“To Love And To Hold Till Death Do Us Part”

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“But Jonathan made me forget all about the negativity in my life. He made me feel like I could fee] off him forever to keep me alive, and he’d always be sufficient. And if anyone took away my worshiper, I wouldn’t function, ever, again.”

***

The day Jonathan suggested I move in with him, was the day I knew things were going to change forever between us.

It had been during one of our hottest sex sessions and we had been cuddled up in bed, our backs arching towards each other like we wanted to build skyscrapers on our bodies. My hips had been straddled against his, and our sweaty bodies were mangled together compromisingly like dinosaurs strapped to a small size bed.

Sex was always like this between us. It was like we wanted to reveal the entirety of ourselves to one another as we worshiped our bodies with kisses and feverish orgasms. I enjoyed sex with Jonathan. Heck, I didn’t just enjoy it. I loved it. Jonathan worshiped my body, just as much as he worshiped my mind. I was his goddess, and this bed—his bed, which was soon to become our bed, was my altar.

“Are you suggesting I cancel the lease on my apartment?.” I slurred, finding it hard to mince words logically with the intensity of his feverish touch.

“Yeah, babe.” He groaned as he chewed on the lower part of my earlobe. I always loved it when he did that. “I want to have you here with me.”

“But..” I tried to feign an argument. I was an independent woman after all, and independent women were supposed to fight for their freedom from men. At least, that’s what it looked like these days on every Fem tag post on Twitter.

Even though I secretly knew I would burn any “what a woman is supposed to be like or 50 shades of feminism mental handbook” I had previously ingrained in my memory just to be here with Jonathan.

Feminism and independence was a suitable conversation when anyone wanted to have a mental challenge on the topics of gender and equality. But everyone with a thinking mind should know that a feminist or any feminist of a high ranking for that matter would beg and reject the commandments if ever they found or stumbled across a grown lovable man like Jonathan—a man who was good enough to make you orgasm only with the moan of your name.

Now feminism did not have anything to do with this, but one thing I was most certain of, as I lay down on the springy bed that echoed with every bounce and thrust was that I would renounce the world for Jonathan, that too, without batting an eye, because I had so many reasons to. This here with his face between my legs was one of those reasons.

I was the most powerful here. Here in his kingdom, as the sole object of his worship. My body here was everything and more, on this bed, than It would ever be, outside of here. and no theory or movement could ever take that away from me.

After all, what is a goddess without a worshiper?

My body was the temple, the thing between my legs was the pinnacle that made me the goddess, and Jonathan here bent over me, was my worshiper. A worshiper after my own heart.

“But..” I whispered. Looking up at him with starry glazed eyes. My eyes were dense and looked like they’d fall back into my head if Jonathan did not stop pleasuring me so much.

“Don’t you think,” I muttered incoherently…moaning sounds instead of speaking words?

“What’s that love?” He replied, teasing me as he lowered his mouth into mine. He was enjoying that I could not say a single sensible thing. “Maybe I would need my space?” I moaned my alibi in partial distraction, even though I was dying from the excitement of it. I was Testing to know if he meant the things that were currently spewing from his lips.

Men could be like that sometimes. Give them good sex, and they’d promise to give you the world in the heat of the moment. I like to call it the post-orgasmic euphoria.

“Your space is here with me, my love. I have enough space for you. I am enough for you.” Jonathan concluded with that harsh hint of annoyance in his voice.

Oh God, he is really serious about moving in.

That was my cue. He had decided and finalized the decision already.

This was it. It was happening, and I was so happy.

Our relationship would be taking a growth spurt

He wanted more from me. He really could be thinking about settling down with me forever.

I love men that know what they want, But more than this, I love men who always find a way to get their intentions across with clarity. Jonathan knew that he wanted me, and he was willing to get me no matter the cost, and I loved him for it.

It was at that moment that I realized that I loved him more than anything else in the world, and if he popped the big question, my answer would be an unrepentant YES.

***

And he did pop the big question.

Two months later in the same manner.

What did I say about men and post-orgasmic euphoria? It would appear that after good sex, their heads were either the clearest or the foggiest. Jonathan was always like that, making big decisions in the heat of the moment.

“Would you marry me, Angie?”

I had been lost in the moment, biting down on the headboard to keep from screaming as his hands did things to my body that my mind could not begin to fathom.

Few months of going down at it almost every day, and I was not tired of Jonathan’s worship. I was addicted. I could never get enough. Every new day came with crazy new hot inventions. Inventions that had more mind-blowing bedroom results than the former.

My temple would never tire of this worship.

My eyes were rolled back into my head again, and I could only see glazy stars as I purred his name.

He pulled out, and I felt like I had just been served the worst punishment ever.

“Jonathan, what are you doing?” I asked, pinching him as I attempted to draw closer to his warmth.

That was the only coherent thing I had muttered since we got in from the awards dinner.

“Angie…did you hear me? Make me the happiest man ever. Be my wife.”

I was still trying to come to terms with what was happening. I was almost near finishing and Jonathan was pulling out? Why?

“Angie please, marry me. Would you be my wife? Let’s make this official”.

Oh. Marriage. That’s what this was about?

He wanted us to seal our goddess-worshiper relationship with a convenient till death do us part covenant?

“Hell yes!!” I screamed. “Yes!” I chanted again like I had just gotten a millionaire deal.

I was half saying yes to his proposal and was chanting yes to his hands softly cajoling me. He was doing things to me.

“Yes Jonathan, Yes!” I moaned loudly. “I would do this with you for the rest of my life. Yes!!”

I would opt-in for this reverencing every day of my life. So help me God.

“Yes, Jonathan. I would marry you. I would be your wife.” I squealed in excitement as he resumed his worship on our altar.

As I gripped the headboard and screamed into the small apartment, I realized how Jonathan was filling up every space in me.

I bit down on my lips and I could taste blood on my mouth. Did he accidentally bite me from the intensity, Or did I bite my tongue? I wasn’t sure, and it didn’t matter. His blood and mine intermingling on my lips was the dopest thing ever. I loved it. His blood was mine, and mine was his. What better way to crystalize our marriage proposal?

A temple, a worshiper, a goddess, and a blood covenant.

And even death would not do us part.

Death would not dare come between us.

This worshiper would give me ceaseless worship and if that meant doing this forever with him, then I did not mind, at all.

***

I was starting to grow codependent on Jonathan for everything.

My days were filled with thoughts of him, and my nights were filled with his bodily presence. I was not sure it was a healthy place to be, but Jonathan made me forget all about the negativity in my life. He made me feel like I could feed off him forever to keep me alive, and he’d always be sufficient. And if anyone took away my worshiper, I wouldn’t function, ever, again.

***

The day I got the news, my world fell apart. Jonathan had been involved in a car crash. Jonathan was dead.

Blood Sisters

We had officially been married for two years, and now, they said he had collided with a drunk truck driver, and the impact had impaled his brain. Killing him on the spot of the accident.

I sat down and mourned in sadness. The world suddenly stopped revolving sensibly, and I wanted every single person to feel the intensity of my pain.

What was a goddess without her worshiper?

My world had stopped.

Life had no meaning left for me.

My Jonathan was dead.

This is how goddesses are forgotten. This is how gods go into extinction.

When there is no one left to resume their worship.

When there is no adoration and adulation left on their altar.

With this realization, I quickly reached out and dialed the hospital.

I knew what I had to do.

This altar would not stop raising worship.

When worshippers are lost and in need of help, their gods come to their rescue. It was time for me to rescue Jonathan.

And so I do the needful.

Jonathan is here with me now.

Alone in this tiny apartment.

I stare at his eyes, closed in slumber—I don’t like to call it Death. That word is too ominous.

I prefer to see it as it looks—asleep.

There’s nothing wrong with my love. He is just asleep. He’s on a long sedative. Like those nights when he’d return after a long day and fall asleep soundly beside me.

Even in his sleep, he was a loyal worshiper. Every time I would coerce his member, it would come alive even before Jonathan himself. Every part of him worshiped me. His body was still loyal to my touch.

Even in deep slumber.

He was like the proverbial dead bones rising to heed the masters call.

I like to see him like that till now. Every time I pleasure him with a nudge, I still feel a little sparkle of life. He’s in there. Somewhere. A worshiper does not forget his goddess.

Jonathan, although constricted by death, has not forgotten me. Stealing his body from the morgue was easier than I thought. Disguised as a mortuary attendant I had stolen the body and put it away in a van, under the distracted watch of the security guards.

I brought him here so we can build a new altar. Revive our lost worship. Of course, the police had come to inform me that they were sorry the body had been stolen by someone and investigation was still underway. I had played my part as a devastated wife. I had fallen on the ground and wailed unashamedly before the cops.

I had given them enough drama to last for a lifetime, and had slammed the door in their faces. They shouldn’t look for Jonathan. He was where he was supposed to be.

Safe with his goddess.

Loyal to his temple. An ever fervent worshiper till death do pulls us apart.