Chapter 1

I am having a speck of trouble preparing myself for the party I am supposed to attend with Kati tomorrow night. I have not made up my mind on what I will wear; I am nervous. Whom do we get to invite with us? Crandon? Plain no! I don't want to tempt bad reputation another time. I've had enough public embarrassment thanks to him. There is no other baboon to fuck him at Alicia's—is there?

I am afraid I will look Barbie weird. There must be a magical way to do this. I can doll myself up like brown-hair Barbie and look commonplace, but first-class. I am not convinced still.

Four o'clock has hit when I get back from Pinker Spinner. I find Crandon seated in our living room, watching TV quietly. I grin at him and head on to award him a peck on his forehead. He splits his lips and moans out in satisfaction. "I will be back," I notify him. "I must make a cup of tea for each one of us, chocolate."

Crandon's is chocolate dark fur which clothes him from head to toe. He is beyond question irresistible and a genius too. I adopted him in Africa. It must have been in Kenya. The first time I laid my eyes on him, he struck me with such fascination I had never felt before.

Crandon knows how to use the toilet and furthermore flush his shit; he knows how to make Chinese tea and fry eggs and smear butter on slices of bread. He can sweep the living room using a vacuum cleaner; he can place 2 kilograms of laundry inside the washing machine; he can play the guitar and dance naked; I often take him out for shopping and picnics. His favorite clothes are baggy jeans and football-supporting shirts.

It is gradually getting cold but fast darkening when we set off to play football at my backyard. I like this place. It is calm and soundless—almost like we don't stay in a deafening town dubbed 'Sin City.' Every time I am here, I don't refuse to ogle Mother Nature, clad in her most beautiful attire. There are squealing birds, squawking frogs, squeaking crickets, hopping grasshoppers, mewling cats.

To be frank, I am not in the mood to play football. I am forcing myself to do this—for Crandon's sake. He enjoys this sport like nothing else. I can't stand to let him down.

In the meantime, I am the goalkeeper. This post suits Crandon, not me! When he is lying on the ground, he moves at a snail's pace, hardly able to pull himself. If you should see him diving at a flying ball—you will assuredly pass out.

I am idly lightening up when he kicks the ball at me. I don't expect him to score. Playing this role doesn't suit him. He will fail seriously.

I am not expecting it. Out of nowhere, he boots the ball with such might I don't even believe a baboon would possess. I watch in horror as the ball wings like lightning. Too late, I realize I have belittled his efforts. He is going to score this time. I rush speedily after the jetting ball, launching my feet into the air. Happily enough, my hands brush the ball—but sadly miss to grab hold of it. Someone knocks my back from behind, pushing me down to land on my hands and feet. Who could this be? Noël?

I hurriedly pick myself up and wrathfully turn back. Goodness! He is the most attractive guy I have seen. His looks are too captivating. Already, I am falling under his invincible love spell. What ... is ... his ... name?

He carries the ball proudly; in the end he launches it at me, telling me, "I believe I have saved your doomed ass, Mia."

How does he know my name? I don't have his in mind? Possibly I met him somewhere, some time back, then let slip from memory everything that happened. Is someone terribly handsome as him worth forgetting? I don't think so.

"Kindly make yourself known to me," I beg him—can you envisage that?

"I am Elian Dunes; a good friend of your brother, Noël."

I wasn't expecting to hear that. The gentleman is dressed up exceedingly fine. His handsome black suit faultlessly matches with his glassy, pointed shoes. The way he smiles at me pierces into my heart. I am supposing that I have bumped into an Archangel.

"How can I help you, Elian?"

"Don't you think you are being rude with me, Mia? Are you not supposed to invite me in for a glass of juice? For your own information, this is not my first time being here. I have dropped by more than once when in Noël's company. Your baboon here too knows me. Don't you, Crandon?"

He knows Crandon? Who is this guy seriously?

"I am sorry, Mister Whatever-Your-Name-Is. I don't invite strangers I don't recognize into my house."

He frowns at me. He is getting mad, I can easily tell. I can't help the situation regardless. The truth that he is good-looking doesn't give me one good reason I should pin faith on him. After he winks at Crandon, I watch Crandon drift from me on his hands and feet. He proceeds to take his stand next to the charismatic guy. I was not expecting that. Crandon probably knows him. Yet I don't.

"Would you mind if I joined your game? Just for a while; I am aware that Crandon enjoys football like no other activity." There is this gleam brightening up in Elian's eyes; I can't explain it. My heart deep down wants me to trust him; my mind is against that.

"I am sorry. You can't play with us."

He lifts his hands and surrenders. "Fine; I am not going to force you into doing anything you don't want to."

"Leave us now. Crandon and I are about to go inside and have dinner. It is better you go than to have us leave you out here alone."

"Thank you, Mia, anyway. Do tell Noël I dropped by. I appreciate everything."

What is there to be grateful about? I was quite rude to him. Yet he presses on he is in my debt? Is something faulty inside that chap's head? He freaks me out as being psycho or something fiendish.

It is high time we bath. I stand in the shower, undressed. Crandon is straightened besides me, waiting for me to hold the tap and switch it open. A stream of cool water crashes on us. I shudder. He trembles too, firmly holding on to my waist. "Don't worry, chocolate," I comfort him. "I will now loose hot water." That has him grinning cheerfully.

Every time I take my clothes off, Crandon slaps my ass with his hand. His is an exciting habit of squeezing my ass and then chuckling loudly to himself. I have never taught him to do these things. One time, I discovered him playing a tutorial porn video on Noël's laptop. Honestly, this blew the shit out of me. Crandon was masturbating after the guy in that video!

I have become exhausted of coming across Playboy magazines littered in his bedroom before setting them on fire. He generally steals them from Noël's room, at times storing them inside his closet. On occasion, he hides them underneath his mattress. I always see white cum soaking his clothes, chiefly the vestments gathered in our laundry basket.