I watched him as he moved his things into room one and two on the right side. He is Baba’s new tenant. According to Hakeem he is a tailor and will be using room one which is the first room facing the yard as his shop.
He is tall and slim, very dark with close cropped hair, I watched the muscles in his bottom clench and unclench as he heaved a metal sewing machine off the van; a sight for sore eyes.
We live in room one to four on the left side of my father’s bungalow built in the famous and economical “face me I face you style” six rooms running down the left and right side of the bungalow with bathrooms, toilets and kitchen at the back of the house after room six. We share the bathroom, toilet and kitchen on the left side with the couple using the last two rooms on our side of the bungalow.
“Idayaaaaaaaa, are you going to spend the whole day at that well?” Mama called out shrilly from her window. I hurriedly balanced my bucket on my head and headed back inside.
Tailor Hassan swiftly settled into his two rooms and a predictable routine. Usually by 10am the house is quiet, everybody has gone to their shops or businesses and he is sitting in front of the house with his sewing machine clacking away loudly. I always say a friendly hello to him whenever I walk by his shop and he always replies with a smile and a warm response especially when there is no one else there, like Mama or Baba.
I just finished my senior secondary school exams last week and now it is my job to watch the younger ones who are also on holiday while mama goes to her shop at Agbeni market. I spend a lot of time watching Tailor Hassan and wondering what he looks like without that Ankara shirt he is wearing, or the brown trousers; the more I watch him the more I know I have to hatch a plan to have some of that before schools resume and I have no more reasons to be at home during the day.
Today I have a plan for Tailor Hassan, I waited till he was sitting at his machine, sewing busily then I carried the largest bucket I could find and headed to the well in just my wrapper.
At the well, I proceeded to fetch water clumsily, spilling as much of it on myself as into the bucket I was filling, till my wrapper clung to my body tightly; from the side of my eye I could see Tailor Hassan watching me intermittently a slight frown on his face.
I filled my bucket to the brim then I took off my scarf, rolled it into a flat ball and placed it on my head to cushion the weight of the bucket.
“Bruoda Hassan, please can you help me?” I called out.
“Okay” he answered and got up from his sewing machine.
Together we lifted the bucket to my head, I made as little effort as possible and some more water spilled from the bucket on my face and down my neck into the hollow between my breasts; my wrapper also slipped down a little to show more of the moon of my pendulous breasts. I could feel Tailor Hassan’s eyes following the trickling water from my face to my breast as we balanced the bucket on my head.
“Thank you sir”
“Please can you follow me inside so we can lower the bucket to the floor together?”
“Okay” he shrugged.
I headed off, walking ahead of him slowly; as there is nothing under my wrapper, I know my bottom is shaking in rhythm with my movement in a very obvious and catching way with the wet clinging wrapper leaving little to the imagination – I could feel his eyes on me.
I headed into room four which I share with my older sister Aisha and my two younger sisters, Biliki and Sherifat – there is barely enough space in the room for us to stand and lower the bucket so I walked into the room as far as I could; before he followed me in, I quickly loosened my wrapper a little.
“Here?” he asked.
He started to take the bucket off me, I lifted my hands to help and my wrapper fell off, revealing my nakedness in all its glory; the silence between us was heavy with desire and as we lowered the bucket to the floor, I could see his hard-on straining against the fabric of his trouser. We both reached for my wrapper at the same time and his hand grazed my breasts that were hanging low as I was still bent down.
He groaned in his throat.
Quietly I lifted his hand to my left breast and pressed it there.
“Idayaaaaa no” he protested weakly.
“Yes, there is nobody here, close the door”
Quickly he shut the door and started to peel off his clothes; as I was already naked I merely moved into his arms – he pushed me back a little and reached for my breasts.
I reached for his engorged self that was tilting to the side and nodding with joy.
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