Licky-Licky…

AARON ANSAH-AGYEMAN

PELE-DONA: UNPLAY REASONS

LICKY-LICKY

 

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Her legs, goodness me…

Her legs were stunning, absolutely marvellous!

That was the reason I noticed her in the first place, definitely.

I was a leg-man, a leg-fan through and through, and so although I played senselessly, as some would say, all the girls and women I tumbled with had great legs!

I hated hard legs with lumpy calves, the kind that looked like the calf muscles had been pushed up to form a dam near the back of the knee…ugh, that always killed me…puke, puke!

Okanto wa papa…meni sane mpo ne!

 

So, in the era where women were more prone to wear jeans, I usually looked at those calves carefully before making a hit, and if I saw the pumped-up ugly legs, no matter how beautiful the rest of the body, well I just moved on!

The great Pele-Dona didn’t have any crave for crap legs, oh yeah!

For some guys the first prerequisite was the rounded bottom, or the busty chest, or the pretty face. With some guys it was the slim, shapely figure, or the huge, fatty frame…but for me, the great Pele-Dona, the baddest, biggest player that ever walked the surface of the earth, a girl simply had to have great legs…sweeeeeeeet!

There was nothing more pleasurable than running your hands across beautiful legs, sweet rounded thighs and finally grabbing some great bum-bum meat!

Hey, that was me, okay?

 

No mischief intended! If you love hard Kung-Fu legs, well that’s alright. To everybody his own taste, man!

That didn’t mean, though, that if you had great legs and a face that looked like Mike Tyson zoned out on it with his hefty blows, I was going to ride with you, nope! The face had to be beautiful or passably acceptable, but the legs had to be great.

So, it was her legs I noticed first, that woman, and chale, was I blown away!

She was wearing black jeans shorts that stopped midday down her thighs, and a white T-shirt that stretched luxuriously across the glorious slopes of her breasts.

She was standing near the refrigerator inside the restaurant of the Golf Club. I was a member of the club, incidentally. It seemed to me she was trying to make up her mind about what drink to pick from the fridge.

 

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I was seated about three tables away, enjoying a plate of good banku and superb okra stew with lots of meat. I had just come off a winning 10-hole golf competition with four of my friends, and I was chilling afterwards.

So there I was, raising a nice piece of succulent goat meat to my mouth when I saw those absolutely sweetacious and tantalizingly edible legs in front of me!

I paused, and my eyes devoured those legs that came up to the rounded thighs…oh, goodness me, adze yi ye feeeeew atse!

Ayayayayayaaaa!

Ojigbijgbigbiiii!

My mouth was opened tayaaaaa like that as I stared, my eyes going up those thighs and resting on that perfectly roundacious paradise of a bottom!

 

Whaaaat!

What a back!

Na real Kaduna Ikebe super be this one, I no go lie you!

That back was so perfect that my breathing came in wheezes as I goggled her up, and then my eyes came up to the narrowest of waists that slowly tapered into beautiful rounded shoulders, and then to the soft, short, curly hair.

She seemed to finally make up her mind, and then she bent low to take the drink from the fridge.

Well, there was no sight more beautiful than a woman with a beautiful butt bent over! That incredibly-sumptuous sight made my heart stop beating first, and then raced like a derailed train!

 

I mean, my heart went like katrika-katrika-katrika and my third leg zoomed up in my golf shorts like gbunshiaaaaa!

Heeeerh, etun buttocks ikebe wey e fine like this…ayayayayaaaa!!

She straightened again and turned, and her eyes stared straight at me!

Oh, Awurade Nyankopon…wo nsa ano edwuma ye f3w, atse?

Heerh!

Face be this?

 

A perfectly-oval face, shapely nose, large eyes, and the sweetest pair of lips I had ever seen on anyone! She caught me staring at her horlooor, and she smiled demurely and shook her head, and then she wiggled her fingers at me and headed over to the counter to pay for the drink.

Well, as a player the first thing to look out for on a potential hit was the ring finger, to ascertain if the prey was hitched or not. Some players never hit on married women, but sometimes the fact that they were hitched presented the thrill of the hunt, and I liked it often when they were married, or hitched!

Damn, the saying was true – at least in my case – that the erected organ had no conscience!

Her ring finger was free, and there was no tell-tale white mark to indicate that she had removed her ring.

I finally swallowed my goat meat but it didn’t taste so great now! My appetite for something else was aroused, some ragm-ragm-zo!

Heerh, abakade!

 

I had to hit that thing that very night…

Already I was breathless, and my PDD – the Pele-Dona Destroyer – was already throbbing jagum-jagum-jagum in anticipation of jamming up that succulent and atrociously edible hole of that beauty!

She was at the bar now, paying for her drink, her sweet back turned.

I quickly washed my hand and reached for a napkin to dry my hand.

An elderly man seated at the table next to me suddenly leaned closer. There were three other men at the table with him.

He was a wealthy widow, I knew. He had made it big in the pharmaceutical business, and his wife of many years had died recently. I played the occasional round of golf with him, and had a dose of respect for him.

“Hey, Ebo,” he said urgently, and I looked at him with distracted eyes.

 

“Hello, Mr. Sintim,” I said.

He smiled gently at me and pointed an unsteady finger at the back of the woman at the bar.

“I noticed you looking at that lady,” he said softly. “You wouldn’t be washing your hand because of her, are you?”

I smiled at him, trying hard to keep the guilt off my face.

“Mr. Sintim, no!” I said with a sweet smile. “Actually, I know her already.”

He shook his head sadly.

“I don’t think you do, Ebo,” he said gently. “I know they call you Pele-Dona, because of your appetite for women.”

And I gaped at him, acutely embarrassed now.

“No, no, no!” I said, shaking my head. “It is just a nickname that got stuck from school. I was simply a good soccer player, and my friends combined the names of Pele and Maradona and used it to call me!”

 

“Hogwash!” Mr. Sintim said, brushing me off with a swipe of his hand. “Listen, we’ve all been young once, and I’m not about to give you a lecture, but I just want to tell you to keep clear of that woman. She’s trouble!”

I smiled at him with a puzzled look.

“Trouble, Mr. Sintim?” I asked with amused eyes.

“Aye, aye, laddie,” he said with a nod of his grey head. “My friend Seth went out with her once, and he was never the same man again. He cancelled his membership to the club, and even left town to settle in Takoradi. If you’re planning on sleeping with that woman, as I’m convinced you are, stop those plans instantly and leave her alone. That woman…hm, you don’t know. Let her be, son, let her be.”

 

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