By Emdee David,
Every city seems to have its own peculiarity. The lifestyle of the people in each city is symptomatic of that peculiarity. Guys and girls are not left out in this, especially as it concerns relationship and romance. In a city where money and power are ubiquitous in day-to-day affairs, girls especially, put that in the front of their mind when winks are directed at them. And guys here have learnt to be smart and not be left behind.
Thelma and I really got enamoured of each other with our romance blowing off the rooftop.
When the high cost of living in Lagos began to tell on me, I sought and found succour in her. I moved in with her in an apartment that was far bigger than what I felt her income or status could afford, in a choice place in Lekki. Even though I never intended such move, it seemed the only option for a guy who actually moved to a city because of a girl. She became my landlady and my rent was paid with constant sex and high-voltage romance. Oh, my heart.
What do you expect from a guy in my position? I’ve got what she loves, and I love what she’s got. Now you see why I wouldn’t blame guys who get paid for licking the cunts of sexually starved politicians’ wives; or those that marry and are sleeping with white women twice older than their own mothers, just to get some inheritance or VISA to live abroad?
Actually, I used to castigate them. But when at a point in Abuja, my friend begged me to leave his house after I sent millions of spermatozoa into his sister’s ovaries, I began to swallow back my hard words on them. I was stranded. I couldn’t afford the exorbitant rent within Abuja city. Or was I just a niggard? I didn’t just want to go to those local outskirts with funny names. Yeah, I think that was the point – I wanted to be in the main city with classic names and beauty.
Back to my friend’s sister, Kate, who later became my nemesis; she was slim, tall, with ass the size and shape of a throw pillow, I did her and did myself in. The fault was all mine. Or was it her brother’s? May be a little of hers too. Well, that makes it all ours, right? My friend didn’t’ really trust me with women, considering our exploits with girls back in school. We prided in the number of skirts we had pulled down with successful exploration. But he trusted the fact that we usually respected our own properties – our own girlfriends, sisters, and aunties – we don’t trespass.
Thieves shouldn’t steal from thieves. And I did my best to honour that. Also, he saw Kate as a small girl who must be voluntarily frigid as a Sunday school-bred village girl. But little did he know that this city was having its toll on Kate, who apparently was adapting accordingly; the most conspicuous change was her bump shorts, which she wears to sleep at night. She also wore them while she did the house chores, especially late at night and in the early mornings.
Guys are generally sensitive to visual arousal. Merely seeing lady undress can make us ready for sex. This fact, I guess, Kate was oblivious of. Or probably, she knew too well. Kate and her bump shorts caused me my hospitality. Her laps and slim legs were titillating and many times I imagined her naked hips touching mine. I did my best to hold myself from amorous thoughts about her.
God knows, it was so difficult. I found myself deliberately going to the kitchen early mornings to drink water, just to have a view of her fresh legs.
“I like drinking water first thing in the morning” I said to her one early morning without been asked. Kate didn’t even respond. She was washing the plates in the sink; I was sinking deep in my watch, the two fleshy mounds above the legs and below the hollow of her back on my mind.
“Doctor said it’s good and healthy.” Who asked me?
“OK” she said, absently.
“Can I help you?” Me, wash plate?
“No oh, brother,” she said with a church kind of smile. It was encouraging. So, I moved to her side as if to help, made sure my hip touched hers. She felt it and moved away.
“Don’t worry, brother” she insisted, so I left her after tapping her shoulder and running my hand down to her buttocks. She shook it off angrily. And she didn’t talk to me the whole day, and didn’t even serve me the usual breakfast. But the following day, I approached her late night as she was mobbing the floor. She frowned when she saw me coming, but I quickly stretched a bar of chocolate I had bought for her in the evening. Her face relaxed immediately as she received it gratefully. Before she said anything, I went first, “I am very sorry.”
“Thanks for the chocolate” was all she said holding the mob stick tenderly. I began to wish it was my Thing she was holding. Crazy! I stared intensely at her and she blushed.
“It will never happen again” I added. She only nodded, suppressed a smile. Guess it was too early.
“It will not happen again” I repeated.
But it happened again, many times, in the same kitchen. Her resistance waned, and one day she gripped my hands and asked me what I wanted from her. From her voice I deduced she wanted some piece of my flesh.
“I don’t know,” I said, honestly, but she doubted it. My eyes were saying something else.
“We are in the kitchen” she said softly. Should we be in the bathroom? I thought. I gave her a highly sensual look which spoke volumes. She gripped my hands firmly, and then turned away toward the fridge. Wow! Has she joined in the early morning water drinking habit? Whatever! I followed her. Her hands were already on the fridge’s door, not sure if to open it. I held her waist and later gave my hands different assignments on her erotic zones as there was no resistance of any kind.
I was wondering how best to make her sexual juice flow fast. My left hand caressed her two breasts; the right hand was stroking her clits gently. My tongue was on the upper part of her buttocks where the short was unable to cover. It was not a comfortable position for me, but was glad she was enjoying what I was doing to her. A moan sound escaped her mouth but she quickly controlled it. My erect fleshy rod stuck to her buttocks, about to bore a hole in the bump-short. We were both fully stimulated. I was ready to plunge into her; my right hand didn’t want to come out from the lubricated closet.
In a fast and smart twist, I pulled down her short. What a mistake. She turned, pushed my hands away and pulled up her short. No, I wanted to scream. We are not there yet. But she walked away, leaving me hanging with an ungratified urge. That was the painful aspect of the whole thing.
“Kate” I said as I painfully watched her twisting buttock going out of sight.
It took me courage to leave the kitchen.
It was her turn the following day, actually night, to apologize. I had deliberately watched a late-night movie on Netflix; the brother, my friend, as usual a deep and early sleeper, was coiled and snoring in his bed. It was while she was going back to her room after the apology that I grabbed her from the back again, and we kissed ourselves to the kitchen. This time there was no stupid bump-short to hinder. It was a flowing nightie. We had it standing, from the back, in front of the same fridge, in the kitchen where food was prepared. Unknowingly, we had prepared an embryo also.
Weeks later, I told one of my babes about it and she helped Kate on how to truncate the growth. She sent her to a hospital somewhere in Kubwa, where her friend worked was a nurse. I told her that Kate’s boyfriend was responsible, and she couldn’t tell her brother; also, the boyfriend had run away. Why would Kate be so naïve? Yet she would dress like a hot babe that knew what’s up. For some reasons, my babe believed me, or she pretended she did.
Some months later, I met Thelma on Facebook and we started talking. was transferred to Lagos. She said she can’t live without me. Huh? See God o. She said I must relocate with her. I told her it wasn’t possible because I already had a job. She cried that night, I tried to console her with kisses and sex. She enjoyed it, climaxed and continued her crying. Eventually, she left and I felt a bit relieved. After some months, I started missing her. Me? Miss a girl? Which kind juju be that?
… Continues next week!
Emdee David
– is the founder and president of Africa Entertainment Network, a Writer, Producer and a Media Practitioner.
Twitter: @EmdeeDavid,
Instagram @Makezela
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