Paedophile

I remember vividly. 

That afternoon, I was dodging my shadow. Ginger feet were trying to defy the laws of light. Running in circles, the shadow often confused itself. Talk about passing the buck. But this teasing was miniscule compared to hers. 


She would tease me each day, until that afternoon. I was young and naive, unaffected by the vagaries of lust. Nonetheless, I could never resist gazing into her inviting home made of light wood and sparing paint. And she looked at me from within with equalamour.

Mummy always warned me about that place. It did not seem sinister to me. Each day, I’d request Mumma to take me there in exchange of a spank on my backside. She did her best to keep me from looking in. Experience though, has taught us that the wordschildhood and opportunistic are synonyms. So here I was, thirteen years of age, getting drawn to her alluring presence. 

In the absence of the domestic tyrant, I slowly, very slowly, started moving towards her. The sweltering summer heat, the dusty roads, the slowness of the neighbourhood – all contributed to my inflating courage. 

Sources i.e. friends from the Kamatipura Housing Colony, where I stay, tell me that her home has been a part of our neighbourhood for years. Elderly folk, in and around Grant Road also, often stop by her home. “She must be old”, I wondered. And she was. She looked unkempt – her golden yellow skin, covered by a dusty exterior, tampered by the many that may have held her before. 

I realized that to meet her, I must talk to a grumpy old man. But before I could, he rushed out of the home and into the bushes, scratching furiously between his legs. The herbal healing did not seem to have worked since he returned scratching as well. Soon, I realized he scratched all the time.

He looked at me with deriding eyes. And rightly so. Rarely must he be entertaining folks my size. But it did not matter because she had made up her mind to meet me. I could see her waiting to be released. And as I got closer, I finally saw her from close proximity. Right from the hunter-gatherer days, men are fond of seeing their prey from a closeness that enables easy killing. I was that close.

She looked at me with lustful eyes. But before poetry could find rhythm, in a fit of maddening ecstasy, I held her from her waist. She must’ve been shocked from the inside but she retained the alluring lust in her eyes. It took me a while to grip her. But she let me take my time. Like a fine thespian, she performed without performing at all. 

I rushed with her behind an isolated tree near her home. In fear of being seen or caught, I consumed her in the blink of an eye. I drunk every bit of her love and let my lips and tongue linger over her stunned mouth. Never, in her history of lustful lovers, would she have felt as stimulated.

And as I caressed her breasts, I could, in broken words read her name tattooed in bold and red.









ENERGEE