Nowadays, Yirenkyiwaa found it difficult to concentrate on work whenever she whizzed past Attuquayefio’s workstation. She’d always find herself gazing at his pink lips and wish her lips could close round it, part both lower and upper flesh with her tongue and slosh in with her river of pent-up desire. She always had to wake from this daydream because let’s face it: Attuquayefio would never notice her in that way. He was the hottie at the office every spinster and married woman lusted over. It wasn’t just his thin yet pertinent lips, which looked honey-glazed and inviting whenever she drew near to pick up files on his desk when they collaborated on projects. It was his bulging eyes that seemed a maze of allure. They told of stories, rich in specificity yet grounded in universality. Archives of living that spilled out his tongue whenever they dined most nights, their presence their only entertainment as they completed work tasks. In a media house as acclaimed as PELUMI, both wanted to climb up the ladder as journalists as quickly as ever and eat off the fruits of their labor. On those evenings when they’d order takeout, sometimes fried yams, hot chili and pork; other times, spicy goat jollof, they would discuss their beats and give each other tips on couching stories to ensure maximum engagement.
It was not just lust Yirenkyiwaa harbored for Attuquayefio, it was this God-like admiration that embalmed her heart whenever she thought of him. She loved that Attuquayefio was not just a pretty face, he was bloody brilliant and this added to her attraction to him. Although she knew she would never cross his radar as a partner – Attuquayefio had confided in her that he was gay, and was currently dating a bigshot businessman from Tema- she still could not shrug off this desire that bulged out her heart and spleen.
Tonight, Attuquayefio is making final edits to his coverage of body dysmorphia amongst celebrities in fashion and music. He had gotten interviews with influential women who were able to open up about their experiences in the industry and how it messed them up for the worst – models, musicians, model-musicians, stylists, fashion designers and even publicists congregated the views on his scathing critique on the industry. He had won a national award just two weeks ago on his coverage of the downsides of pretty privilege in the entertainment industry and his plaque glistened beside him as he edited ferociously.
And there you are, two tables away, finishing your story on the has-beens of the music industry and how musicians of this era need to focus on making quality music that endures the test of time and eschew this hunger for cheap fame.
“Kwei, the usual?” Your teeth tear away at the tip of a sachet of water and you gulp desperately. The usual is the spicy goat jollof you order from a restaurant nearby.
“I’ll have to take a rain check. Can’t stay longer tonight. Babysitting my nephew. Got like 5 minutes to wrap up.”
“Alright. Making headway with your story?”
“Yup. It’s goood. Ghanaians would so eat this up.” He looks up at Yirenkyiwaa and smiles. “It’s crazy how we’re always the last to leave. It’s like these chaps just don’t give a shit about advancing their careers.”
“Gosh Kwei, they have families. And yes, some don’t give a shit. It’s not like they’re being paid millions.”
Attuquayefio laughs hard and his eyes glint with tear droplets. “Well, I guess you and I care more for our careers than our families. This nephew of mine is lucky I had already done major work on this story. Else I would have told my brother to postpone proposing to his new girl.”
Attuquayefio looks so happy; you want to take a screenshot of it in your brain and bookmark it for reference when you get home. You can still smell his cologne from where he sits. That goddamn leg-weakening cologne. He always announced himself with it whenever he marched into the office every morning at 7: 00 am. It did things to you, beyond the leg-weakening. His scent would travel into your most unbridled desires and chip away at your already swooning heart. Come to think of it, you hated what it did to you. Hated what Attuquayefio did to you by his mere presence. How your need of him made you feel like putty in his hands unbeknownst to him, made you so mushy on the insides, you knew you would do anything for him just to please him.
A loud click of the keyboard soared in the air. “Done,” Attuquayefio laughed. “Boy am I happy I’m never alone when I work late here. Glad to have you as a best work buddy, Kyi.” He arose from his seat and stretched his arms. Attuquayefio was not ripped-as-hell-muscular, but he wasn’t skinny either. His body type lingered between the endo and mesomorph; semi-thick yet with the silhouette of muscularity. Whenever he wore short sleeves and you both went out together to grab lunch, the sellers always ogled at him and would pepper their comments with “Macho” and “Fine boy.” It wasn’t difficult to see why. With his 6-foot-4 frame, chocolate-milk skin and fleshed out build, he could easily pass as the stereotypical tall, dark and handsome spec every young girl scribbled as her dream man as she hit puberty.
“Good for you. I’m halfway through mine. Guess I’m leaving last today.” Yirenkyiwaa took in his gorgeous frame and sighed. Why did she always have to fall for the guys that were unattainable and wouldn’t want her back?
“Let me see what you’ve got.” Attuquayefio approached and slouched beside her to view her open document on the computer. His perfume knocked the winds in her socks off. Dang, Attuquayefio. You don’t have to smell as good as you look, even this late. Have mercy on me bro! His fingers traced the lines on the screen. “Nice, nice. This looks very promising.”
“Thanks.” Yirenkyiwaa’s heart was beating fast. This always happened whenever Attuquayefio was super close.
He walked away and began packing his things.
“Kwei?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you ever fallen for someone who you knew was unattainable?”
“I’m fucking gay. I fall for unattainable guys all the time.” He giggled.
“And have you lusted and loved someone all at the same time.”
“Hmm. Lust and love are like a border separating two countries. One can easily be confused for the other. Sometimes they coalesce. Then it’s just called love. I mean, if you love someone, you most likely have a deep desire to connect sexually too. But it’s just not the main thing. You really want the totality of that person, not just his or her body, you know. Why do you ask? Are you lusting over someone?”
Yirenkyiwaa shifted uncomfortably. Attuquayefio didn’t see it. She faked a laugh.
“Oh, you soo are. You naughty girl! Who’s the lucky dude? Is it Ato?”
“Ugggh, no. Not Ato.” Ato was the company driver. A good-looking chap whose eyes always lingered on Yirenkyiwaa’sbosom whenever he run into her. “I’m not lusting over anyone. I’m just curious.”
“Hahahaha. Just pulling your legs. Ato’s cute but I always had a feeling you’d never go for a guy that just stares at your boobs like it’s the best thing that dropped from Mars.”
“And isn’t it?”
“From a gay dude to a hetero, boobs are overrated. Yours are beautiful though. I see why he stares.” You suddenly feel so warm on the inside. You smile stupidly.
Attuquayefio shakes his head. “Hetero men and boobs. Like coke to an addict. From childhood till the end of time, no greater love has ever been known to man than boobs. See the way even male babies like breast. They sleep to it while sucking saf.”
“Ah Kwei, every baby, male or female loves breast! How do you want them to survive without milk? You’re messed up, bro.” You hate that you’re stuck at bro with him, but you’re grateful there’s always banter between you both. At least he thinks your boobs are hot.
Cackling shrouds, the atmosphere stills, your eyes interlock momentarily. You look away.
“But on a real, Ato’s eyes would get him in trouble one day. Bro needs to control himself.” Attuquayefio slings his bag across his shoulders.
Control himself, Yirenkyiwaa muses. At least Ato has the boldness to ogle in plain sight. He has the courage to let you know that he wants you. Twisted, wrong, yet honest. You dug that. Not like you who has to hide what’s burning within you.
“Catch you tomorrow dear.” Attuquayefio smiles as he whizzes past you.
You pine after him, your eyes taking in and poring over his glorious form inching into the shadows outside as you mutter, “Sure. Goodnight, Kwei.”
And wonder again,
Why do we keep wanting the people that will never want us back?
Biography
David Agyei-Yeboah is a poet, writer and musician from Accra, Ghana. He holds an MA in Communication Studies from the University of Ghana and graduated with first-class honors in English and Theatre Arts for his BA. His work has been published in many print and online journals across Africa, North America, Australia and Europe. His manuscript, OUR SPIRITS YEARN FOR HOME won the 2023 Kofi Awoonor Literary Prize. It was also nominated for the Totally Free Best of the Bottom Drawer Global Writing Prize from the Black Spring Press Group, UK. David has also been shortlisted for the EU Delegation Prize and the Teambooktu Poetry Contest. His short story, ‘Kiin Kiin Kiin’ was chosen and included in the Top Ten Stories of All Time list at Literally Stories from a pool of over 3000 stories published over a decade. Dogs make him smile, always.
