Category Archives: Short Story

Runaway Words: Musings From The Bottoms Of Bottles

He said, “The problem is, I don’t understand.”

I was a bit confused, so I asked him what he meant. He said “Every action I take is always taken from a place of good intentions, but more often than not, they’re the wrong thing to do. So I may mean to offer her roses along with her favorite brownies-in-a-mug, but end up serving up a tin cup full of tears and served on a coaster of mymagnificent intentions.”

“And when I do these things, she groans about the weight it puts on her soul, and I moan about how pussilanimus I am for treating her wrong. But unable to see me in pain even when it was of my own construction, she comes to me and tells me it’s okay. And takes me back into her arms with a teary eyed smile. We pick up the pieces of the sticks that are our broken feelings, rub them together and from the little flame we bring forth, once more create the inferno that is our love.”

I told him, “Homeboy, I feel you. So after all this, why do you still fuck up?

He said: “For the life of me, I wish I knew. I’m like a kid standing at the shore, writing my mistakes in the sand and hoping I don’t forget them. And with the high tide comes the wave of good times, erasing what I’ve written with the hopes of never forgetting. And the waves wash it away; leaving me to look and wonder what I said I wouldn’t do. I look so closely, I’m able to make out faint traces, and keep myself in check, but ultimately those traces go faint and I forget. And then I make the same mistake again and then it hits me. That’s the shit I did the first time! So I retrace the faint traces I left in the sand and smile as the tide goes low. I smile and look at what I’ve written. Till the tide is high once more and like a high person, I start the cycle once more.”

I said, “That’s heavy man. Why does she still stay with you then?”

He said, “Because she’s amazing. She sees past my bullshit and when she gets tired, remembers somewhere deep inside, that I love her. She’s amazing enough to still find that flag even in the warzone we sometimes call our love. She stays because she believes in me. And loves me in ways she can’t even explain. Ways that delight and frighten me at the same time, that keep my heart beating with a purpose and have me looking for the quickest ways to get her back beside me when she’s not there beside me. She makes me want to stand on every street corner in Lagos (excluded, are street corners in Festac, Ikorodu, Akute and Abara Estate), to ask fellas that pass me by, if they have it as good as I do.”

She stays with me because she’s patient, and knows that I try. She stays with me because she chooses to see the good times we have, and let them overshadow the bad days. She stays because she’s my eternity, and nothing could try to keep us apart.”

He was quiet for a second… “Or maybe she stays cos no one else would have her… I’m not sure about that one.” He said.

“Idiot.” I laughed out. “So you still know how to make jokes… I thought you’d washed your sense humor down after the second bottle of Jack.”

“Na…” He smiled. “As long as I have her, that sense of humor isn’t going anywhere.”

“You moist motherfucker.” I laughed as I poured him another drink. “If I’d known you’d be like this tonight, I’d have started playing Drake when you walked in.”

He laughed.

“So.” I asked. “If you know how much she loves you, why are you sitting here, reaffirming your loyalty to Lynchburg, Tennessee, when you should be with her?”

He looked up at me, brought out his wallet, and went “Charge it to my current. Add an extra 10% for yourself.”

Five minutes later, he walked out of the bar. Looking like a soldier of old; weary, but picking up his long sword, because the battle had to be fought, and he would do nothing else if he couldn’t fight it. I looked at the will returning to his step as he gathered momentum and crossed the road to go home to the woman he loved, and thought to myself…

Another day, another battle. Did he say 10% or 20%? *chuckle* he won’t notice jare…

-End-


Home

Hi guys, Well this is becoming quite regular, enjoy it (It might not last). With a little help from Panda, here’s a little story that has been playing around in my head for a while. Enjoy guys 🙂

“… AND I SHALL VISIT MY DIVINE WRATH UPON THIS HEATHEN PLACE! REPENT! FOR YOUR LORD WALKS AMONGST YOU! …”

My eyes flutter as I regain consciousness and realize the screams were not from my nightmares but from my roommate, Patrick, who is experiencing another episode of schizophrenia today. *sigh* I get up and try to make my way to the bathroom without Patrick noticing me. I’m not in the mood to worship him today, his episodes make him think he’s Ra; the Egyptian god of the Sun. Maybe I should worship him; at least he’s a much more accessible god than the one I’m supposed to be serving.

“… REPENT, LEST I GAZE DOWN UPON YOU WITH THE WRATH OF THE SUN! REPENT AND PAY HOMAGE TO YOUR SUN LORD! …”

*sigh*

This was not where I pictured I’d be a week after I walked into Boots pharmacy and bought ten packets of ibuprofen. I had researched extensively and I knew the correct dose to take to ensure hospitalization, but not death.

Why? You may ask.

Attention.

That’s right, I wanted, no needed everyone to fawn over me for once. I wanted my parents to finally realize that money was not a substitute for their time or attention. Oh, I enjoyed the money, a whole lot. It’s what made sure I had all the better things of life, but I craved more, I wanted Mr. and Mrs. Ogunja to want to spend time with me. So I worked up the courage, and executed my plan.

I failed.

After swallowing about 10 tablets of ibuprofen with vodka, I picked up my phone, dialed 199 and told them what I had done. I laid back and waited for the ambulance and all the attention. The only drama I got was my flat mates and hostel manager watching as the medics wheeled me into the ambulance. No one came with me to the hospital.

After pumping my tummy, the doctor said: Mr. Ogunja, we have cause to believe you’re suicidal, for this reason, we are referring you immediately to a facility that caters to suicidal patients like you, your parents have wired us enough money to cater to your every whim”. I felt the blood drain from my face as I was transported from the hospital to my new home.

And here I am.

This place, which I have called home for the past month, has been hell. I thought I had it bad, but… now I know what hell is like. See, what the doctor failed to tell me is that the facility also serves as a recovery center for different kinds of people- recovering drug addicts trying to become clean, beautiful ladies suffering from chronic eating disorders, people with mental health issues like my roommate… and then me. I have not come across any other person like me in this place, no one.

My nights are filled with screams from the guys with the withdrawal symptoms, daytime is filled with stories of how people got here, lame exercises like coloring or meditation practice and meal times (my favorite) are highlighted by dramatic refusals to take drugs, puking sounds from the loo and desperate attempts to catch the attention of the girls eating on the other side.

Anyways, the point is that I have failed. Throughout my one month here, my parents have only called once. ONCE, and that was to say they had sent more money. I wish I could have money adopt me officially or something. I’m really, really confused. But in the midst of this confusion, I have come up with a plan. You see, when Patrick is not thinking he is God, he’s quite the intelligent guy. We have formulated a plan to get out of this place. And I have an extra plan to ditch him with enough money as soon as we’re out.

The plan has come together very nicely and although I can’t tell you when it will happen, it is really soon. Someday soon, you shall have a suicidal, attention seeking brat and an intelligent, schizophrenic lovable guy on the loose. You have been warned.

My name is Emmanuel Ogunja and I promise I’m not crazy.

I’m coming home.


Daisy Came By

As she raises her face, Daisy looks into mine with a once-radiant smile that’s been watered down by tears that have left tracks in her makeup as they made the miles from her heart and out the gates of her eyes. Through our gate that she left open, I can see the glint of the early morning sun on her dusty Toyota Tercel, parked as best as she could manage in the tiny driveway already crammed with three cars, somewhat the same way those three huge LV suitcases are packed in her back seat and adjusted so she can see out the back when she reverses.

I step back to look at her after she leans forward to hug me. Her mascara leaves marks on my white tee but I don’t even care as I stare down into her sad eyes and feel mine change with confusion, then understanding, and finally, a sadness transferred by empathy that only true friends can share.

Friends… she’s my friend, and so are you. The two of you became more than just friends. I guess I should take the blame for that, and a whole lot more. I thought you would behave with her. I thought this one was different for you.

The first words that tumble into my head sound wrong. What am I supposed to ask? “Daisy, what’s going on?” The sight of this black woman, once strong, but now standing with this broken look in front of me has me pretty shook and I can see in her eyes the story she’s cried through all night.

Why ask a question when you already know the answer?

”Where you off to Daisy?”

She looks back at her car and, with a bit of disorientation in her gaze, looks around me into the house. Just as I’m about to repeat my question, she looks up at me and asks “He’s still asleep, isn’t he?” I nod. Then, “She’s in there with him, isn’t she?” in a small voice that isn’t really asking a question so doesn’t expect to be answered with half-truths or lies. So I sigh, and nod once more.

Yes, she is. The super-model type chic with the Peruvian weave you just had to have. She walked up to our table while we were at the club last night, poured herself a drink and sat on your lap. I told you to let her slide. “Dude, you & Daisy just got back together.” But you just smiled and said “What Daisy doesn’t know won’t hurt her.” But she did know. Thanks to her ‘friend’ Onyeka. Remember her? The one you turned down when she wanted you to hit that? She saw us, and went all Gossip Girl on us. *BitterLaugh* Hell hath no fury huh?

“You were right you know?” I look at her with the silent question mark posed above my head. “You told me not to go out with him. Not to try to be the one who saves the bad boy.” She chuckles, “I thought I could do it… but you were right.”

I tried to warn her. I knew my best friend as well as I knew her. But she wouldn’t listen, and you said she was different.

And then she turns accusing eyes at me and asks, “And you knew as well. Every time he did it, every time he was with someone else. You knew, but you didn’t say anything. But you’d always come with him when he needed someone to beg for him. How could you do that? I thought you were my friend.”

But I was your friend as well. And I always saw how miserable you both were without each other. My loyalties were ripped right down the middle and there was no way to tack them together. So I let you go through the motions of breaking up, begging, missing each other, getting back together… I stayed out of it.

“Daisy, I’m… he… *sigh* Lemme go wake J. You two should talk about—“

“No! Don’t do that!” Desperation is splashed all over her face like a person who just knows it’s too late to jump out of the way, while looking at the headlamps of the car about to hit her. Her fingernail rips a tiny gouge in my hand as she holds me. “Don’t wake him up, Ade.”

She runs her fingers through her hair and closes her eyes for a minute. When she opens them, I see pain flash through them; followed by determination, and then plain weariness.

“If he sees me… if we talk… I won’t be able… *sigh* …You were right Ade. You can’t turn a ho into a housewife.”

“Wait, what?”

“Well, you know what I mean.”

I know. You said you really liked her and you’d try to be different. She thought you really liked her and you’d change for her. But here she stands. And even now, she knows that you’re still stronger than her. So she’s running. Where to though?

“You didn’t answer my question Daisy. Your bags are packed and stuff. Where are you off to?” She looks back through the gate and at her car like she’d forgotten it was there. “Here and there… I guess, anywhere but here.”

“But you can’t just up and leave like that babes. You really should talk to—“

“No. I just wanted you to know I was leaving. I may not be seeing him, or you, anytime soon. There’s just… a few things I’ve been needing to do.” She hugs me again with all the strength she has and looks up at me. This time, determination flickers in her eyes like a light bulb trying to stay on.

“See you around Ade… sometime, I guess.” And she goes out the gate and into her little Tercel.

“Who was that so early on a Sunday?”

“Erm, J. It was Daisy.”

“What?! Why was she here so early? Did she know? You didn’t tell her did you? Where’s she gone off to — arrrgh!!!”

“Easy man, don’t hurt yourself. You may want to sit down.”

*sigh*

“It was Daisy. She… she came to say goodbye…”

END

Hey all. I got back from Niger state on Tuesday. Glad to see a few people missed me, Remi & Moyin did their best to put stuff up. I’ve got a few ideas that went through my head in camp so, I’m gonna write as much as I can. Starting with this one (after I finish what I’m meant to write for ThinkTank of course.)

So yeah, constructive criticism is always good. What y’all think?


The Recurrence

Hey people.

So I haven’t written in so long, and I’ve been featuring a lot of people. But thankfully, my mistress Moyin has cracked her whip and from now on I’m gonna have to write. 🙂

Anyways, we had this challenge where we would both write something the other person wanted to write. She wanted to write a story but was somewhat stuck, so I wrote it for her. She wrote something for me as well. I’ll put it up later this week. I actually had to do some research to write this, and it left me with a new found respect for… never mind, read it. Of course, your comments are always appreciated.

Apologies, it’s a tad long

 

The Recurrence

These days my mind glazes just at the tip of my consciousness; forced there by pain so intense that I’m forced to exist within a small fraction of myself so I don’t feel it as much. They said that this pain was necessary. That it was a side effect to the treatment so that I’d be all better. But I’ve been waiting and waiting… the treatment and medications don’t seem to be stopping… and the pain they bring? Well, I’ve started to treasure the pain. It takes me on an excruciating trip to the edges of all that I know.

 

Yes, it seems like all I’ve been talking about is pain.

 

It started out with a little physical pain; that manifested itself in so many ways.

 

Weight loss that I didn’t need, and a small, tight feeling …somewhere… I couldn’t really pinpoint it back then. All I knew was that it was painful, even if only slightly, so I had it checked out. I endured the annoying pain of the needles pushed in my body and the equipment they used for all the multiple tests. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn’t have been better to not know… to just go away somewhere where no one could find me and then waste away into a vortex of human nothingness. Would it have dragged on like this? I don’t even know.

 

The test results came back; pancreatic cancer. I wish I could say I took it well. I refused to accept it at first. The doctors said I was going through the eight steps of accepting tragic news… whatever. I fought, I cried, I begged, I prayed… and then I accepted. I finally took it as something I had absolutely no control over, but I would do the best I could to get through it. I probably took it better than everyone else. I didn’t want anything to change, but I could see them changing. I could see it on their faces when they looked at me. I became the one who they had to tip-toe around. They had to always be careful not to hurt me or hurt my feelings because I had cancer and all of a sudden I had become like some expensive piece of furniture that you had to be careful with so that you wouldn’t break me.

 

That broke my heart more than any of them realized. Me. I was the one that everyone always had fun around. Enjoying my youth to the fullest and carrying them all along with me. Now I became … the invalid. All I heard was “Don’t stress yourself” and “Take it easy, you know you’re not well.”

 

You don’t mean it… I never would have guessed.

 

Their pity tested my patience in ways they just couldn’t imagine. All the stares and the tip-toeing became like a large weight on my shoulders, making it hard to move or breathe. Some days I’d get so choked up from the air being clogged with fear and impending tears on my behalf that I’d just leave the house. Leave them all and just drive. Drive as far as I could go. Right down Lagos-Ibadan expressway till I was tired or till I had to turn back so when my senses kicked in.

 

At least that was while I could still drive.

 

The chemotherapy started early so that the cancer wouldn’t spread far. Treatment upon treatment… it just kept going on and on. The doctors said it was cos they couldn’t give me too much at once, so that it wouldn’t damage my body. Now that was amusing.

 

Less than a week after the therapy started, my whole body began to spiral downwards; I had to take more medication because I was falling to other illnesses, and I was constantly in pain. It was like a haze all over my body. The Yoruba people call it “paja-paja”, a pins and needles kind of feel. But this was so much worse and all over. Sometimes I wished I could skin myself alive just to stop the pain. And in the times when I wasn’t in pain, I was totally exhausted. My hair fell out. It was like, one day I had hair, and the next day, I was having a bath and suddenly I didn’t have any more hair. It was a bit shocking, but then I had never been too attached to the vanity of hair so it didn’t hurt as much as I’m sure it would have if I had been a hair person.

 

Slowly but surely, I began to look the part… I was “a cancer patient”.

 

And they said the drugs weren’t damaging my body… ridiculous.

 

My days in the hospital were full of so much boredom, I welcomed the pain when it washed over me in waves – at least it was some form of activity. The days passed into weeks, and at the end of the month of treatment, I had come to know all the nurses names, their boyfriends/husbands names, everyone that was having an affair, including that secretly gay doctor who had disowned his son because the boy had come out of the closet. Gossip had never really been my thing. I was just focused on getting through the treatments and getting better, and I was definitely happy when it was time to go home.

 

They threw a big party to welcome me home, but all I could do was put on a sallow smile and thank everyone kindly for the emotional support. All I wanted to do was sleep, and then start working on getting better. The doctors had said the cancer was in remission thanks to the treatment. Hopefully, it wouldn’t be back.

 

Getting better wasn’t easy at all. There was more pain, adjusting, walking… I hated being weak, and dependent. There was nothing as painful as having to depend on my little brother – I carried him when he was a baby. I taught him how to ride a bicycle, and now the tables were turned – to help me move around, and stay with me as I went through my workout and healing process, so he’d be there to catch me if I fell. But I healed with time, food, friends, family… everybody chipped in. It helped, and things got better. My hair grew back, and after a while, I was normal again.

 

That was a year ago.

 

Three months ago, I passed out while I was walking to the front door.

 

These days, all I feel is pain.

 

 

 


Inside The Dark

The door opened, flooding the enclosure with light. He could hear them as they scuttled to the corners, into the darkness. Away from the light. As long as the light could touch them, they wouldn’t move. He could hear them hissing at it…but they smiled as well, all teeth and predatory intent, saying “Wa Tolu. Wa ba wa joko. We won’t hurt you…much. Come, we’re waiting for you.
They were waiting for him to step in. And for the door to shut. For the dark to be turned on.
Firm, strong hands pushed him in. He tried to run back out but got a firm slap for his efforts and was pushed back in with even more aggression, his bottom hitting the dirt hard.
He knew they would hurt him. They always did. He tried to act like he didn’t care about them. They couldn’t touch him if he ignored them. But he couldn’t ignore them. They jumped at him. They scuttled about. They swiped at him and he could feel their claws brush past his face. He tried everything. Telling himself they were not real, telling himself it would soon be over. Telling himself to focus on the crack of light seeping in from under the door.
Yes…that little crack of illumination.
They couldn’t stand there. He couldn’t feel them there. And if he couldn’t feel them, they didn’t exist. And if they didn’t exist, they couldn’t touch him.
The door shut. He heard the lock click. No escape.
He couldn’t feel them, but he could hear them laughing in raspy, dangerous voices.
“Look at the door Tolu, look at the door.” He told himself. He hated being here. Where they could get him. But he knew that he was being tested. And he would not break. “There’s a light under the door. They can’t hurt you.”
His heart went from racing, to a slow trot. He could handle it. He’d be fine…
And then NEPA struck. And out went the light.
His eyes bulged. And as the fear in the cauldron of his stomach hit one hundred and twenty degrees, the screams he’d been holding back bubbled up and ripped from his throat.
“BROTHER KOREDE PLEASE!!!! PLEASE!!!!” He half screamed, half cried. “I PROMISE I WON’T DO IT AGAIN!!!! OPEN THE DOOR!!!!!”
“BROTHER KOREDE!!!!!……please.”
Seven year old Tolu heard his brother and his friends laughing in the parlor. And as he heard his brother get up and walk towards the door, he felt ‘them’ gathering. They were crawling towards him, slowly. Their claws scraping the sandy cement floor.
“Are you afraid of them Tolu?” His brother asked through the door. “Yes”, he whimpered.
His brother laughed, and began to sing in a soft, eerie voice. The creatures he’d told Tolu about, began to sing along as they came for him.
Ojuju calaba. Iyoyo, iyoyo. Ojuju calaba. Iyoyo, iyoyo…

END.

I’m still busy with schoolwork, but I made out time for this one sha.
So, what y’all think? I’m still working on my prose and story telling. Constructive criticism is always appreciated.
Look out for the first chapter of Fourth Day coming up tomorrow. You can subscribe so you get notification immediately it’s posted.
Have a good weekend y’all.
🙂

Posted from WordPress for Android®


Something Borrowed, Something New

Hey people, I hope everyone is having a good week so far.
As I’m sure you noticed, I haven’t really done much creative writing myself for a while. I’ve been really busy with my final semester… project and things. Even though I’m finally done with my project (pauses for the congratulations) I still have exams to face. This should begin in another week or so.
SPS101 was a breath of fresh air for me, ‘cos it gave me time to breathe, and still made sure y’all didn’t feel like I forgot you. The response it got was amazing. The comments were…something else. The writers were amazing. Big ups to Professor Jibs (@JibolaL), Professor Tools (@thetoolsman), Dr. Mrs. Oluwadrake (@exschoolnerd), Professor MadHaus (@JCPhoenixx) and Professor Tuns (@motunrayootun) for being great lecturers. I’m really glad I could do this with y’all.
But SPS101 is over now. I may still put up one last post for it…not sure yet sha.
Moving on…
For a while I’ve wanted to introduce y’all to one of my mentors in terms of writing. Now I‘ve finally found a way.
This dude is one of my brothers, and in many ways, the best friend I have. He’s had a tremendous hand in crafting the Panda y’all know right now. He also happens to be a magnificent writer.
So for him, I’m starting a monthly category called “Remy’s Fourth Day”. Over the next few months, I’ll be giving y’all chapters of one of his pet projects called Fourth Day. This project also happens to be very close to my heart ‘cos I was there when he started conceptualizing it and giving it a body, bit by bit.
The prologue will be up on Saturday, the Fourth of June, and subsequent chapters on the fourth day of every month. I know that seems like a long time to wait but well, good things are worth waiting for, no?
Anyways, today I’m introducing him to you guys, with a short story that I really like. So please welcome him. Some call him The Reptile. He’s my best friend. His name is Remy.

REMY

The Panda said I should introduce myself. But I have difficulties communicating myself in ‘broad terms’, so I usually offer this advice to people meeting me for the first time…do not bother trying to ‘label’ me…my mind is a labyrinth of ideas that fight for a chance to prove they can make a difference.

Enjoy

The Errant Groom

I hate gossip. It is the labor of idle minds and ignorant observers. I avoid it as best as I can. But there are some stories that are too funny not to believe.

My mother & father were fuming at each other when they returned from an emergency family meeting. Divided opinions precede gossip. They were my parents & that meant I was in the middle of it.
“I agree his approach was wrong. But not his reasons.” my dad started.
“That poor girl saw what I saw at your hands.” my mom.
“Are you saying you hated it when we had…?”
“YES! Emphatically so! Nonsense! You’d think it was hell if it was you!”
I needed clarity on the subject.
“Sorry, but what are we talking about?”
My dad cocked his eyebrow at me as if to warn me from fueling a fire I wouldn’t be able to quench.
Sadly, it was a warning too late. My mother picked up the excuse.
“You want to know? You will know! You are old enough to know! Prevent abuse in your life!!”
Now I was curious.
My dad sat down on the sofa & exhaled heavily.
“Your cousin, Dele, has a problem with his wife.” he started with a calm voice.
My mom gave him no room to maneuver.
“Dele has the problem! His bride Tinuke does not. He ‘is’ the problem!! I will tell the story properly.”
She sat down heavily next to my dad and he cringed. I’ve never really understood how she could make him suddenly feel so small so quickly.
“He got married to a wonderful girl. She’s lovely, obedient, a banker
& a willing home maker, you know? I know he is a good boy, but he became an inconsiderate beast. Marriage does that to men.”
“Are you going to tell the story or force your opinion on our child?”
She turned to him with eyes like fire & he turned away from her to look straight at me.
“She gave herself to him during the honeymoon. He enjoyed himself. But he didn’t understand that discipline is involved. It’s a good point to him that he was a virgin.”
I didn’t like where this was going.
At all.
“So he went for another woman?”, I offered.
I wanted to spare my dad’s peace of mind & my imagination of my mother’s humanizing sex.
“On learning what he did, he should have.”
Now I was very curious.
My intuition had failed me.
“She wakes up at 4 am, gets home at 8 pm, cooks dinner, & goes to bed at 11 pm.
“Then that stupid boy will f… I mean he will have ‘intercourse’ with her.”
She caught herself from swearing. She was irrational. Now I had to take my father’s side.
This was sex. Most married couples do that to cement their relationship.
“Come on, mommy! Surely there’s nothing wrong with that. He’s just showing her that he’s been thinking about her all day.”
My dad shook his head slightly to warn me, again he was too late. My mom finally went full flame.
“For 4 hours? Every night? For 2 months? Is that love or demonic possession?”
I opened my mouth to suggest exaggeration on the bride’s part. This time I caught my dad’s signal. I just exhaled through my mouth to keep up appearances.
“We ‘the women’ were wondering why she looked so worn out this evening. A new bride is supposed to look bright and glowing and happy. I asked her & she burst into tears. She told us everything.”
“And Dele?”
“He confessed! On top of her every night! Period, o! No period, o! Sick or sleepy! He would pound that girl’s vagina like it was life support.”
My dad winced & for me, that was a sign that it was a pretty gruesome mental image coming to his mind. He’s a doctor & he’d wince if something reminded him of a case he had banished from memory so he could have a better life. I chose to speak to re-direct the conversation.
“I guess you explained…”
“We told him to kneel down! I personally knocked his head twice for his selfish stupidity!”
My dad finally couldn’t keep quiet anymore.
“He wasn’t experienced in dealing with such matters. He was a virgin, after all.”
“Just like you, abi?”
My dad tilted his head towards me. It meant the conversation was best done in private.
“No! It is better to teach your children your mistakes before you need to correct them. Your father sympathizes with Dele because he knows how sweet it is to bruise a vagina with friction, long after it stops lubricating itself!”
I winced by reflex. No one wants to know about their parents’ sex life. Most especially me. Especially the bad side of it.
“You are a gift from God, & I would never wish you away. But I have to tell you. Your father was determined to get me pregnant. Later I realized that he just wanted to have an orgasm by any means necessary.
“When I’d be exhausted, he would climb me from the front, turn me on my back, and turn me to my side…”
At this point my father exploded.
“You think it is easy to sleep next to the most attractive woman in your world & not want to have sex?! You think it was punishment for getting married?! You think it happened because I hated you?!”
“So why?”
He sighed and looked at her in a way no adolescent child should see on a father’s face. I should have run, but I didn’t.
“Your face was, and is still, so perfect to me. Feeling your cheek-bones against mine made me want to be with you so much. And you’re the only woman I’ve ever been with. The only one I can be that way with.”
She calmed down and asked,”What else?”
“Your body is so perfect to me. Your hips have always been just as wide as they should be for a fertile woman. The curve of you from any angle.”
I tried to get up, but my curiosity robbed me of strength. I’d never seen them alone before and it seemed this was my only chance to get a glimpse.
“Your legs around me made me feel like I could lay there forever. When you kiss me, it feels like a proper fire in my heart.”
She started to look at him the same way he was looking at her.
“I…always enjoyed the way you kissed my…”
“Breasts. Warm and soft. My tongue always felt at home. The warmth of you around me makes me want more of you.”
“But you always kept going. Even when I had enough.”
“I can never have enough of you. When you lay next to me, when you bend over, when you sit on the table, when you reached for me as I was above you. Face to face or from behind.”
He put a hand on hers and I suddenly saw 2 lovers burning steadily for each other. They weren’t the only thing on fire.
My ears were burning. I’ve seen them fight over money, who gets to drive the nicer car, directions…but this was too much. I got up and ran to my room.
Two things happened after that. My parents made love.
Loudly.
I heard her call his name until she lost her voice. The steady pounding still comes to mind when I have a headache. It ruined every sex scene in any movie for me over the next 6 months.
To my shame, my groins ached that night.
And Dele’s aggrieved bride ran away 2 weeks later.
Being a virgin isn’t a bad deal. Being stupid is.

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All About Outer Beauty

“I believe beauty is invested in the soul within, and not in the hues with which God may choose to paint your skin.”
These are some of the many beautiful words Jimi said to me in our many conversations. Conversations that would go on for hours and hours as we learned the intricate details of each other’s very existence.
I loved talking to him. Smart, witty, charming … he was everything I’ve never had in a man.
We started chatting two months ago, after I put up that post on my blog. He followed me on Twitter, said he liked the way my mind worked. Well, I followed back. The DM’s began, and very soon it transcended to phone calls. No, I do not use a Blackberry. I find the constant BBM thing annoyingly impersonal and frankly, I can’t afford the 5k per month & I’m not a fine girl so there’s no maga lined up waiting to pay for me.
Yes. I said it. I’m not good looking at all. I may have a good body, slim waist, round behind & nicely shaped breasts, but I found early in life, that it’s not enough to make any guy wanna look at me. And the ones that do, don’t want to be seen in public with me. Don’t worry, I know. And I’ve accepted it. I don’t bother with the “created in God’s image” crap that everyone spews. I don’t want to believe God has a face that never inspires any other sexual position besides “doggy”.
But Jimi was different. He said he loved my mind. He said he didn’t care how I look. I tried to warn him, but he kept saying he wouldn’t focus on outer beauty. He refused to let me send him my pictures. He said he’d “rather let your voice and your written words paint a portrait on the canvas of my imagination”
*sigh* such beautiful words…
We decided to meet, after like 3 weeks of talking everyday. We made plans to catch up at E-Center, and then go to a bar somewhere close. He said he looked forward to it… so did I. Finally, someone who wouldn’t be ashamed to be with me.
The day came, I did the best I could to look really good (fat chance), and set out to meet him…
I got to E-Center, sent him a text.
Me: “sorry I’m late. Just got here, where are you?
Him: “I’m on the cinema floor with a friend. Come up 🙂
Me:“Okay, what’re you wearing?… so I know who I’m looking for.”
Him: “Red & blue T-shirt, black jeans.”
I saw him immediately I got up. Casually good looking, tall, nice body, amazing smile… I walked around so I could come up behind him. I heard him talking with his friend… that voice! The voice that had kept me awake for so many nights…
I tapped his shoulder. He turned around…
“Hi, Jimi. I’m Rolake.” I said with a smile.
The smile left his eyes. Replaced by… shock, dawning recognition…and, as he looked at his friend, embarrassment.
“Jimi? Rolake? We spoke on the phone? I just texted you?” I said …wondering what was going on.
And then he said it; “Sorry, I don’t think I know you…”
Nothing could have prepared me for this. “Jimi how can you not know me? Abi, isn’t your name Jimi?” I asked him with obvious confusion on my face. He looked at me, & I could see the shame on his face as he said “Yeah, I’m Jimi. But I really don’t know you. Maybe you havr the wrong Jimi. Sorry, we’re late for our movie. Tony let’s go.”
And he turned and left me standing there.
He sent me a text 5 minutes later, with only two words; “I’m sorry.
I never heard from him again.
END

A lot of times, my friends and I have joked about meeting a girl for thw first time, and she wasn’t good looking, we’d form not knowing her. I thought about that recently, and the sheer superficiality of it worried me. So this, this is the possibility of how the shoe might feel on the other foot.
So what do you think about all this? Rolake, Jimi? Share your comments, and if you have any similar experiences you wanna share, please do.
Have a good weekend people.

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