tagRomanceEthiopian Dreams Ch. 05

Ethiopian Dreams Ch. 05

byRubenR©

I wake up by Alem-Tsehay's crying. When I sit up, I feel a pool of cold wetness under my body, and when I move, I feel more of it seeping out of me. I think it should make me feel gross, but it doesn't; it makes me feel complete. I have heard stories of friends mixing their blood to demonstrate their bond; Chris' baby inside my body feels the same to me.

My body is stiff, but Alem-Tsehay's crying gives me a headache, so I do get out quickly and pick her up. Her diaper is heavy; she must feel dirty.

I look around for clothes; I don't want to walk through the house naked. Chris' shirt, draped over the chair, seems large enough to cover most of my body, so I slip it on, smile to a drowsy Chris, and take Alem-Tsehay to the room with they changed her diapers before, to clean her up.

Alem-Tsehay's diaper is full, both of urine and poo. For how long had she been wearing it like that? Due to the diaper, the feces are smeared all over her skin. I feel guilty and sorry for her.

There is a box of tissues I can use to clean her up. To my surprise, the tissues are moist; they feel nice and are easy to clean up with. I also use one to clean up myself a bit. Then I notice Chris standing in the door, watching me. Embarrassed, I pull the shirt back down, covering myself. The filthy tissue I crumble and hide in my hand.

Chris gets inside, embraces me from behind, and kisses my neck, under my ear.

"Way, that stinks," he laughs, referring to the diaper. "She must be relieved that she got rid of that."

"I don't like it," I reply. I'm not laughing. "Normally, I would have known she had to pee or poop. I don't know why I hadn't heard her before."

Chris looks surprised when I pick her up from the table, and asks "No diaper?"

I don't understand why he asks. "Are we going somewhere?"

"Back to bed, I hope," he replies with a wide grin. "Maybe she needs some more milk, and then I want some more of you."

"So," I reply to his previous question, "she won't need diapers then. I'll know when she has to go."

"How?"

Why this question? "It's always when she wakes up, after eating, and sometimes I just know."

"It never goes wrong?" He seems amazed; doesn't he know? He has slept with Alem-Tsehay before; he should know how it works.

"Very few times it goes wrong," I reply. Then I suddenly understand the reason for asking. Is he afraid for his bed? "It's only peeing that goes wrong; never pooping, unless she is ill. And for her pee, it's only water, after all..."

"So you think you can do without diapers?"

"Sure," I say. "We never used diapers before; no-one I know has ever used diapers. It never went wrong when you were with us in Ethiopia, did it?"

It seems like he wants to say something more, but he restrains. "I'll make some milk for her, okay?"

"Okay." I wonder if she will take the baby milk again. I don't think so, but I guess Chris will have to see for himself.

Chris goes downstairs, wearing a fluffy type of coat, and I go back to the bedroom.

Since we are staying in bed, I will allow Alem-Tsehay my breast. Anyway, I like to feel her against me, so I take off Chris' shirt. I consider putting on my panties again, but I'll be under the blankets for now, and maybe Chris wants some more, later. I do want some more, anyway...

I lie down on the mattress, push my bra down, but it won't stay, so I take it off completely. Then I place Alem-Tsehay on my chest and cover us by the blankets. Quietly, Alem-Tsehay sucks my nipple, while I stroke her bare bum.

Chris comes in. "Do you want to feed her, or shall I do it?"

"I'll do it," I say, and sit up.

"Oh, for her, you don't mind, taking off your bra?" Chris says when he notices my bare breasts.

I know he is joking, but still, I feel bad about it. Also because I do want to take off my bra for him. "You want some?" I try to answer in jest, and push my breast up to him.

He smiles but shakes his head. "I would love to, but I think Alem-Tsehay needs your attention first."

I give her the bottle—it is fun feeding her like that—but she doesn't take much. Then I slip back into Chris' shirt and bring her to the toilet, trying hard to ignore my near-nakedness. This is supposed to be my house too, after all, and I want Chris to see me, even if I don't.

Chris watches when Alem-Tsehay starts peeing. "You just start hissing, and then she pees?"

I nod. "When I say 'Ssss', she pees, and when I say 'Mmmm', she starts to poop. But only if she has to."

"I will remember that," Chris says, with a mischievous look in his eye. "Next time, when Thierry or David is holding her..."

It doesn't work like that, though.

We go back to the bedroom and I quickly slip under the blankets again. Chris takes off his coat and I watch him being naked before he joins me under the covers. He has a nice body, and his carrot, almost horizontal, sways with every move, which makes me smile.

Since we had sex, that tension has left me. There is no more shame or nervousness towards Chris, and I feel relaxed enough to offer my breast once again. "Wattet tefelegaleh?"

Chris grins, and now doesn't waste any time. He crawls close to me, takes my nipple in his mouth, and softly sucks on it. It is not like Alem-Tsehay sucking my breast; when Chris' lips touch the flesh, my whole body tingles, and when he sucks on my nipple, the sensations reverberate to the center of my body, where they set my flesh on fire.

I don't want to show too much that I'm ready for more, though. He shouldn't get the idea that sex is all I'm thinking of.

I try to ignore my fire. I sigh and try to relax, softly stroking his hair. "Yene baby-e! Yene mar!" One of his hands moves over my waist, to my hip, while his tongue softly flicks over the sensitive flesh of my nipple. "Terati!"

For a while we lie like that, Chris on one side, playing with my breasts, and Alem-Tsehay on the other side of me, sleeping again. Then I make him stop playing around, I and snuggle up against him. My husband. He lazily wraps his arm around me. It feels good. Good enough, for now.

Anyway, it will have to do, I guess; Chris is not pushing for more.

***

Eventually, we are woken up by Alem-Tsehay, who has grown restless. Chris hands me a coat, similar to the one he'd been wearing, and we go downstairs.

Nice thing about the carpet is, that I can put Alem-Tsehay on the ground; it isn't too cold or too hard for her. I put her near the door-opening to the kitchen, and watch how Chris places a baking dish in the oven.

He shows me where to find the plates, cutlery, glasses, and so on, and then he pours us a glass of wine and takes it back to the living room.

He takes place on the sofa, his legs on the pillows, and tells me to sit in between them. He turns on the television and opens some Ethiopian music. It is Yegna. "The Ethiopian Spice Girls," he proclaims; he seems proud to show them to me.

"You have a CD of them?" I ask. I am surprised; I don't think he bought it while we were together in Addis. I would have remembered.

He shakes his head. "This is on YouTube," he replies. "My television is... Our television is connected to the Internet."

Alem-Tsehay lies on my stomach. The curtains are closed, so no-one can see us. Chris' lips nibble on my earlobe, brush my neck and jaw. His hand softly strokes my upper leg, my hip. I put my hand on top of his, and caress it with my thumb. I want to tell him how happy I am, how relieved that we made it, but all I can do is sigh.

Then, Chris suddenly reminds me to call Mareshet.

Internet isn't working, so eventually, I briefly call by 'normal' phone to tell them everything is fine. I can hear her hidden tears and feel somewhat the same, but I manage to keep my voice light. I don't want Chris to think I'm not happy.

***

The Lasagna is okay-ish. It could use some more salt and some other spices, and it contains thin layers of creamy sauce which I don't really appreciate, but it does show that Chris' cooking has potential.

After dinner, I go to the bedroom to find one of the traditional dresses I've taken with me, and make coffee again. And right after the coffee ceremony, Chris suggests to take a shower and go to bed. A shower. Chris loves showers.

He takes me to the bathroom and explains the different taps. Of course; his shower gives hot water!

Chris turns on the water, adjusts the temperature, and tells me to go first.

Ah... Warm water. Nice!

The shower gives a lot of nice, warm water; not like at home, where we often have to do with a small, cold trickle, if we're lucky. I turn the temperature a bit higher, but soon it becomes uncomfortable, and I try to put it back. It takes several attempts before the temperature becomes acceptable again. I hope I'm not taking all of the hot water now, but I really love it, so I do take my time. I do have to be careful, though, that my hair doesn't get wet.

The bathroom gets full of steam, and it gets harder and harder to see Chris, sitting on the toilet lid.

"Isn't it getting too warm for Alem-Tsehay in here?" I ask, but Chris tells me she seems to love it.

Chris helps me, using one hand, to rub the shower gel on my back. For a while, I allow him to pay attention to my buttocks too, until it really is time to wash it off again. I enjoy the warm water for a few more minutes, but eventually, I do get out and dry myself.

"You get in bed now," Chris pushes me, "otherwise you'll cool down again. I will take care of Alem-Tsehay."

I would love to watch Chris showering with Alem-Tsehay, but I follow his advice. He knows what he is talking about.

The bed is cold. I curl up and shiver. I could put on the coat again, but I'm sure the cold is only temporary.

Waiting for Chris, I think back on the last night and day. Looking back, it all went very smoothly, and I finally start to believe that it is really possible to share my life with Chris.

I wake up when Chris enters the room. He has a towel wrapped around his body, and Alem-Tsehay wrapped in another one.

"What kind of clothes do you want her to wear?" he asks me.

Clothes... We haven't unpacked anything yet!

But Chris tells me there should be plenty of clothes ready in her room. When I tell him a simple shirt should be fine, he comes back with two, and I select one. While I dress Alem-Tsehay, he goes back to the bathroom to dry himself properly.

He does take his time, and when he returns, he asks me if I also want to brush my teeth.

"Is it necessary?"

"We all brush our teeth here," he replies. "As a child, we are told to do so, and everyone tells the same; dentist, doctor, teachers. I do believe it is better for your teeth, so maybe you should also start brushing. Also, it smells better."

Does that mean he doesn't like the smell, or perhaps even the taste, of my mouth?

I have seen him doing it before, but never thought of brushing my own teeth too. Yes, I do clean my teeth regularly with a stick, mostly at times when there's nothing else to do, but never used a brush. And I do think my teeth are good enough.

On the other hand, I don't know if they have the right trees for toothbrushes here, and, to be honest, I am curious what the soap tastes like. So I ask if he has an extra brush, and I follow him to the bathroom.

He unpacks a brush from its packing and puts a bit of soap on top.

"Just like this?" I ask him, a bit nervous, and when he doesn't stop me, I put the brush in my mouth.

I'm shocked by the sharp taste of the soap. "Is it no problem if I swallow some of it?"

"That's no problem," he smiles. "You're not supposed to eat it—when you're done, you have to rinse your mouth with water—but it isn't poisonous."

The hairs of the brush are really hard. "Doesn't the brush damage my teeth?"

"Just don't push too hard," he replies. Then he takes the brush from my hands. "May I?"

I nod, and he starts shaking his hand. Rapidly, he moves the brush over my teeth, creating a large amount of foam in my mouth that almost hurts my tongue.

When I think he has brushed all of my teeth, I take his hand to stop him. "That's enough," I attempt to tell him, and he takes the brush away.

"I normally brush for about two minutes," he says, "but I guess you should start slowly."

He cleans the brush under the tap, and then offers me a glass of water to rinse.

Once back in the bedroom, he asks me once more if I don't want to put on a diaper for Alem-Tsehay, and if she can't sleep in a separate bed next to us.

"I like to have her next to me," I patiently explain again. "Then I know she's alright, and I will wake up when she has to pee."

He almost seems jealous; like he doesn't want to share me with her. However, he doesn't try to push me.

We get back in bed, both without any clothes.

I carefully put the already sleeping Alem-Tsehay to the side of the bed, and then he starts kissing me. His hands on my wrists keep my arms positioned along my head, while his lips brush mines.

He sucks in my lower lip, carefully puts it between his teeth and bites. And then he softly pulls the tender flesh. When he lets go, his tongue traces the soft, sensitive flesh as if checking for damage, or stroking away the pain. There is no pain, there is no damage, but he is welcome to check it out for himself.

His tongue traces my lips, and then inquisitively invites itself into my mouth, searching around for company. When they meet, our tongues first carefully test the other's reactions, sniffing around each other like two cautious dogs, but soon they break down their inhibitions and tumble over each other, trying to outdo the other in speed and agility.

His kissing is aggressive and hot, but my mouth his eager to respond; my tongue nowhere inferior to his. But all too soon, his lips leave mine and go down, leaving my mouth still unsatisfied; still hungry for more. But the rest my body welcomes his decision to proceed.

While his kisses move over my chin, my neck, to my breast, his hands still hold my arms in place.

I ache for his head in my hands, but I contain myself. He is holding me; he doesn't want me to move; I don't want to fight him. And actually, it does feel nice to give in and receive his touch without the need to respond to it. It feels luxurious.

When his lips reach my nipple, it becomes even more difficult to lay still, but he lifts one leg over my waist, straddles me, and effectively controls my body this way.

Chris makes long, wet strokes with his tongue over my nipple, and then blows cold air against them. While I suck in air, I can hear him grinning; can he see my nipples growing even larger and harder?

He repeats the same trick to the other breast, and I can't prevent my body to squirm. He doesn't let go, though; his face moves up, over mine, and then he smothers my mouth with his lips again, kissing it fiercely until I am gasping for air. And then he turns back to my breasts again.

He licks, sucks and tickles, alternating between the two of them, and it takes all willpower not to break free from his grip around my wrists.

I am amazed, ashamed how much he affects me; how much he turns me on with his little tricks. I can feel the fire blazing inside me; my legs squirm and rub each other, and I can almost feel the wetness dripping out of me. I feel gross.

At the same time, the desire, unmistakably recognizable in his eyes and his movements, fans the flames even higher inside me. He enjoys my body, he wants me! It is me, he wants!

Despite his lust, he doesn't rush his actions. Everything he does, every movement and every touch, adds to my arousal. It won't take long before I can no longer contain myself. What if I do break free and ask him to... The outlook of the shame gives me the strength to hold still.

When both breasts have received extensive attention, Chris shifts slightly more downward, and his kissing mouth follows in that direction.

He lets go of my wrists and now his hands cover my breasts instead, letting his fingers rub and twist both the soft flesh and the hard buds.

Meanwhile, his lips have reached my belly-button, and circle round and round, kissing and sucking, heating up my body to intolerable heights.

When he moves his knees between my legs, I know for sure what he is up to, but he can't. Not now. Not with all the moist, with my desire flowing out of me. He can't; it is stained with my wanton.

He lies flat on his belly, and his lips have left my belly-button behind and are now rapidly approaching me there.

I put my hands on top of his hands, as if that can stop him. They don't stop their caressing of my breasts and torturing of my senses, until his arms are totally stretched out; then they pull away from my hands and start rubbing both sides of my ribcage, and down to my hips.

I pull my legs up in an attempt to catch his head with my knees, but his elbows skillfully keep them away from him.

I whine. I can't believe that unintelligent sound is coming from my throat, but it must have been me.

He looks up at me. "Okay?"

Of course, I'm not okay. He is centimeters separated from the most traitorous part of my body, he must be able to smell it, he can probably even see the fluid running out of me, and still, he doesn't turn away from it. On the contrary; his tongue, his lips, but also his hands keep sending waves and waves of incredible feelings, further encouraging the betrayal of my own body.

But I can't have him to debase himself; I won't be able to live with the shame, if his tongue touches me now. Despite the many nights reliving the times he had done it before, I can't allow him to go there.

I shake my head. I'm not okay. Don't do it.

He doesn't look.

"Please," I whimper, unable to say more. It is only encouragement to him. He is torturing me.

He wraps his arms around my thighs and his face...

His tongue touches my flesh; despite my abhorrence, I can't restrain the sensations, nor the audible intake of breath it causes.

My hands move to his head, to push him away, but once they touch his hair, their power abandons me, and they drop powerless on top of his hair.

For sure he must turn away now. His tongue must have sensed the wetness, perhaps even tasted it, and that should be enough to deter him. Maybe he'll be disgusted; angry at me for not warning him. Perh...

His tongue touches me again; now he licks me there and... ...and he... ...hums...

I now remember him telling me one time how he would want to lick my feet, naked, while I am fully dressed. I thought that was crazy, but I never expected he would...

What is it anyway; is he licking my pee now?

That returns the strength to my arms, and I push his head away. "I don't want it, Chris. It's not clean down there."

"But you just had a shower," he answers. Does he think I'm stupid?

"Yes, but still, it isn't clean. With your kissing, my body..." This is so embarrassing!

"you got wet," he finishes my sentence, as if it is something absolutely normal. He almost sounds happy about it. "Maybe you won't believe me, but I like the taste of your arousal."

"You like my pee?!" It's out before I know it, but I don't regret it. It is disgusting, and I better tell him straight away how I feel about it.

"Your pee?" Now it almost sounds like he is laughing; he IS laughing! "That is no pee; I don't know what it is, but for sure it isn't pee. It prepares your body for having sex."

I don't care; I don't want to know the details.

I do know, however, that I'm no longer in the mood to continue what we were doing.

Chris seems to sense that too. His demeanor changes and he quickly crawls up next to me. I ruined it again...

He wraps one arm over my body and hugs me tight. "I thought you liked it," he whispers.

And that's the point. I do like it.

"I'm sorry," I reply, and kiss his cheek to show him I'm not angry at him. "It's just; my body sometimes seems to take over from me."

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