took it readily. So maybe the naive look was just that - a look. When he invited her into his bar, she came readily taking a seat on the bar stool he indicated. He lit the homemade cigarette, taking a puff before passing it on to her. She reached out for the spliff, examining it like it was some curious new species she hadn't yet heard about.
"Go on, take a hit", Jon encouraged. His eyes dropped to her bosom again. She would make an excellent honey pot. I mean having that Devereux boy in here now and then had proved pretty profitable. Imagine if he could add this little exotic flower to the repertoire. Jon had dollar signs in his eyes just thinkin' about it. And on top of that, he could maybe hit that. I mean not that he was averse to doing it with the Devereux kid - Fuck knew he was prettier than most girls in this town - but he just didn't swing that way. And as far as he knew, neither did Leo. Harpreet's soft delicate voice cut into his reverie.
"I don't know vhat you mean", she said.
"You don't know what....?" Jon asked totally distracted.
"Vhat do you mean by take a hit. And this is a cigarette? I do not smoke", she had that delicate Indian accent going on and Jon could feel his pants getting tight as she handed the spliff back. So maybe she was as innocent as she looked.

Bummer.
"Oh...well, can I offer you a soda then?" he asked.
"Do you have Fanta?"
"Er...Yeah I think I have a crate somewhere. Gimme a minute to find it." Jon was wondering if he should just roofie her drink and see what happened or let it go. His eyes dropped to her soft brown bosom again.
Damn.
He reached down, searching for soda. Ain't nobody came to Jon's bar to have a soft drink but sometimes the underage kids wanted to dilute their alcohol...
The door of the bar burst open, "There you are!", a male teenage voice said, "We been lookin' all over for you."
"I am sorry." Harpreet said and Jon could hear her get to her feet. He straightened up to see who had ruined his potential good time and saw the Devereux boy with his friend. The one who was a clear closet case. Mike or something.

Leo was staring at him, eyes narrowed, "Did he give you anything?" he asked Harpreet. Which kind of surprised Jon. It wasn't like he'd ever tried anything with the boy. Jon was kind of hurt at the suspicion he saw in the kid's eyes. That boy was too old for his age. He needed to calm down.
"No. He is just getting me a Fanta", Harpreet replied.

"Never mind that. We'll get you a Fanta from the corner store if you really want one", Leo said hand curled protectively around Harpreet's arm eyes still on Jon.
"Yeah", his friend said, "Let's get outta here."
"Okay", Harpreet replied agreeably, following the two boys out of the bar with a wave and a smile at Jon. Jon waved back, watching her go with regret.
'She coulda been a contendah' he thought with a sigh, 'Oh well.'

This is an outtake of Between Death and Heaven from the Child of Destiny Series.

Amistad Ain't Got Nothin' on Me

For this month's East African Friday Feature, I have been challenged every Friday, to write 1,000 words of a supernatural story. It can be an ongoing story, or bits and snippets but four times for the four Fridays of October. Now in honour of the release of my baby CHILD OF DESTINY on my birthday October 9th (So Y'all know what I want for a present...buy! buy! buy!) I'm going to do an outtake story that can be read on its own. As a nod to East Africa, I'm going to give the story of the ghost slaves in the wood - how they came to be there, and their hopes and dreams for the future. As a nod to my late father, my protagonist is named Bulitia. He's the slave ghost everyone from BDAH to The Swamp to COD keeps meeting and talking to.

Bulitia looked up at the black hole that narrowed until there was just a small circle of blue at the top. This place was aptly named; Shimoni. Bulitia had never been anywhere so dank and dark and miserable. The woman lying next to him was dead. He knew she was because he'd been listening to her laboured breathing for the past three days. It was the chest illness she had; and no way to treat it down here. He didn't know if he would treat it if he could. The slavers looked out for such things. He didn't want to make himself more attractive to them. Perhaps when they were loading them into the ship, and they saw that the woman was dead, and threw her overboard...he could pretend to be dead too. His father, Mulungu bless his soul, had taught him to swim long ago. He could hold his breath under water for as long as it took. Then he could make his way back...back to his people and his new wife; his little baby that must have been birthed by now. Yes, Bulitia was motivated. If he had any leverage, he would have climbed up the hole to the sky. Perhaps enough people would die down here so he could pile up their bodies, climb over them and escape.

No such luck though; the slavers came for them before enough people were dead. They were led out, through a tunnel to the very edge of the sea. Bulitia had smelled it; but that was the first time he was seeing it. It was vast, endless and intimidating. A person could get lost just trying to find the horizon. How was he to get back if they took him away now? Bulitia rattled his chains, looking left and right frantically, trying to find a way; but he was securely tied between a woman whose baby was dead on her breast – yet she clung stubbornly to it – and a man with a potbelly so large it covered his nakedness quite effectively. Bulitia shivered; there was a cool breeze blowing in spite of the heat. The slavers were whipping their backs so they could get moving; get on the huge ship waiting on the docks. One last time Bulitia looked around, looked for a way out. But there was none.

The lady they sold him to scared Bulitia more than the slavers. There was something about her that wasn’t right. He could not say what it was but he knew in his bones she wasn’t all the way human. There were five others with him; all from his own tribe. They spoke Bukusu among themselves, speculating on what she might be, and what she would do with them. Bulitia hoped that it was something that would end in death. He was not about this slave life. It was not his destiny.

The woman took them to a plantation in the bayou where sugarcane grew high in the damp humid air. The air smelt sweet and cloying yet familiar to Bulitia. He’d been somewhere like this before, in the time of Nabongo Mumia he had travelled to his kingdom to trade. It smelled sort of like this. Only without the underlying smell of blood, excrement and death. Bulitia wondered why he wasn’t dead yet; he was starving, he had wounds from the whippings some of which were infected and he wanted to be dead. So why wasn’t he? Perhaps it was fate. Perhaps he would find a way to go home again. Bulitia didn’t share this thought with his companions; they would just laugh at him for his naiveté after all; there was no getting out of this life.

Bulitia was assigned to cattle pen; there were six cows on the plantation and one bull. He was to feed, water, and milk the cows and make sure that the bull remained virile and ready to serve. This was familiar work to him. On his own land, he had thirty cows and three bulls. He wondered who was looking after them now.

One day as he was cleaning out the cow pen in preparation for milking a shadow fell over him that made him cold to the marrow of his bones. He did not have to turn around to know who was there. He went down on one knee and tried to still his trembling.

“Mama”, he said submissively, hoping she would get whatever she wanted and go.

“I have been watching you, Bulitia”, she said in a low voice and he trembled. The slaves had been stripped of their names; they were nothing but numbers. How had she known what his was?

“Don’t be afraid”, she whispered coming closer her cold breath fanning on his naked shoulders. Bulitia wanted to shy away, to turn and run. But he could do nothing but stand there and wait to see what the creature would do to him.

“I think you were meant for greater things than this Bulitia, am I right?” she asked putting one hand on his shoulder in a light caress. Bulitia wanted to scream but he knew better. She didn’t know that they knew that she was some creature from hell. She thought her human disguise held. He could not show more fear than a slave would at being singled out by his master. But what was he to say to her? He had no words to answer. If he told the truth, then Mulungu knew what she would do. If he told a lie…she would know. He was doomed. So he kept silent.

She ran her hand slowly, speculatively down his back until she got to the crack of his ass. He tensed as her finger dug inward, sharp nails causing injury as she pressed into him. He bit his lip so as to not to make a sound but he couldn’t still the trembling.

Suddenly her hand was gone from him and she stepped away. He dare not turn to see why.

“You’ll do”, she said.

Outtake...Child of Destiny

This is an outtake from Child of Destiny, the third book in the series a preview of which can be read here.
Enjoy!

"Psst!", Mya called from inside the janitor's closet. Leo turned around to see who was calling. I mean, of course he knew that voice even when it was hissing but still. His eyes fell on her, head peeking from the closet like a character in The Lion The Witch and The Wardrobe or maybe more like a fugitive from high school justice. He couldn't help smiling to see her there but tried to hide his amusement.

 Mya was unpredictable these days; she just might jump down his throat if she thought he was making fun of her.
"Hey. What are you doing?" he asked moving closer to her and trying to keep the laughter out of his voice.
"Its lunch time. We have a whole hour", she hissed back as if that explained everything.
"A whole hour for...?" Leo asked though he suspected he knew. Pregnancy hormones apparently made one very horny. Mya's hand darted out of the closet and pulled him closer; Leo almost tripped, he was so surprised. Almost. Because his lightning reflexes were working just fine thank you very much. Mya pulled him into the closet and slammed the door, plunging them into relative darkness. The closet was not meant for human habitation hence no need for windows, or even a light bulb. Leo had no time to point these facts out to Mya because with the unerring accuracy of familiarity her lips were on his and he forgot all about everything.

Mya's tongue explored his mouth, mapping it lovingly as her hands trailed down his torso and began to pull his shirt up. As her own nipples had become super sensitive to touch, she'd seemed to develop a liking for touching his. It was a little disconcerting but Leo was not in the habit of refusing Mya anything she wanted; not these days anyway. Who knew what Ms. Mood Swings might do if he did? Plus if he was being completely honest, she made him too happy to refuse her anything. Especially a bitty thing like his nipples; besides, whatever she did to them went straight to his dick, and just like that, his jeans were too tight at his crotch. Mya seemed to divine this probably by some witchy sixth sense because her hand was cradling his dick in loving caress before he could so much as gasp. He pushed against it, wanting her to unzip him so he could feel her on his naked skin. Instead the hand reached up and circled his wrist where his hand was inching up to touch her breast, and pulled it down to her own crotch. He wasted no time in unzipping her and plunging his hand into her wet warmth. She was readier than the roadrunner for him and he pulled his hand away so he could unzip his own damn fly.

"Lean back", he ordered, grasping her legs and widening them. She hastened to obey, smiling happily. There was some sort of hoovering device behind her that she could lean on and he took advantage of that to lift her legs and put them around his waist.

"Hold on", he said plunging her depths without further ado. She spread her arms out so she that one was on the wall the other on the door to steady herself. He took hold of her ass, rutting against her and groaning; not really remembering to keep his  voice down.
"Shh, you're going to get us expelled", she breathed even as she threw her head back and arched against him, encouraging him to go harder, faster. He listened to her actions not her words; he was enveloped in her heated softness and there was absolutely no blood in his head for rational thinking  or consideration of consequences. There was only her. and him. In his bubble of lust and love and need and want. Nothing else mattered and no-one else existed. Someone banged on the door as if in warning; probably Miles...and Leo tried, he really did to keep it down. But then she stiffened, and convulsed; internal muscles gripping him so tight he almost screamed.
Then he was pouring himself into her and she was milking him for everything; taking his heart, his soul and his spirit into her along with his sperm.

"God", he whispered afterwards as he slumped against her.
"Tell me about it", she replied.