Stratford Spice
"When Kofi's washing machine floods his flat, his upstairs neighbor Akosua comes to help. The Ghanaian goddess shows him that water damage isn't the only thing that can leave you soaking wet."
The water was ankle-deep by the time Kofi realized something was wrong. His ancient washing machine had finally given up, flooding his Stratford flat with soapy water that crept across the kitchen floor like a slow-motion disaster.
"Shit, shit, shit!"
He was on his knees with towels when the knock came. He opened the door to find Akosua—the woman from upstairs who he'd only ever nodded at in the hallway.
"I saw water coming through my bathroom floor," she said. "You okay?"
She was wearing a silk robe, clearly interrupted mid-evening. But even in that state, she was stunning—tall, dark-skinned, with cheekbones that could cut glass and hips that strained the silk.
"My washing machine died. Spectacularly."
"Let me help."
They worked together, mopping and wringing and stacking towels. The water was finally receding when Kofi really looked at her.
She was soaked. The silk robe clung to every curve, rendering it essentially transparent. He could see everything—the full swell of her breasts, the darkness of her nipples, the outline of her thick thighs.
She caught him looking and didn't look away.
"Like what you see?"
"I—sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"I asked a question." She stepped closer, water squelching underfoot. "Like what you see?"
"Yes."
She kissed him without another word—tasted like shea butter lip balm and red wine. Her wet body pressed against his, and he felt the heat of her even through the soaked fabric.
"I've watched you," she breathed. "Coming and going. Wondered what you'd feel like."
"We don't even know each other."
"Then let's get acquainted."
She undid her robe and let it fall. She was completely naked underneath, and Kofi's brain short-circuited.
Her body was traditional Ghanaian beauty—wide hips, thick thighs, a backside that defied gravity, breasts that sat heavy and full on her chest. She was a goddess made flesh.
"Your turn," she commanded.
Kofi stripped quickly, and her eyes went wide when she saw him.
"Ah! They grow them well in Ghana." Her hand wrapped around him. "Very well."
She led him to the one dry spot—the bedroom, somehow spared from the flood. She pushed him onto the bed and climbed on top.
"I've needed this," she said as she sank down onto him. "You have no idea."
She rode him like she was possessed, her body undulating in waves, her breasts bouncing hypnotically. She spoke in Twi when she got close—words he half-understood, curses and prayers mixed together.
"Harder," she demanded. "Don't treat me gentle."
He flipped her over, driving into her with everything he had. Her thick thighs wrapped around him, her nails raked his back, and she screamed into the pillow.
"Yes! Yes! YES!"
She came so hard she shook, her whole body convulsing around him. The sight of her—this beautiful, powerful woman completely undone—pushed him over the edge too.
They collapsed together, sweating, breathing hard, the sound of dripping water from the kitchen a distant rhythm.
"So," Akosua said eventually, "I suppose we should exchange numbers."
Kofi laughed. "Might be useful. For emergencies."
"Mmm. Emergencies." She climbed on top of him again, already stirring him back to life. "I feel another one coming on."
"Your place might flood this time."
"Let it." She leaned down to kiss him. "I have a very capable neighbor who can help me clean up."
The washing machine was definitely broken beyond repair. But Kofi thought this might be the best disaster he'd ever experienced.
His Stratford spice was just getting started.