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Posts tagged “infidelity

Midweek Fix: Fucking Stress

 

Sometimes; I’m stuck in a rut.

 

I have so many things to do and have no idea where to start. Deadlines. Promises to keep. Appointments. Dates. Hang-outs. The lists go on.

 

 

Sometimes I feel as though I have a 24-hour day and I’m awake through it. It’s almost as though I get home, manage to remove my shoes and slump in bed; and twenty minutes later (on a good night) I’m up again, repeating the cycle.

 

A man has to eat, right?

 

But is that my motivation for doing what I do? Strain myself almost to breaking point just because I want to stuff my gut with some proteins and mineral and nutrients?

 

There has to be more to life. But a man must eat.

 

There’s this bumper sticker I remember seeing in my youth; it goes something like ‘I owe, I owe, so off to work I go’.

 

Bad enough that I don’t sleep as much as I need to, I also damage and impair my health with the amazing dosage of caffeine-infused stuff I drink, all in the name of working. I’m a high-strung hyperactive always-busy individual – running around trying to make something of himself.

 

Boy. I do sound like an entrepreneur, don’t I?

 

I go for days on end without speaking more than three sentences to another human being; and that’s when I go to the store to refill my caffeine-drink stash or when I go to the filling station to arrange fuel for the generator. I eat a lot of to-go food simply because I cannot take the time necessary to cook. Sometimes when I close my eyes for a nap, I wonder which one of us is hotter; my laptop or me.

 

I know this isn’t healthy; I know for a fact that I can do better than that.

 

But my song goes; ‘I owe, I owe, so off to work I go’.

 

It’s almost as though hard work is more valued than actual results. I mean; I’m working hard – very hard, and as far as I’m concerned that’s enough. Do I have goals? Are there things I’m trying to achieve with all the stuff I put my rapidly-aging body through?

 

Apart from eating a hearty meal? Not much.

 

But here I am; working myself to an early grave and thinking, ‘that’s the way to go; that’s the only way to be a man where I come from’.

 

Seriously.

 

There was a time when it was popular to answer the ‘when are you getting married’ question with ‘I’m married to my work’, right? Well, I am actually married to my work and I’m cheating on her with a mistress named ‘stress’.

 

You read that right.

 

I am busy being unfaithful; and my wife is just checking the clock for when it’ll be over; when the fat lady will sing.

 

No o, I am not trying to be funny. Reality is this is the life that confronts almost every young and employed person in this country. Rush, work and work and work, it does not really matter if you’re achieving anything; it doesn’t even matter if you’re happy where you are. Just work and keep working. Leave your house in the morning wearing a suit, come back late at night with the jacket over your shoulders and the shirt stained with sweat.

 

“How was work today?” you’re asked. “Thank God,” you must answer; even though you spend every moment wondering what exactly it is you’re working for; why you must work so hard and earn so little – you think about your university days and how you couldn’t wait to get out and experience life.

 

“Is this what it all comes down to?” you ask yourself.

 

I was raised on the saying ‘you can’t eat your cake and have it’. And for most of my younger years I believed it. But since I knew the difference between cake and buns I have been contemplating the implication of that sentence. Why can I not eat my cake and have it; not literally of course? Why can I not be happy doing what I do for a living? Why must I; like most everyone else be unhappy at my job?

 

Now the first thing that occurs to people reading an article like this is; I’m asking them to quit their day jobs. No. Definitely not; because if you quit your day job I won’t be the one to feed you.

 

You’re on your own.

 

What I am saying however is; you can be happy at your day job; whatever that is. In fact you should be happy at your day job; whatever it is. If you’re not, then something is the matter. Time should be devoted to understanding the source of the unhappiness and seeking solutions. For example, as crazy as Lagos traffic is there are ways around it. You do not have to stay stuck in it; swearing at bus drivers and okada riders and sweating like Christmas chicken.

 

Though sometimes being stuck is inevitable, you can avoid the worst of it. All it requires is a lot of planning, awareness and discipline.

 

Why are you unhappy at your job; and what can be done to fix it?

 

Bottom line is; be less of a ‘such is life’ person and be more of a ‘life is what you make it’ person. Live intentionally.

 

As I write this, I am signing divorce papers. And I have handed my mistress her walking permit too. I’m going to marry life – and the only way to do that is to live it.

 

Fucking stress. I’m done.


Touch Me…

There are women. And then there’s her.

It’s the curse of the writer – or one of the many curses; a desire to capture, with flowery words the simplest yet most profound of experiences. Instead of simply saying I saw a madman a writer tries to show – as though anything can be more picturesque than just saying it how it is – by writing I saw a man who looked like he was both coming and going, dressed in the finest of rags, hair looking like it was cut with a hell razor –

Sometimes, simplicity is the best thing.

Now is one of such times.

She’s beautiful.

I like that the lights are off, I like that the blinds are drawn. The air conditioner hums its business away – and that’s the only music we’re allowed. She doesn’t like the noise; she says. She doesn’t care much for music – she sees it only as a distraction.

I don’t care. Not much anyway. As long as I get what I want, music can go to blazes.

The cold Stout cools my tongue as I take a long sip and watch as she’s engaged in the ritual all women go through at some point, a ritual as old as the world’s oldest profession – yet as fresh as breast milk; at least to me.

I can never tire of watching women do that.

The television flickers silently; the only light source in the room. Some football war is being waged – but I couldn’t care less and she couldn’t either. I’d put the TV on when I came into the room earlier; something to distract from the passing of time while I waited for her. Now, it is busy making long weaving shadows of her movements.

I take another swallow of the cold bitter liquid as she reaches behind her to unclasp something – and then; smiling at me over her shoulder, lowers a couple of straps. I’m in a trance as she bends over – bends over to remove another piece of something the same color as the one she just let go off. A snap here, a click there – soft whisper of lighter-than-cotton material against flesh and she stands before me, naked as the day she was born – but a lot older.

I’m thankful for the last part.

I put the bottle aside and rise, hands eager to confirm what my eyes have been seeing for the past few minutes. She closes her eyes as I near her, sighs as I touch her – bites her lower lip softly – and then throws her head back, a look akin to pain on her pleasing features. The room fades into the background along with everything else that followed us into it. Now, there’s just now and her for me; now and me for her.

That’s all that matters – all that will matter – for the next couple of hours. After which we both will go on with life as it happens outside the four walls of this escape. I’ll go back to my laptop in my bachelor pad, pound out another story for my blog and leave my friends wondering if anything like this actually happened – or I’m just crazy imagining. She will go back to her greedy money-grubbing politician husband and house filled with all sorts of servants and finery; back to her socialite friends who smile at her and invite her to all their parties, but secretly hate her and wish there was a way they could invite her purse without her.

But for now, this is all that matters. She is all that matters.

 

Touch me; she whispers.


Wahala Dey

 

 

I must have had sex with somebody in my sleep last night – and it was not my wife.

 

 

I know this because it was crazy. Unusual.

 

 

Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying sex with my wife is boring – but when you’ve been married to the same woman for six years, things become a little routine.

 

 

Note; however, that is not an excuse to cheat. I do not endorse unfaithfulness – though it has come to that point in my life that I stare at every…well; almost every young thing that comes into my office in a short skirt. And Abuja being what it is, and jobs being what they are, and the times being what they are too – well, you can imagine I have plenty young things to stare at.

 

 

Still, call me boring but I didn’t think an hour – or even a night of sex was worth hurting my wife over. Maybe that’s ‘old-school’ or ‘stupid’ because she may as well be cheating – but what she does is her business.

 

 

But wait – that’s a thought.

 

 

What if she is cheating?

 

 

I choose not to think about that. She is a wonderful wife.

 

 

But while I have tight reins on my body, the ones on my mind are not so tight…

 

 

And so I fantasize.

 

 

There’s this particular pretty young thing that finds an excuse to walk into my office abruptly – and then hurry out, swinging hips acting like they are independent of her. I mean, they were like well-oiled swivel doors, like the back and forth movement of a waltzing couple, like…

 

 

Okay. I have to stop there.

 

 

The P.Y.T’s name? Alice.

 

 

Honestly, who in this country names their daughter Alice?

 

 

Every time someone called her name, I expected someone to add a ‘In Wonderland’ rejoinder – you know; like they used to do on NTA back in the day when the program was being presented. And honestly, no offense to all the Alice’s out there, but I think it’s a pretty unimaginative name.

 

 

‘Unimaginative’ stops at her name. Everything else is…

 

 

I swallow thickly just thinking about it.

 

 

I have to ask my boss exactly who it is hired her, what her job is and exactly what I need to do to get her fired. He puts a fatherly hand on my shoulder and says; “Ike, she is the new administrative assistant. And if only you took a look at her CV, you’ll see how lucky we are to have her. Go ahead, look at the CV – that is; if you can look past her chest.”

 

 

I start guiltily and frown at him, but the damage is done. He pats my shoulder condescendingly, laughs in my face and says: “Problems with the wife?”

 

 

I cannot answer. He starts to walk away – and then pauses. “It’s been what, five years?” At my guilty silence he laughs again. “Be a grown up, Ike. Have a little fun. Who’s to complain?”

 

 

I walk back to my office with bent head and seared conscience.

 

 

I mean, everybody has their indiscretions – but I didn’t expect my boss to be so blatant about something like that. This is someone who was proud of rubbing our nose in the fact that he had a strong and growing family.

 

 

Well, I want a strong and growing family. What I have now however; is an overactive imagination and an itch that won’t go away.

 

 

So I jejely struggle with myself till it’s closing hours – and then hurry home. I don’t even want to have sex with my wife; I’m afraid I might get carried away and scream the wrong name. I’m still young and virile; the last thing I want is to be castrated.

 

 

So I take a couple of cold showers and I convince myself I’m fine. Spend some time in front of the TV with the kids, and then she comes home. My wife, I mean.

 

 

We have dinner together and it’s almost like old times. After we’re done, she clears the table while I send the kids to bed. And then I join her in the kitchen, help with the dishes and all – and then I realize I’m looking at a behind I barely recognize.

 

 

Uh oh. She’s wearing shorts.

 

 

Of course you know I want to indulge in some healthy health-nourishment but she’s understandably tired. So we set off to bed, cuddle and fall asleep.

 

 

But sometime during the night I have this highly erotic dream. I’m having amazing sex with a hugely attractive woman – and she is not my wife. It’s interesting that I know this woman is not my wife – because I don’t exactly catch a glimpse of her.

 

 

It’s interesting because I do not remember details of her body and such like – but I know for a fact that she is not my wife.

 

 

How do I know?

 

 

Well, I woke up sometime in the morning, feeling somehow excited. I don’t mean excited because I did something naughty, I mean excited because something good is going on. I take a moment to figure it out – and then I realize something is tickling my morning wood.

 

 

I look down – and directly into my wife’s face. She is smiling, a hand wrapped round – and she is gently stroking and tugging. All sorts of sensations invade my head at once, and I’m about to throw my head back and scream or moan in pleasure when I catch a glimpse of something shiny in my wife’s other hand.

 

 

She’s holding a knife.

 

 

My moan/scream dries in my throat – only milliseconds faster than my erection. I look at her and she looks back at me; the smile I thought was sexy moments ago looking as evil as all get out. I try to talk – but I can only croak.

 

 

“Baby…?” I sha manage to get out. Her smile gets wider and she fondles me quite lovingly. I shudder in spite of myself.

 

 

And then she asks me, acid dripping from her tongue;

 

 

“Who is Alice?”


Saving Dapo XII

 

Read previous episodes here.

 

 

SAVING DAPO - Masthead 12

 

 

 

Remi couldn’t look more surprised if he’d opened his eyes one morning and found Beyonce lying next to him.

 

 

Or maybe he would have. Anyways…

 

 

Dapo frowned, looking at Yemisi – particularly at the pinkish stain that was rapidly spreading along her face. “Yemisi?”

 

 

Her mouth was opening and closing like a gaffed fish’s. She tried to speak – what came out was a weird croak.

 

 

She swallowed and tried again.

 

 

“Dapo…who is this?” she asked. Dapo’s face screwed up as though he’d just swallowed something bitter. “What do you mean? I told you – my cousin Remilekun, ‘Lekun for short.”

 

 

“He’s…your…cousin?”

 

 

Turning to look at his cousin, Dapo poked him in the chest with an aggressive finger. “You better start talking, guy. Where do you know my girlfriend from?”

 

 

Heavy emphasis on girlfriend.

 

 

“I…I didn’t know she was your girlfriend! I just…” Remi stopped speaking as Yemisi pushed him aside roughly and moved quickly away.

 

 

“Yemisi –“ Dapo started, and then moved after her rapidly, thoughts racing randomly through his head. He did not understand what she was – in fact, he understood nothing about the past few minutes.

 

 

Maybe I should have stopped and questioned Remi…

 

 

No. In this situation, you chase the most desirable objective. In this case…

 

 

Yemisi.

 

 

He caught up with her as she stepped out of the hall’s side door and reached out to hold her elbow. She snatched it from his grasps without pausing – and then she started to run.

 

 

“Yemisi…what are you doing?” he asked, feeling exasperated. It’s things like these…

 

 

That make you wonder why you’re not single?

 

 

“Oh shut it!” he muttered, wincing from the abrupt change in temperature as he left the cool of the hall. He saw Yemisi making her way between vehicles towards the gate and ran to stop her.

 

 

“What is it?” He said forcefully, biting his lips to refrain from yelling at her. She stood in front of him quietly, chest heaving with some emotion with her face averted – and then she looked directly at him.

 

 

The tears streaming down her face shocked him into silence.

 

 

“Am I that pathetic a girlfriend that after five days of being with me you would set me up with your cousin? Why did you not just say you were not interested – instead of being nice and so sweet and…and…”

 

 

Dapo grabbed her shoulders none-too-gently – and dropped his hands to his sides at her wince. “Yemisi…what are you saying?”

 

 

She tossed her hair. “Ask your cousin,” she said and walked away.

 

 

 

******************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

“Dapo…I swear…”

 

 

“Guy, e don do,” Dapo responded, impatiently brushing aside Remi’s explanations. He continued his staring at Yemisi, who was on the other side of the room studiously avoiding his gaze. He knew what she was thinking – he just couldn’t make sense of it.

 

 

“Why would you think that?” he muttered under his breath.

 

 

“Think what?” Kazeem asked from his left.

 

 

“I’m not talking to you,” Dapo snapped rudely. Kazeem looked at his plate and gently set it down as everybody else looked away – including Grace.

 

 

They knew the signs.

 

 

See? There’s just nothing you know how to do other than ruin things for the people you so supposedly care about.

 

 

Don’t even do that. This one – this one time it not my fault. In any way!

 

 

 

Look – maybe if she had been patient, maybe if she had waited some more days she would have met him, and she would have been single, and they would have gotten themselves out of my hair.

 

 

And then, you would have continued your drinking and porn-watching and…

 

 

You’ve made your point.

 

 

“I’m stll crazy though,” he said out loud. “Still having arguments with myself!”

 

 

A sharp pain in his side brought him out of himself and he realized the whole hall was staring at him. He stared back at them with aggression – as his hand moved down to his side to find it was an elbow digging in there. Some further probing revealed it was his cousin on the other end of it.

 

 

“What is it?” he almost yelled.

 

 

Remi looked apologetic. “You’ve been called to give the toast,” he said.

 

 

Dapo was stunned. He turned in his seat to find Chidi and his wife smiling in his direction. He shook his head gently – and stopped as Chidi pointed to his new wife and shrugged.

 

 

He stepped away from his seat, scooping the half-full wine cup and walked to the stage amidst scattered applause. Taking the mic from the MC, he turned to face the crowd, heart thumping crazily.

 

 

You should have had a drink.

 

 

He found himself looking in a pair of eyes, eyes wet with tears, eyes that met his unflinchingly – and holding the gaze Dapo began to speak.

 

 

“I don’t like banks. Honestly, I’m that guy who likes to look at his money and know it is not going anywhere. Maybe it is not growing – but it is NOT going anywhere.”

 

 

There was some laughter – except in the eyes he was looking at. He continued.

 

 

 

“I’d rather keep my money under the pillow and if the house burns, I know my money burnt with the house. What am I going to do when some bank suddenly tells me they failed? What is that? Did they do a test with my money?”

 

 

The eyes he was looking into struggled – and then gave into the urge to laugh.

 

 

And he, in that moment believed everything was going to be just fine.

 

 

“But I have been at a bank twenty times in the past few months. Why?”

 

 

He paused dramatically, watching the audience as it seemed it held its breath collectively, waiting for him to let them down.

 

 

“Well, because Chidi met his special one at GT bank! Why not me?”

 

 

The audience erupted with loud laughter.

 

 

But he wasn’t done. He waited for the initial wave of laughs to die down – and then he delivered his coup de grace;

 

 

“At least they got that one right!”

 

 

The reception went bonkers. Someone yelled from the crowd; “You gave the wrong guy the emcee job!”

 

 

Soon enough, they calmed down and he became serious. “I know I speak for so many people here when I say marriage has lost its enchantment and allure – even relationships have become mundane somewhat. We all walk around with a lot of baggage – mad at each other as though it is all our faults that baggage is there.”

 

 

He paused and cleared his throat.

 

 

“But in the midst of all that, something like this comes along to remind us that it is not all futile. I wonder what made Chidi speak to Rita – I wonder what made her respond. Chidi’s not that fine na.”

 

 

Amidst the audience’s laughter, Chidi stood up in his seat and looked for something to throw at Dapo. Failing to find anything, he bit down on his forefinger – and then snapped it in Dapo’s direction. Dapo shrugged, smiling as Rita laughing dragged her husband down to his seat.

 

 

“But she did – and here we are, celebrating with them and wishing them well, at least we hope you all wish them well. And if you don’t, na you know o. Nothing can shake this couple.

 

 

 

“Personally, this for me is a revelation, learning, a knowing that sometimes, life throws things our way. Things happen – but in the midst of all that, love remains real.”

 

 

He lifted his glass up. “Here’s to Chidi and Rita, and a promise of love.”

 

 

Bowing, he lifted the glass to his lips and drank.

 

 

******************************************************************************************************

 

 

 

“That was amazing!” Grace gushed as soon as he returned to his seat. “And that wasn’t rehearsed?”

 

 

Dapo smiled at her. “I wish it was.”

 

 

Kazeem said half-drunkenly. “Omo, if na so you dey sound without rehearsal, you dey try o! You supposed be pastor. Your mouth sweet!”

 

 

Remi couldn’t wait to speak. “Man, I never thought I’d say this but – I’m proud of you man! Nicely done!” He patted Dapo’s shoulder. “You definitely are giving the toast at my wedding!”

 

 

Dapo sounded bitter. “To who?”

 

 

Remi was going to give a flippant answer, but then he saw the look on Dapo’s face and his own countenance fell. “Em…”

 

 

As one, as though by mutual consent, they turned and looked at Yemisi.

 

 

She was oblivious to their attention as she played the perfect host, laughing brightly and handing out one of her greeting cards to a young couple.

 

 

Dapo smiled sadly.

 

 

******************************************************************************************************

 

 

“I just want to talk to you,” he yelled to make himself heard over the pouring rain.

 

 

“We have nothing to talk about,” came the answer. “Just go away.”

 

 

Dapo shook his head and angrily looked at his wrist watch. Seven minutes after nine on a rainy Sunday evening. This is why I stay out of relationships!

 

 

“What do you mean we have nothing to talk about? You’re just going to jump to conclusions – I don’t even get to tell my side of the story?”

 

 

“If I am jumping to conclusions they are the logical ones! You don’t believe in coincidence Dapo, so can you please explain to me how your cousin happened to be eating in a Tantalizers just three blocks away from my office?!”

 

 

“I will – right after you explain to me how I knew you were going to eat there that afternoon!”

 

 

There was a moment of silence – and then; “Oh, stop it Dapo! Everyone knows how smart you are! It’s a simple matter of just asking him to go there and watch for me –“

 

 

Dapo was shocked. “You cannot possibly be serious. And why would I bother with such elaborate Game-Of-Thrones plotting – when I could very well have shut you down the moment you asked?”

 

 

Yemisi sounded tired. “Look Dapo, I don’t know how genius thinking works. Just go away please.”

 

 

That familiar madness welled up inside Dapo, and he found himself speaking angrily before he could stop himself.

 

 

“I don’t have time for this nonsense. I don’t know what happened to you to make you so freaking paranoid – but it sure did a number on you. I didn’t ask for this – you came to me and I did my best to make it work when I could have easily told you no. So whatever it is you’re telling yourself – don’t forget that.”

 

 

He turned away and walked to his car.

 

 

 

******************************************************************************************************

 

 

There goes another one.

 

 

Don’t even start. This one has nothing to do with me.

 

 

Did I say it did? I’m just pointing out the fact that we’re alone again.

 

 

And better for it, trust me.

 

 

He raised his hand to push the bell again – and then Remi opened the door. “Hey Dapo! Sorry o, this rain – “

 

 

Brushing past Remi rudely, he took off everything he had on, leaving a puddle of wet clothes in front of his door, along with a staring Remi. And then, without a stitch of clothing, he went into his bedroom – particularly the wall closet.

 

 

He opened a small cupboard and lifted a half-full bottle of McDowell’s. He dumped it on the table, shivering slightly as he ran to turn off the room’s air-conditioning – and then sat on the bed and stared at the gold liquid in the bottle.

 

 

He closed his eyes and pictured the tears as they streamed down her full cheeks. Yemisi, who was only trying to help.

 

 

You were too hard on her.

 

 

And she wasn’t on me? I mean, she knew who I was before she decided to give it a shot. She should at least have given me the benefit of doubt! It was as though she had been looking for an excuse to get mad at me!

 

 

It’s not about you.

 

 

Oh really? And who is it about? Who are we saving again?! It IS about me!

 

 

Oh, shut up.

 

 

I am going mad.

 

 

He reached for the McDowell’s and slowly began to unscrew the cap.

 

 

You’re going to drink? That’s the solution – drink? All this time and this is what it comes down to?

 

 

Would everything have been for nothing?

 

 

He stopped and thought about that.

 

 

But I hurt!

 

 

I know. I hurt too; in case you forget. But this is what has to be. We work through the pain, and come out of this a better person. That’s why we agreed in the first place – because we were also tired of all the sadness.

 

 

But I tried…

 

 

Try harder. Do better, Dapo.

 

 

You can be better. You are better.

 

 

But Yemisi…

 

 

 

Will have to work her way through whatever it is she’s feeling – just like we are.

 

 

Be better.

 

 

Dapo took a deep breath and hurled the McDowell’s bottle against the wall – averting his face as it smashed into several hundred fragments and bathed him with flammable liquid.

 

 

Okay – so that’s not what I meant.

 

 

There was hurried banging at the door. “Dapo! Dapo what are you doing?! Open this door!” Came Remi’s frenzied yelling.

 

 

Dapo laughed. “Calm down jo. There’s nothing happening – go and sleep.”

 

 

Smiling to himself, he listened as Remi’s footsteps dwindled away.

 

 

Okay – you were not supposed to throw that bottle like that, but it works. Tell me you don’t feel better.

 

 

He watched the golden liquid trickle down the wall and nodded.

 

 

I feel better.

 

 

He lay on his bed and stared at the ceiling till it was morning.

 

*******************************************************************************************

 

Have an amazing week!

 

 

******************************************************************************************************


Whose Fault?*

 

Previously published on Fabolosity Reads.

 

 

Ike always recommended that his friends put their conscience in one pocket and their privates in another entirely different one. Morals and pleasures don’t mix in his opinion – best case scenario, a guy ends up with blue balls and a bad case of should have. He believed in living now; nothing was permanent to him.

 

 

Therefore, it was funny to see Ike in a moral quandary. It was amusing to watch this guy who did not have scruples where the fairer sex was concerned, struggle with trying to do what was right for the first time in his life.

 

 

It was pathetic. It was almost like listening to DMX talk about killing, raping and looting on one track and then praying to God on the next one. It was the groaning of a man who had been pushed within an inch of his endurance. His tolerance. In fact, there was a point where Ike began sweating, perspiring from his mental exertions.

 

 

A clearer picture might be necessary.

 

 

Ike was standing beside a window looking outside. He looked like a prisoner who was trying to get a glimpse of something beyond the prison walls. Something – anything to give him an indication of hope, a sign that there is life outside. But of course he cannot see far; he cannot see past the high walls of the prison; his home for God knows how long. The same could be said of Ike; except that his prison walls were made of water and something intangible. Water because the rain outside was pounding slate roofs and the wind was tearing at the trees and other movable objects. A few minutes ago he had watched a roof sail past so slowly on the river outside, and so indistinctly it was surreal.

 

 

He might as well face it. He was trapped.

 

 

But that; in itself would not have been a bad idea. But there was a lot more.

 

 

Take the sofa behind him for instance.

 

 

I wonder here exactly what image the mention of sofa put in your head…but that’s just a by-the-way. The sofa; typically a three-sitter was in the far corner of the room, partly shrouded in the PHCN/weather- induced darkness. It was a dark-green, army-regulation type green. It had brown napkins on both arms and back.

 

 

Just as you are wondering what significance the sofa has to this story…

 

 

“Ike, I’m cold.”

 

 

The speaker was a woman.

 

 

Her name was Isioma and she was seated on one side of the sofa.

 

 

It was hard to see what Isioma looked like, seated in the darkness like she was and wrapped in a blanket from neck down – like she was. But if her voice was anything to go by, she was muscular, tall and bearded.

 

 

She talked like a man.

 

 

Now why would Ike be having a crisis of conscience? After all, they were both grownups and the fact that she knew his name indicated some measure of familiarity, right?

 

 

Yes, they were not strangers. They knew each other well; had known each other for a while. But Ike had not counted on being alone with her. In fact, several minutes before this story began; the house looked like the host to a mini party. There were four other occupants and Ike had not had any worries like the ones he was having now. But slowly and yet suddenly, six had become five and then three – before the last guy; Dayo their host suddenly remembered he had to go pick up something for his fiancé on the mainland. He had driven off in Ike’s car; a full thirteen minutes before the rain started.

 

 

Now, Ike considered seriously the option of running into the rain. He looking again through the rain-streaked window; particularly at the river where the road used to be. He watched in disbelief as a goat; loud bleating drowned in the louder pounding of the rain, was swept away.

 

 

Walking into that was suicide. He was trapped by a wall of rain.

 

 

Dropping his head resignedly, he headed to the sofa and stood looking at Isi from his height. His hands were shaking – but what they were shaking from I leave to your imagination. He stood there feeling his stomach clench and unclench in nervousness.

 

 

“Isn’t that blanket warm enough for you?” he asked through a throat was clogged with nervousness, already knowing her answer.

 

 

She did not reply. Instead she threw open the blanket and shifted slightly, indicating silently that he join her. Ike had a last moment argument with his head. But blood was rapidly filling into another part of his anatomy, leaving his oxygen-starved brain with two options – continue the argument and die, or find another alternative.

 

 

The choice was obvious.

 

 

Anyways he sat beside her, inhaling her heady perfume and reclining in the crook of her embrace. She drew her open arm closed, effectively wrapping him in two layers of warmth. She placed her head on his chest and closed her eyes. The momentary storm within Ike began calming…

 

 

Suddenly and unfortunately, PHCN restored power, startling the two stars of this story awake and throwing everything into sharp relief.

 

 

Let me tell you what I saw in that moment.

 

 

Isioma’s voice was actually NOTHING to go by. The girl looked exactly like Moet; that ONTV presenter with the frustrating behind. Frustrating in that it’s on display for the entire world to see, but only a few will ever actually see it; and only an even fewer few will ever get to touch it properly like it ought to be touched.

 

 

Sorry. I was talking about Isi.

 

 

She looked like Toolz looked in that gown that started tongues and fingers wagging in offices and on twitter respectively. She looked like a nylon bag would look if filled with raw pap and then carefully molded. To say she was well-built would be an understatement.

 

 

Her lips looked like they were trying to get free of their anchor – like a pair of ripe agbalumos; local cherries if you will, begging to be plucked. Her skin had this light but obvious coat of hair on it, and while I found that to be a slight disadvantage, it absolutely worked for Ike.

 

 

They suddenly found themselves face to face in close proximity and at this time Ike had lost the battle with his head. He kissed her.

 

 

Isi responded eagerly, finally about to find out if everything she had heard about this guy was true. Their lips danced; expertly anticipating each other. For a moment I felt as though I was watching a P-Square show and the twins were just the ones on stage doing their thing. These were two people who knew how to give and take pleasure.

 

 

Ike’s hands eagerly fumbled at the gates of Isi’s blouse; gates that kept him away from confirming how much of her protuberances were real and how much of it was the work of a bra. He tried to keep kissing her and trying to open the blouse at the same time, but unless you have eyes around your chest area, opening a blouse like Isi’s while you were kissing said Isi is a herculean task.

 

 

Isi pushed him away and took off her blouse hurriedly yet carefully. She would be hard put to explain a torn blouse. But the next moment she was kissing Ike again, pushing the now-unfettered twin loaves of Shoprite Bread against his chest. Ike died and went someplace totally…

 

 

He nuzzled her neck, gently nipping the skin as he kissed his way to her neck and collarbone, Isi’s gasping sighs and loud moans silent pats on his back. Slowly he nosed his way down her chest, smiling as he felt her breath hitching in her chest, licking the tops of the loaves as his thumbs found engagement with some other parts of said loaves that felt as hard as local cherry seeds. He suddenly dipped his head and grazed the right one with his teeth, and then rapidly licking over it with his tongue…

 

 

In other words, they had sex.

 

 

And Ike, lying on his back some twenty-something minutes later, inhaled and exhaled loudly while wondering which of his over-a-hundred similar conquest felt like what he’d just experienced. He came up blank.

 

 

Whoa, he thought, imagine Dayo having this for the rest of his life.

 

 

And just like that, all thoughts of sex and related topics were driven from his mind with the force of a really terrible BRT accident, replacing it with realization, shame and self-loathing.

 

 

Still don’t get it? Allow me break it down for you.

 

 

Ike just had sex with his best friend Dayo’s fiancé Isioma, exactly five days to their wedding.

 

 

Whose fault?

 


What Does It Matter?

I lied to my wife last night,

Told her I’ll be with her for all time

Yet a few minutes before, I was in other arms

Yet I tell myself – what does it matter?

What difference does it make?

How can she or you know love without feeling hate?

100-carat diamond on her finger, yet what put it there is fake;

Still, what does it matter?


Midweek Fix: The Ex Files

The Ex Files

The truth is out there; I never cheated on you
But I’m lying if I say I’ve never been tempted to

Remember that night you called really late; and

I said I was staying over at Sam’s?
You see, that was one lie; I was with her
No not that ‘her’…I’m talking about the other…yeah…her
Ahn-ahn now, there’s not too many ‘hers’
So why are you already saying ‘ha’?
Look, I can stop talking now but I need you to know the truth,
My strange behavior lately? You need to know the root
Those nights with no credit, I would just scream your name
You said nothing’s changed; it just didn’t feel the same
Felt like I had gone from ‘the man’ to just being ‘a man’
So I found myself sniffing around plates I’d already ate
Running around with exs from morning till really late
I meant no harm; as usual, it was nothing,
We had managed to remain friends, no fronting
But we met again, and the sparks really flew,
That started me doubting what I feel for you
It’s was that initial ‘her’ that started it,
She with the straight dark hair and freaky hips
And then it began to move really fast; one after the other,
From the latest back to the first; in that order
Bimbo, the one with the largest ______s,
Comforted me, said I could put my heart to rest
Onye wanted to get it on again, no stress
Damn girl is married; and didn’t she call me ‘second best’?
Hauwa had the best head in all senses of the word,
Lips that seem to say ‘I know what you want; just come!’
And I couldn’t help but compare them to you,
I know; it’s not fair but what can I do?
Except try to make it right, and that’s too clear
The truth is out there, I think it needs to be in here
I want to believe we can still make it,
This is coming from my heart; I’m not trying to fake it
See, you know I have never cheated on you,
But I think I lied when I said that too

Picture courtesy 20th Century Fox

Picture courtesy 20th Century Fox