Amahle's Diary 1

Chapter 32

The Saturday that followed the matric function found me just wrapping up my shower when Bomi unexpectedly entered. I was in the process of patting my body dry with a towel.

"Hickeys ezingaka ntombi?" she remarked.

"I can explain," I hurriedly responded.

"I know," she calmly replied.

Surprised, I questioned, "How?"

"I know you, Amahle. Why didn't you tell me?" she inquired.

"I was scared," I admitted.

"Of?" she pressed further.

"I don't know," I confessed, accompanied by a nonchalant shrug.

"Maybe because you'd think it's too soon," I speculated.

"You're my daughter. It is too soon, but as I said, you should've waited until you were ready," she advised.

"I'm sorry," I apologized.

In a quiet exchange, she reassured, "It's fine, really. Did you guys at least use protection?"

I nodded, meeting her gaze. "Yes, mom."

A mischievous grin played on her lips as she probed further, "So, how was it?"

"MOM!" I exclaimed, both surprised and embarrassed.

She innocently shrugged, questioning, "What?"

"I can't, Bomi. It's just too awkward to have this conversation with you," I admitted.

She smirked, unfazed. "Well, I'll tell you about my first time."

"I don't want to know, please," I pleaded.

Ignoring my protest, she continued, "Then tell me."

"It hurt, okay?!" I blurted out, feeling a bit uncomfortable.

"Obviously! Daniel is taking us out for lunch," she switched topics smoothly.

"So, you two are serious?" I inquired.

"I like him, baby. He makes me happy, and his... intimacy is just heavenly," she shared with a mischievous grin.

"I did not need to know that, Mom. But I'm glad you're happy," I responded.

"Yeah," she replied casually.

"So, where does that leave Dad?" I asked, curious about the dynamics.

"I told him, and he was cool about it," she revealed.

"Doesn't sound like Dad," I remarked.

"He has another girlfriend," she disclosed.

"Does this mean that you two would never... you know?" I questioned cautiously.

"I don't know. I really don't know. There's just something about your father that draws me to him," she admitted.

"Heh hay andizange ndaxakwa!" I exclaimed, expressing my surprise.

"Hey, no judging. Get ready futhi," she laughed.

"Hahaha, okay. What should I wear?" I inquired.

"Anything not short," she advised.

"The weather doesn't allow me to wear something short, Mom!" I pointed out.

"Thank God!" she chuckled.

"You're one dramatic being, you," I teased.

"Yeah, whatever," she dismissed my comment.

With those words, she gracefully exited my room. I swiftly adorned myself in a low-cut navy jean, a crisp white t-shirt, and a sleek black bomber jacket. Completing the look, I laced up my black Timbs and tied my hair into a neat bun before making my way downstairs. A few minutes later, my mother descended the staircase, mirroring my outfit, though her Timbs boasted a tan hue.