A New Way of Seeing the World

When he appeared inside her loving room, he saw no one. He tiptoed to the door of her room and peeped inside through the jamb of the door. Still he couldn't find anyone. For a moment he was confused and dismayed. He had been outside and he knew beyond the shadow of doubt that the door wasn't closed from outside. So it meant someone was inside. To be double sure, he walked gently to the living room door and saw that it had been closed from inside. Another confirmation that someone was inside the house and that person could not be anyone but Jenna. So where could she be now? In the kitchen? He moved towards the kitchen which was adjacent to her living room. And that was the moment he heard a sound. It was the sound of water hitting the floor. She was in the bathroom. Damn. The mere thought that Jenna was in the bathroom— naked— drove him crazy and made him immediately forget the reason he had come. He moved gingerly to the door of the bathroom and to his pleasant surprise he found out that it was slightly open. In his excitement, he craned his neck and peered through the small opening and then he saw her. She was backing him, and he almost died of excitement when he saw her buttocks. Damn. Exactly the way he remembered it. He watched her as she ran her hands through her body, soaping every corner, humming a sad song. By now there was a huge bulge in Matthew's crotch. This tumescence was familiar. And it was special. It was different from what he usually felt when he looked at other girls. This one was powerful and it drove him to the extremes of my mind, numbing and charging him up at the same time.

At that point, he began to toy with the idea of jumping inside the bathroom and forcing his way on her like he had done the other time. But it knew it would be foolhardy; it would distract from his mission. He knew she would raise alarm and have neighbours running to her rescue. If that happened, how would he, then, achieve his aim of capturing her quietly and taking her to a place where she would for ever be his sex slave? It took sheer willpower on his part to prevent himself from bursting inside the bathroom and knocking Jenna down.

He had continued like that, watching her, clutching his erect penis, fighting his premordial hankerings.

Donald had told him that his own immortal existence was different from the one that plagued Frank's life. Unlike Frank that could not love, that had lost the ability, the part of himself that could feel noble and lofty emotions, only the dark things of life like anger, hatred, apathy, schizophrenia, emotional pain, a profound disconnection from the temporal world, Matthew immortal existence was quite different in the sense that his base yearnings had remained. When he asked why, Donald told him:

"The clay doesn't ask the potter why it is not as smooth as onyx."

"But I'm not your clay and you're not my potter!" he had responded.

It took him over a week to come to terms with the fact that his very life was at the mercy of Donald. And he was particularly enamored about the fact that his white-hot hankering for sex had remained. How would he have been able cope in the immortal life?

Standing by her bathroom door that day watching Jenna have a bath, he began to feel the overwhelming rush of gratitude. Gratitude because the best part of his life had remained, because that part was the part that defined his identity and formed his very image. Sex was like elixir to him. It was like oxygen. It was something he lived for, night and day. While he paraded himself as a Eunuch and before he finally had his way with Jenna, no day passed without him dancing bedroom jigs on top of a woman, and sometimes teenage girls. He had been throughly stealthy about his sexual activity when he was a pastor. But he always had ladies beating a part to his door for sex, and, more often than not, it was in exchange for money. And the majority of his sexual partners had been members of his own church— the women and girls who looked up to him, and whom he had sweet-talked into submission, riding on the waves of his power and influence.

"The Lord said you should visit me in my house by 9 p.m. because that's His designated hour for the outpouring of His blessing upon your life. You don't want to miss it. You miss it, and you'll forever continue languishing in your problems," he told one twenty-something years old lady one evening after Thursday Revival Hour.

"Amen, Pastor. Hallelujah," she responded, closing her eyes and waving her hands upwards in adoration. "But I don't know where you live, Pastor," she said when she opened her eyes.

"You don't know my house?" he said her with a pretentious shock on his face. "You don't know the House of the Eunuch at Isaac Obasa street in this Bariga? Looks like you're not ready for your blessing yet!"

"Forgive me, Pastor. And may God forgive me, too, for not knowing where the great man of God lives. Isaac Obasa street, sir?"

"Yes," he smiled, knowing that he had hypnotized yet another simpleton. "Isaac Obasa street, by Olounje bus stop."

"Okay, I will be there," the lady said.

"Don't be late."

"Woe betide me if I'm late for the glorious hour of the manifestation of my blessings!"

Later that night, the lady was writhing in pleasure-pain under the weight of Matthew body, moaning, mumbling sensuous amens to the unintelligible prayers that Matthew was whispering in her ears mid-sex

He did that same thing to a number of women in his church and many succumbed to his charms.

This was exactly why he was filled with gratitude while standing behind Jenna's bathroom door. He was excited that this part— this fundamental part of himself— had not been erased by death. And it was in this sense that he considered himself far superior to Frank, and even luckier.

But something Jenna did in the bathroom had made him change his plans. After washing off the soap in her body, Jenna began to cry. Matthew was particular surprised when he saw her fall to her knees inside the bathroom, crying and talking to herself. Immediately, his penis went flaccid. No, he felt no compassion for her. He was merely appreciating the weight of her agony.

He said to himself, "I'll come again tomorrow morning."

Pacing about in his room in Silverton now, Matthew couldn'r forgive himself for blowing his chances. He had gone to her apartment the next day and had met her door locked. And since that day, she hadn't come home. It was his mission now to find out where she could possibly be, and then capture her.