Spotted: Vera Ezimora's Ass

I don't know what came over me on Sunday, but I was feeling unusually sexy when I woke up that morning. For church, I wore my tightest pencil skirt, a grey skirt. And I matched it up with a black three-quarter sleeve shirt. I was looking hot, if I do say so myself.  Although compliments were not the reason I wore this outfit, it did, naturally, feel pretty darn good when I received tons of compliments, even from those in church.

After church, I went for a get-together at an aunt's house, a gorgeous lady from Cameroon. I call her Mom 2.0.  I was there until Aribaba called and said he was on his way to my house. I left Mom 2.0's house, promising to return, and went back home to meet Aribaba and his friend. I stuffed them with pounded yam and bitterleaf soup. We watched a Ghanaian movie [Kiss Me If You Can]. I don't know what the title had to do with the movie, but it did have a lot of sex, all of which Aribaba and his friend enjoyed --- of course.

After Aribaba and his friend left, I was going to change into something more comfortable, something that didn't feel like a second skin. However, it was already past 9pm, so I decided to just rush over to Mom 2.0's house. I walked in there majestically --- because, well, I was feeling too hot to be handled. I had my silver four-inch heels on, and I just couldn't be stopped. I sat down for a while, and then, I went to help myself with a glass of apple juice. It was while I was getting my apple juice that it happened.

Mom 2.0 came up behind me and asked, "Vera, what's that behind you?"

When I realized what it was, my heart sank. So, the zipper of my very tight pencil skirt had given way and exposed my butt cheeks which had a black lace thong buried between them. I tell you, you could have knocked me over with a feather. So many thoughts ran through my mind: 

What I Know:

(i) My zipper did not pop in church

(ii) My zipper did not pop as soon as I got home

What I Don't Know:

(i) When did this happen?

(ii) How long did I walk around with my ass exposed?

(iii) Did I come into Mom 2.0's house with my ass exposed?

(iv) Did all the guests at the party take a peek at my verastic bum?

(v) Did Aribaba see my butt cheeks and not tell me?

(vi) Worse, did Aribaba's friend see my butt cheeks?

(vii) All those smiles I got at Mom 2.0's house, was it because the people were being friendly, or was it because of what I had  - or did not have - behind me?

What I Hope:

(i) My zipper was in tact while Aribaba and his friend were at my house.

(ii) When I entered Mom 2.0's house, my zipper was still in tact.

(iii) When I sat down at Mom 2.0's house, my zipper popped.

(iv) When I stood up from the chair, my shirt covered my exposed butt cheeks and Mom 2.0 was the only one who saw them.

What I Fear:

(i) My zipper popped at my house, and Aribaba and his friend were too shy to say anything.

(ii) I walked into Mom 2.0's house with my ass literally exposed.

(iii) Everyone at Mom 2.0's house got a sneak peek of what lies beneath (and they didn't have to pay for it!).

(iv) I'll never know the truth.

For the rest of the evening at Mom 2.0's house, I tied a wrapper around my waist.  I went from "hot babe" to "who is that village girl with the wrapper?"  Way to end a totally sexy day.    

Men Have It Hard

On Friday, I went to my former school to print some things out.  I was about to walk into a building when I noticed an African-American girl in front of me.  She was about my age, give or take a year, and she was walking rather slowly, so I eventually walked past her.  She had on a white pair of leggings, a white shirt, and a pair of white sandals.  Her leggings weren't full in length; they stopped midway between her knees and her ankles.  Her shirt had three-quarter sleeves, stopped somewhere between her elbows and her wrists.  Her sandals were the thong kind, the kind that had the little thing between the big toe and the second toe.

She was not skinny or small in stature.  On the contrary, she was probably about my size, except, perhaps with a heavier, nicer butt.  Yes, I noticed her butt.  As a matter of fact, that's probably why I'm blogging.  With each step this girl took, I could not help but notice the decadent and rhythmic swaying of her hips, the bouncing of her butt cheeks, the thickness of her thighs, and even the way the wind blew the soft brown highlights in her hair.

And so, when I got to the building before her, I did not do what I would have, should have done.  I would have, should have opened the door, gone through, and then, courteously held the door ajar for her.  Instead, like a doorman, I opened it and waited for her to go past first.  I even said, "Go ahead."  And she did.  As she walked past me, my eyes were still fixated on her.  Facially, she was forgettable.  As I type this now, I don't remember her face anymore.  I do, however, remember her butt, her hips, her hair, the color of her skin, her sandals, and possibly, the size of her breasts.

As I walked behind her, I found myself scratching my head, mesmerized by two things:

1.  Could this be how all the gay people became gay?

2.  Why on earth did I not leave the house looking like her?! 

Now, if you'll excuse me, there is a pair of three-quarter leggings somewhere calling my name!