Life of Thomas da Silva.

Season 1

Life of Thomas da Silva.
Life of Thomas da Silva,
Winsala Gbotemi.

Episode 8 (Collateral Beauty)

And it took another round of French kiss for me to give into her seductive lure again. It was a beautiful Saturday morning and after having two rounds of sex one in the bedroom after waking up and the other in the bathroom after we finished brushing our teeth. We both felt hungry, so went to the kitchen to prepare ourselves something to eat.

 

Though, as you all have noticed that I don’t know how to cook, I was in the kitchen with Clare to assist her. She was about to prepare pie and mashed potatoes. To be sincere nothing beats a classic comfort food, such as pie served with a pile of creamy mashed potatoes and lashings of gravy. Coincidentally, we were both craving for it at the same time.

 

We were both in the kitchen. We were not really dressed. She was on her panties and a tight-fitting sleeveless shirt with wide shoulder straps and low neck with no front opening and I was on my boxers and an underwear. As she bent over the sink. I came behind her and I held her really close and I started noshing on her neck. With my tongue I sketched the curves of her neck and shoulder. With one hand I grabbed her butt tightly. With the other I grabbed her boob stiffly.

 

As she started to whine I tossed her around and I started soul kissing her. We started kissing desirously. With every kiss we gasped to catch some air. I grabbed her butt with my both hands, my lips were never leaving hers. I then lifted her and I set her on the kitchen stand. Still kissing her I opened her legs and I started stroking her through her briefs with my thumb. I could feel her undies beginning to souse because she was really getting wet. I stopped and I started taking her top off.

 

While I was doing that she was busy perking her breast, making herself ready for me to gormandize them. I grabbed them both and I started sucking on her nipples. I flipped and orbited it with my tongue. I grabbed it with my teeth and I tugged on it delicately. Just enough for her to feel both a bit of pain but mostly bliss and euphoria. I turned my attention to the other one doing the same thing. Then I moved lower down. Kissing my way to the bottom of her torso. I started removing her briefs which were now soaking from her juices. I then I started kissing one of her thigh and when I got to her cunt I kissed around it, razzing her, Clare could feel my breath just barely brushing her ticklish pussy. Then I moved past it to her other thigh. Kissing and lapping all around.

 

Then I finally set my devotion to her wet and hot cunt that was beseeching me to give it solicitude and tenderness. I started kissing it. Just merely going into her beautiful folds. Then when I got to the bottom part of it, in one swift move, I put my tongue inside and in an upward movement, I licked it from bottom to the top. When I got to her cunt I put my lips around it entirely and I sucked on it. I pulled it and lugged it softly.

 

I flicked my tongue over and over. Each time making her bend her back in ebullience and exhilaration. With my hands I opened her lips and I went in abysmally and cavernously with my tongue. As I was doing this, I looked up at her and I could see her face was gorged with amusement. I then sneaked in a finger and I started fingering her as I was playing with her clit. Then I sneaked two fingers and she started to groan vociferously and louder.

 

I took a break to take a breath. While I did this I caressed her clit with my thumb and I fingered her briskly and hypersonically. Clare was now laying on the kitchen stand completely. All of a sudden I stopped. I grabbed her from her waist and I pulled her to the edge of the kitchen stand. I then pulled out my erect penis and massaged and rubbed it against her pussy and her clit.

 

This teased her and she began to beg me to please go inside her already. And so I did. I gradually and slowly penetrated her. she could feel me, fill her up extraordinarily. She could feel my skin peel back inside her. She could feel me touch all the grey areas inside her. I thrusted her with so much delight and fucked her with so much happiness, until we both ejaculated.

I would say, the above was my most memorable sexual encounter with Clare. My new flat was almost her home. And I enjoyed every moment we shared together. Clare’s husband came back to the United Kingdom only for few weeks before he returned back to Canada. Those weeks were unequivocally unbearable for me. Clare had become a part and parcel of my life, and I realized how doting and enamored I had become. And to crown up, how totally in love I was with Clare, I found myself not been able to copulate with any other woman, in fact I didn’t masturbate. In other words, I was busy waiting for her to return back to my loving hands.

 

Words cannot express how I longed to be with her whilst her husband was around, I must confess, the man is very approachable, chummy, and outgoing. He was so nice to me. I’m at this juncture you all would be wondering, what’s going on. I can understand. I’m also sure that series of questions would be racing through your minds.

 

But in a nutshell, though Clare was legally married to her husband, they were both in an open relationship whereby they were both free to be with any other person, whilst either of them was away for whatsoever reason. To both our surprise, when she elucidated on the reason why her husband was not vexed at all, when he caught the both of us copulating on his matrimonial bed. I wasn’t perturbed, I didn’t even flare-up at all, to her amazement.

 

Words can’t express how euphoric she was just because, her relationship with her husband didn’t offend or exasperate me. I myself can’t still comprehend why I was bent on loving her all the same. I would say, I was so much in love with her. I simply told her, that had it been her husband and her weren’t in an open relationship, there wouldn’t have been an opportunity of getting to know her talk less of failing in love with her.

 

While her husband was in town, the only time and opportunity I got to see her was at work, which was not always all the time. And we both maintained a professional relationship. She was so good at it, though it wasn’t easy, I did my best. Sometimes I’d think she had finally gotten over me to be with her husband, just because of how cold we both related at work, but each time those thoughts raced through my mind, I would discard it immediately. I even prayed to God, telling Him if the last thing He would do for me, is to not let Clare stop seeing me, I would gladly embrace the offer. Though it sounds funny, I actually prayed that prayer, with hopes and an expectant heart.

 

Every night before I slept, I would walk round my apartment, imagining and fantasizing she was there with me. I must confess, it was not always easy whenever I came back to reality, I would only retire to my bed to sleep. Everything about my apartment reminded me of her, most especially my bedroom where we lived most of our life.

 

My clothes, most especially the ones she wore, my bedsheet, in fact the whole of my apartment smelt like her. Each night, before I slept I would sniff my bedsheet. There was this particular cloth of mine she loved to wear, it became my night wear, when it started to get dirty, I was afraid to wash it because I was afraid it could lose her scent.

A day after her husband left for Canada, she moved back into my apartment again. It was on a Friday night; the following morning was when I had my most memorable copulation with her in the kitchen. That day did not only become one of my most noteworthy days with Clare, but if I were to write on one of the days I would never forget, I could write an expository essay based on that particular day.

Jones Monique.
Jones Monique.

Launching Soon!!!

Love is a beautiful thing, or a let me say, love is divine. Although, love is a Gordian and inscrutable set of feelings, and credos confederated with strong emotions of attachment, geniality, solicitude, and awe for another person. Love has been a great point of discussion of deep thinkers, versifiers, wordsmiths, and scholars for many generations, and different people and groups have often fought about its elucidation and meaning.

 

While most people accede that love insinuates gung-ho susceptibilities of devotion and affection, there are many squabbles about its exact connotation, and one person’s ‘I love you’ might imply something wholly antithetical than another’s. There has been much bicker about whether love is a volition or a mandatory part of human existence.

But as for me, love is something that is nurtured between two people and blossoms over time, via getting to know your better half and undergoing life’s feasts and famines, highs and lows, peaks and valleys, vicissitudes together. It requires dedication, eon, assurance which of course should be reciprocal, and the okay.

 

Lust on the other hand, has to do with the copulation momentum tingles that draw people toward each other from the onset and is kindled chiefly by the spur to engender. Portrayed by coitus hormones and utopian folly, lust hazes our finesse to see a person for whom he or she genuinely is and hence, it may or may not lead to a long-term relationship.

 

The acme romantic connection synopsis, some might say, involves an equilibrium mixture or amalgam of love and lust. After all, been consumed with desire after someone is averagely a consequential primal point of a long-term collaboration, and reigniting that maiden tinge is a discipline worth fostering for dedicated love birds.

 

If I were to vividly describe my relationship with Clare, I would describe it to be lust at first sight, that later on matured into becoming love. In other words, my lust and love for her met at an equilibrium, denoting the ideal intimate relationship scenario. Whereby there was a clear balanced combination of love and lust.

 

To be frank, I was deeply in love with Clare, and she knew it, though she didn’t take my love for her, for granted, she was just too sweet and good to be true. There was this warmth and solace I usually find whenever I was in her bosom. A feeling that usually catapulted me away from this troubled world.

 

When I was with her I got inspired to write like never before, she was my muse, and at the same time, my worst distraction. We lived a triangular kind of lifestyle. Work, my apartment and the film houses around our neighborhood. And on the contrary, those were the best days of my life.

 

There comes a time in every man’s career, when there’s always a moment of transitioning, that leads to diversification of one’s art and craft. My own moment of transition came, when I got a call from John my manager, that a novel I had written titled, ‘Why I Can’t Love,’ was going to be adapted into a television series.

 

That was another big break for me in a way. My novel was used as the basis of a televised series. The title of the series was also the title of my book. And ‘Why I Can’t Love,’ became a household must watch series, which grew to become very popular back then. I also backed so many awards then,

 

Though adaptation process wasn’t that smooth because of what had happened between myself and the owner of Green and Harris Publishing, I presume. I was happy my manager and lawyer could pull it through. Let me explain, the first issue I faced was the adaptation rights. As the owner of the original material, I own a copyright, which means I have say over whether or not the movie can be made based on the material, and for what price.

 

But the problem arose as a result of the fact that my publisher which is Green and Harris Publishing, also has a sub right over the book. I wanted the producers of the television series to buy the copyright so they could adapt my novel into a series, while Green and Harris wanted to option the rights. Optioning is something like leasing-to-buy, where the producers pay a fraction of the money up front, with a promise to pay more later if the movie gets made.

 

The problem with that arrangement was, as at then the producers were not sure if the movie was to be made or not. But they were interested in buying the copyrights. I was interested in the total payment, which would of course spur the producers into making a movie out of my novel, but Green and Harris, all in the name of doing what’s best for business hypothetically, wanted to option with an intent to frustrate the producers so much so that they may not eventually make the movie. In a nutshell, I would lose in two ways. Firstly, my novel wouldn’t eventually become a movie, secondly, since the movie was never made, I wouldn’t get the final payment, which is usually more than the initial payment.

 

The second issue was that of the screenplay. Screenplay is all about finding the bottom line of the story within the novel and grafting that into the story framework of a screenplay. Novels comprises of details while screenplays comprise of a holistic view to tell a drama within let’s say a two-hour time frame, as played on screen.

 

In other to triumphantly actualize or adapt a novel into a film, the screenwriter has to nab those wide details that best epitomize the nucleus concept, role impersonation, intonation, ambience, plot, and motif. Which is not an easy task, hence the often statement, ‘the book is always better.’

 

Screenwriting is just about demonstrating, and not revealing. It is an ocular and observable channel, which would be prosaic and somnolent if there was just a raconteur or a voice-over reading all the essay and a motion picture can’t capture four, five, or six hundred pages of a novel. So the assignment and burden of the screenwriter is to espy the crux ingredients. Conceptualize the writer’s thoughts, nucleus concept, role impersonation, intonation, ambience, plot, and motif. In other words, the screenwriter’s responsibility is to construe the precise quintessence of the novella and transliterate, metamorphose, transmogrify, and transpose that to the big screen. It is all about earmarking the root constituents and making that switch, via practicality.

 

I was afraid the screenwriter who was going to undergo the rigor of bringing into light, and also conceptualizing my thoughts, wasn’t going to do it perfectly, hence the statement ‘the book is always better,’ was possibly going to materialize. I could not wait to see my heartfelt work diluted, so I applied to be the head writer and creative director of the movie set, the producers initially refused to accept my offer, but after a lot of persuasion and lobbying on the part of my manager, I was eventually given the job offer.

 

I had to resign and stop working with 44th Screen Republic, a decision which Clare was happy I took, she simply told me with so much affection in her voice, that when the project was completed, my job at 44th Screen Republic was still waiting for me. And that, she was happy and ready to support my new life venture.

 

And that was how I transitioned from being just a creative writer to becoming a major stakeholder in the Cinema of the United Kingdom. A decision which I believe was fated and destined to happen. In as much as I couldn’t help but to believe my new fortune was destined. Life has always found a way of playing her tricks on me. More or less, the reason why I don’t plan.

 

This time, what life gave to me, was the opportunity to bite off more than I can chew. I’m sure, I might have lost you all at this point, but not to worry, I would be coming back to this later. But whenever I remember this point in time in my life, I’d always laugh at myself. And what I refer to as my innocent stupidity.

 

The series was eventually produced, the major location for the production was the city of London. Since I was no longer working for Clare, the only time we were opportune to see each other was when I was off the set, back at home. Or whenever she visited me on set. Though I headed a team of dexterous writers, charged with the responsibility of writing seasoned episodes for the television series, ‘Why I Can’t Love,’ based on my original novel, ‘Why I Can’t Love,’ most times I was on set, a gesture which the producers and directors of the series, loved, valued and appreciated.

 

Due to the nature of my new job, my sexual activities with Clare, were declining each passing day, because of three major reasons; firstly, I was very and unusually busy, secondly, over familiarity with Clare somewhat caused a decline in my sexual urge and crave for copulation with her, thirdly, since I was always busy and she was not always around, I pleasure myself by masturbating.

 

She also noticed a decline in our sexual intercourse, but she totally understood the nature of my new job, and whenever I was less busy, I usually made up for those times I was busy. Not that I was growing out of love for her, on the contrary, I was falling deeper in love with her. The foundation of our relationship was built on lust, but on my path, lust later on turned into love, and love became serious love, and serious love became diehard love.

 

There’s a certain stage in every man’s relationship when he believes that sexual intercourse isn’t the only medium and channel to express and showcase love for one’s spouse. This blunder is often committed immaculately and innocently. This is when/what I call the critical point in every relationship.

 

Every step taken during this critical point matters a lot. Because it can either make or mar the relationship. And that is why it is always advisable for couples to constantly rejuvenate the love they share, because love can be brought alive and love can also die. These I write based on my own personal experience.

 

Based on the contextual case of Clare and I, we reached that particular critical point, but we over looked it. I believed love was all that counted and mattered, because I was madly in love with her. The mistake I made was that I didn’t express it, as I should. Simply because I assumed, and believed, the feeling was mutual. Over familiarity, was the major cause, of this odious misplacement. But I was really in love with her.

 

Like I emphasized earlier, how funny life could be, another trick she played on me, was when I transcendentally met Clotilde. A French Born British actress. ‘Why I Can’t Love’ was about to premier it second season, I was invited to seat as a panel member and judge for an audition/screening exercise. The producers where auditioning for casts for certain new roles.

 

The moment she stepped into the auditioning hall, I knew almost immediately that there was something different about her. She took my breath away. And she was a master of her craft. She was able to dazzle other panel of judges. This landed her a sub lead role, that subsequently brought her to limelight.

 

We never spoke until one particular day; she came to meet me in my office to pitch an idea for the screenplay. It was a fabulous and excellent one at that. She has this French coupled with British intonation, that made her spoken English fascinating. This was the major reason why I granted her audience in the first place.

 

And when she was done talking, she was able to sell an idea which was topnotch. This was the very reason we became friends, and till this very moment we are still best of friends. I made sure, I was jotting as she was talking, and when she was done talking, I was flabbergasted. I sat still, looking at her with so much bewilderment. While she reciprocated with a divine smile. To be frank, she is still one of the most beautiful women I have met in my entire life.

To be continued…

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This week trivia.

I’m feeling happy today, and i want to give away to the first five people that comments on today’s episode on Life of Thomas da Silva, an electronic copy of my books (Black Ruby and Women’s War 1929). All you have to do is to leave a comment on today’s episode, alongside, your name, location, and email address. The books would be sent to your email.

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One Thought on Life of Thomas da Silva.

  1. Great concept Nice work bro
    ADESOLA Isaac
    Lagos state
    adesolaisaac96@gmail.com

    Reply

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