Izyyblaze:

Uhm...Sorry sir! Never knew I MUST.

aar aah!! Haba, babe follow me talk naa, no let miss safari con report me to d mod on top say i dey derail her thread. Abeg reply d mail.

Happy birthday ur excellency Safarigirl! Long shall u reign.

I know I'm two days late, but I just want to appreciate everyone of you that dropped your birthday wishes here.

You were part of the few who made my day, I know we're basically just virtual people , but thanks a lot and may we all see many more years ahead by the grace of God

*****

I can’t say which is more awkward, the meeting at the restaurant or the one we’re having currently. Maybe this one will take it, because there are more people present.

Save for Gladys there hasn’t been much of a conversation going on since we all gathered at the table for lunch. I think mu father is still trying to wrap his head around the idea of our rather unconventional family. He particularly keeps looking at Ismail and Chuma funny, but that’s probably because they’ve been all buddy-buddy and were probably acting that way when they picked him up earlier. I can see it in his eyes that he’s just itching to ask us questions, but kudos to him, he’s kept his curiosity under wraps this long.

Gladys has been trying to include me in the conversation, but that’s just her giving my father the easy way out. I don’t want her to initiate conversation, I want him to talk to me directly, not through a proxy. I honestly hope he doesn’t think coming to my turf is going to make this any easier for him. The idea is to make me comfortable, not make him comfortable.

“So, Ben, what do you do in Florida?” Gladys asks, oh yeah, did I mention they’re now on a first-name basis? Gladys is always quick to by-pass formalities in these things. She thinks anyone who can be invited to dine with the family should be on a first-name basis, I think she’s more interested in knowing about my father than I am. I just want to know why he left my mother and I, I don’t care about whatever is currently going on in his life.

“I own a small grocery shop, we sell African food items.” He replies proudly.

I hold back a snicker and remind myself to be lady-like, Gladys will cut my head off if she notices any signs of an attitude.

Gladys smiles, “Wow, that’s nice. Isn’t it Isi?”

She’s been doing this the entire afternoon; continually seeking an opinion I unfortunately can’t provide, but Gladys won’t be defeated, oh no, she’ll keep doing this till she gets the reaction she wants, “Yes, it is.” I reply flatly as I stab a piece of shrimp with my fork, I put it in my mouth and chew it, but it tastes like paper….everything tastes like paper when I have to sit across my father and pretend I’m having an enjoyable conversation with him.

“What’s it called?” Gladys asks, ignoring my sour demeanor.

“Ivie’s Kitchen….named it after the daughter I thought I never got.” He replies

I pause in my movement and raise my head up to look at him. he’s staring directly at me as if telling me the comment was meant for my ears. What does he mean by that? My mother said he left, yes, she might have been a terrible, disgraceful excuse of a mother, but she was the parent who stayed and I have no reason to doubt that little information she repeatedly told me. To think he’s insinuating that my mother lied….

“I was processing a visa to the US when Ivi….Isidore’s mother told me she was pregnant. I put it on hold to see her through her nine months, but….i don’t think she wanted me around. She kept doing these things to push me away….she was smoking, going for parties and she was always around men of questionable character…..”

“You’re lying!” those are the first words I’ve said to him the entire time, but I refuse to sit here and listen to him twist the story. He was the one being an insatiable LovePeddler while my mother had to carry me all alone.

“Sweetheart, I swear to you, I’m saying the truth. At some point, when you were almost here, your mother started extorting money from me, she kept telling me if I didn’t give her money, you wouldn’t survive and I….i tried, I was trying, but I barely had anything with me the month before you were born and I tried to explain it to her, but, she was adamant….”

“Stop lying!”

“I’m not lying to you, I never knew you existed….”

“Stop!”

“she told me you were stillborn! She said you died and she wouldn’t let me see you, she said she had buried you by the time I came back….i had gone for an interview, by the time I returned, she wasn’t pregnant anymore. She said you died!”

“Shut up!” I scream at him as I finally get off my chair, “Just shut up! You’re lying….you lied to her and now you’re lying to me.” I cry out. How convenient that he would pass it all down to the dead person, what’s the point in blaming someone who isn’t even alive to defend herself? She may not have been the ideal mother, but I simply refuse to believe that my mother was such a selfish, greedy person. Why would anyone try to extort money from the father of her child? A father who was as eager to care for the child as my father now claims he was? I wonder how long it took him to come up with this elaborate story where he’s the hero and my mother the villain.

“Isidore, calm down.” Gladys says

“He’s lying mama, can’t you see?” I turn to her seeking support, there has to be someone else who can see past this crafted tale.

“Isi.” I feel Chuma’s hands on my shoulders.

I turn desperate eyes to him and he’s giving me this look as if I’m some mentally unstable person, “He’s just trying to make excuses for not being there, he’s pinning it all on her because she isn’t here to defend herself…” I try to explain it to Chuma, “Aren’t you?” I turn spiteful eyes to him.

“Don’t you think she also told you those lies about me because I wasn’t around to defend myself as well? Did you ever think that maybe she was lying? Lovette was very good at fooling people, she fooled me to think you were dead. She fooled her parents, maybe she fooled you too.”

“She’s not like you! She’s not a user!” I scream at him. even as I speak those words, as I continue to defend the honour of someone who was no more than scum in my life, I can’t help but think I may be wrong. I knew that woman for nine horrible years, I know what she’s capable of. She’s definitely a user. The logical part of me wants to believe my father’s story more than the crap I was fed in my early years, so far, he’s shown himself to be the less twisted one. There is nothing substantial to use in defense of a child trafficker.

I’m not trying to defend my mother, I’m trying to hold on to the last honorable memory of a woman that proved herself to be the worst type of person in the world. I’m trying to salvage what’s left of a horrible memory.

Chuma’s grip on my shoulders have tightened and he’s pulled me to his chest, he probably thinks I’ll lunge across the table for my father. he’s thinking on the right path, “Lovette used everybody and anybody she could, it’s a wonder she didn’t even use you.”

I stop struggling with Chuma as those words slash into me. All the fight leaves my body as I fall against Chuma and a hollow feeling envelopes me.

My father’s features scrounge in confusion as if trying to understand my reaction, it only takes a moment before the recognition flashes in his eyes. He looks horrified, “Oh my….Ivie….Jesus! No…”

I can’t stand the look in his eyes…I never want to see that look in people’s eyes. There’s a reason why I never tell anyone of the horrors I faced during the early years of my life, but for my father to know even without a word escaping me. Nothing is more gut-wrenching, there is no worse feeling than this hollow, dead feeling I have right now.

He’s shaking his head as if rejecting the thought, “Ivie…” I hear the strain in his voice as his eyes water, “….what did she do to you?” his voice sounds no more than a whisper, but I hear his question despite the distance.

She did things…bad things. She was there…she stood right outside the door while….

A strangled sob leaves my throat and I wrestle my way out of Chuma’s grip with a strength I know is unnatural. I run out of the dinning room, ignoring Chuma and Gladys’ calls. My sight is hazy with tears, but I manage to grab Chuma’s car keys off the table. They are the first ones I see on my way out.

I just want to leave this place and leave the memories, I don’t want to recall any of those things I went through and certainly not to my father’s hearing. I fling the front door open, only giving the stinging rays of the sun a fleeting thought before I run to the car.

It’s only when I get to the driver’s door that I realise I don’t even know which key goes in the lock. I fiddle with the keys still, I try to force the first key into the hole, but it doesn’t budge. I stab at the lock repeatedly as if the key will magically fit, as expected, it doesn’t.

I try for another key when I feel a warm strong hand hold the hand I have the key in…..the hand I now realise is shaking.

“Let go Chuma, I can’t be here.” I scream at him.

“I know, I’ll take you anywhere you want to go. Just don’t go alone, please.”

“Chuma, you don’t understand….” I sob.

“Shh.” He whispers in my ear, “Give me the keys, I’ll drive.” He speaks softly

He slowly eases the keys out of my grip as I watch my hand surrender them. Once he’s gotten them in his possession, he proceeds to lead my weak frame to the passenger’s side and eases me into the seat, going further to strap me in as I stare ahead blankly.

My mind goes on a journey, the only thing I manage to hear are the sounds of the driver’s door closing and the engine starting up before I zone out.

My mother was a liar. She lied to me. She used me

wow! I'm sort of word. I dolf my cap, kudos to you shaffarigirl.

My God, this is too good, safarigirl you are really good, i feel like am life in the story, better still like watching it like a movie at the cinema. i really feel for isi and am also glad that she has people like chuma and gladys in her life to help her through this phase of her life. i can imagine how she will feel like, if these people were nt in her life. see safarigirl, me a ghost reader has written an epistle, this is what u did to me with this beautiful piece. more ink to your pen. plssssss can i get more update

tnks for d update safari.... am ur number one fan.....much love

Thanks for Updating dear. You are too much

safari you are really a great writer and i do envie you

danyel09:
safarigirl come we dey waitew o, I just saw you commenting on another thread. Boys are not smiling o

O ye writer beware of monitoring spirits.....they are everywhere you go.

danyel09:
safarigirl come we dey waitew o, I just saw you commenting on another thread. Boys are not smiling o

lol....the next update is big so I need it to come out right. My spirit isn't agreeing with the construction so far, might take a few more days, but I'm on it

danyel09:
OK take your time o, make it come good

please just post something cos am in love with this story, it gives me the courage to carry on.

safarigirl:
lol....the next update is big so I need it to come out right. My spirit isn't agreeing with the construction so far, might take a few more days, but I'm on it

Hello,

I've been sub-CCing(I made this word up. It means tagging someone "upandan" ) you since forever.

Since my last moniker. Lol

I'm inviting you to guest post on my website www.scandalsport.com

Just one article, you can write about anything as long as it's sport related. Need ideas? How about writing about the worst Nigerian team in history- Sisia's team that lost 6- 2 yesterday to Denmark?

Of course I will understand if you decline this offer.
Thanks

Swthrt pls how long wil d update take,u are starving us ooo ....

I must confess, u r a very gud writer but u r not consistent with updates. I hv checked almost all ur works which r so nice but never completed. all the same I give u thumbs up cos ur style of writing is rare.

pls update nah Why this wickedness, at least tell us u re still around .

kushkingstalin:
pls update nah Why this wickedness, at least tell us u re still around .

Wickedness kwa?? lol safarigirl, you are doing sontin to some people o.
Abeg, update sharperly before dem tag u winch.

Bheembor:

Wickedness kwa?? lol safarigirl, you are doing sontin to some people o.
Abeg, update sharperly before dem tag u winch.

lol...you won't understand

Pls update naaaa...

Hello Safarigirl pls I know u got so many other things to outside of ur writing but pls this suspense is very dehydrating....and also the proposal on afrik blog. Pls, biko, ejo o, abeg. Thanks God Bless

Am done waiting I officially unfollow this story

Why not create your own T

******
“Isidore, we’re here.”

Chuma’s voice sounds so far off, but I know he’s close.

I’m not asleep, but my mind travelled far enough to be considered ‘asleep’, I haven’t even been paying attention to where we’re going. Maybe because it’s Chuma, but that whole sense of fear that usually seizes me when I’m in the car with a man has eluded me the entire time. I’m not worried about where we’re going because I’ve invested my trust in him and so far, he hasn’t given me a reason to doubt him….I unfortunately can’t say the same for my parents….or my mother.

I’ve been replaying her words in my head the entire drive, replaying everything she did while she was alive to convince me my father was the villain. I remember her tears, the way she would sulk around the house, I remember her sad voice as she told me all about the way my father threw her to the streets when she told him she was pregnant with me. It was impossible to not believe her then, eve now, as I replay her every word in my head, I simply can’t understand or even fathom why she lied to me….if she lied to me.

I can’t believe I’ve spent more time in this car, thinking up excuses for my mother rather than accepting her for the slimy, disgusting disgrace she truly was. I’m still in shock from what just happened in my house, so I haven’t been able to fully utilize all of my senses. I’m sure that when I will, when I can think better and assess the situation rationally, I’ll hate my mother even more than I already do.

“Isi.”

My unsteady gaze finally falls on Chuma, he has the passenger door opened and is just standing by the side, waiting for me. That’s when it clicks in my head, that I should probably familiarize myself with my surroundings. The sun is already setting, so I can imagine how long we’ve been driving around, but that’s not the first thing I notice.

We’re at a beach.

I don’t know which one because I rarely frequent beaches due to how uncomfortable I get around too many people, but I see a mass of sand and just ahead, a body of water, so I figure it’s a beach. What are we doing at a beach this late? Don’t they pay to access these places? Don’t they have a closing time or something?

“if I hold this door open any longer, I’ll get a muscle cramp Isidore, you coming?”

My eyes shift back to him, a smile dances against his lips, but he doesn’t succumb to it. he seems unsure if it’s okay to smile and I make no effort to ease his doubts.

It takes me only a moment to make up my mind. Mostly because the wind and the sound of the ocean seem to call to me and soothe frayed nerves. I want to move closer , so I step out of the car….that’s when I realise I have no footwear on. Wow, my senses must have totally left me if I ran out of my house in my bare feet and didn’t notice.

I’m somewhat thankful we ended up at a beach, where else can I go with bare feet if not the beach? Certainly not some classy restaurant or even a hotel. Still, I wonder how we’re here and why someone isn’t chasing us off.

Chuma closes the door and locks it automatically, “Come on.” He says as he walks ahead of me.

I watch his retreating back for a while, I’m confused, “Chuma, it’s getting late.” I say to him, even though we’re yet to be accosted, I can only imagine the type of horrible things that could happen in a deserted place this late. Yes, Chuma’s mere size can scare many men, but if he were outnumbered, we would be the ones with our backs to the wall and I’ve been there too many times to want to ever go back.

I close my eyes briefly to push back thoughts of smelly men and screams of horror…..especially, to push backs thoughts of her face. I’ve always thought my mother ended somewhere in hell fire, preferably around the same neighbourhood as the devil himself where she belongs, but as of now, I really wish she’s right next door to him., roasting, burning for all the atrocities she committed against me…..against my father.

“Isidore.”

I open my eyes and stumble backwards just a little seeing how close Chuma is to me, he reaches out and grabs my hand before I fall, a shiver runs through me feeling his warm touch. I tell myself it’s because of the cold breeze here, but I know better. He easily steadies me on my feet once again and we just stand, staring at each other for what seems like forever. He reaches out and brushes my cheek, his touch is feather-light and I sigh longingly at the contact. I’ve been trying to avoid him so much these past days, I forgot how much I love his touch, how it just seems to be enough to warm me up, how much it just has the ability to erase my worries in a moment.

Thoughts of my mother long forgotten, I look up to him, waiting for his next move because I won’t be the one to make any further moves between us, he knows that well enough. So I wait for him, and a tiny part of me that’s starting to colonise my entire being wishes he’ll move in for the kill; make me forget all of the drama for the day with one touch of those magical lips of his- a small part.

He smiles at me, breaking the intensity of the moment and I have to stop myself from reaching for the nape of his neck and pulling him down to meet my expectant lips- it proves to be no easy task, but I pull thothroughugh, just barely, “Come, I want to show you something.” He says, he pulls me along, holding the same hand he used to steady me earlier.

My feet move, not by my control because I’m not quite with him just yet. It takes me a while to leave the Chuma zone these days, the potency of his spell is alarming. He pulls me along anyway.

“Where are we going?” I ask after a while of treading through sand. He may think this is fun, but I certainly don’t think pulling my feet from piles of sand is the least bit interesting.

“It’s a surprise.” He replies.

I stop in my tracks and resist any attempts to move me any further. He turns to me with a smile, what’s got him so excited? I’m not sure I’m interested in this surprise, I absolutely hate surprises, especially any surprises in a lonely place like this. I think I’ve gotten to that point where I can trust Chuma not to try anything funny, then again if he did, Gladys would nail his balls to a wall- still, I don’t like being thrown into situations I have no control over and surprises fall under that category. Just being on this beach by this time is enough of a surprise.

“I’m going to need more than that if you want me to go any further.” I reply defiantly. My emotions may be a little scattered, but not so much I compromise certain rules of mine.

He stands akimbo, as if waiting for me to change my stance, but I remain in my position, unmoving and awaiting his reply. I’m sure he knows very well he can’t cower me into doing what he wishes. He sighs in defeat and shakes his head, “Okay, so, you know how you’re always asking I and Ismail where we go for the weekend?” he asks

I maintain my aloofness, but my curiosity is now greatly piqued. They’ve managed to not tell me all this time where they go for this secret weekend of theirs, but the excitement I see in Ismail whenever it comes up has made me conjure up some pretty ridiculous scenarios, “So?” I drawl, as interested as I am, I refuse to give it away.

“Well, I’m going to show you where we go.” He replies.

“On a beach?” I ask incredulously, my expression is in agreement with my tone.

“Just come with me Isidore, you won’t regret it.”

It’s not like I’m thinking of not seeing this secret hideout of theirs. Oh, I intend to go with him and see what all the hype is about, “It better be good.” I acquiesce.

“Ismail thinks it is.” He replies me and then continues his walk ahead

I snort to myself, he must think I’m as impressionable as a 9-year old.

We continue to walk a distance, during which the sun sets completely until only the orange colour can be seen on the horizon. I briefly wonder if he couldn’t have just driven us to the part of the beach he wants to show me instead of putting us both through all this stress. Maybe he doesn’t tire out from long walks on the beach, but my feet are starting to ache and if I have to walk any further, my legs might just give on me.

“Chuma.” As unbelievable as it sounds in my ear, I believe I just whined.

“We’re here already Isi, Ismail doesn’t complain this much when it’s just the two of us.”

I open my mouth to tell him off and ask him why he would compare me to a little boy who’s probably already stuffed with all the sugar he’ll need for energy before he has to walk this length, but the words die off as I come upon the secret hideout.

What the hell?

“Come on in.” Chuma waves me inside the compound after he unlocks the bamboo gate.

This is where they’ve been going? Such a place exists and neither of the two supposed trustworthy men in my life thought it wise to tell me so? A stab of jealousy runs through me, I’m jealous they’ve had this treasure to themselves and conveniently left me out of it. I feel betrayed but I don’t know whose betrayal hurts me more, Chuma’s or Ismail’s.

My very weak feet drag along the rest of me into the compound paved with granite and wood, in the centre of the spacious compound is a beach house set upon about six wooden pillars, a stair leads up to the house. How did Chuma get access to such a place? The thought runs through my head as I continue to walk toward the stairs, my eyes fall on a yellow beach buggy parked at the far end of the front yard and I frown. That’s what must have had Ismail so excited every weekend.

“Did you let him ride that?” I ask. I can’t hold back the question especially as the image keeps coming to me of Ismail letting lose at the steering of such a contraption. I wouldn’t put it past Chuma to do such a thing never mind how dangerous.

“No, hell no! He was always strapped in the passenger’s seat.”

I glare at him as if expecting him to take back those words and tell me the real truth- the acceptable truth.

He rolls his eyes at me, “I may be the more liberal parent Isidore, but that doesn’t make me careless.”

“He’s not your son, you’re not a parent.” I shoot back at him, funny how that’s the only thing I took out of his words, he makes the entire idea seem so natural. It sounds like we’ve been together for years and have been parenting Ismail together, which isn’t how it really is. He just butts in.

I don’t like that it sounds so natural to my ears.

He walks up to me and stands inches away, looking down at me. His closeness rattles me, but not so much I lose my balance unlike before.

“Well, in a matter of months, we’ll sort that out, won’t we?” he asks with a smile as he tucks a stray strand of hair neatly behind my ear, he lets the hand slide down my arm, leaving goose pimples in it’s wake, until he grabs me by the wrist, “Come, we wouldn’t want the bride catching a cold two months to her wedding, would we?” he asks as he drags me along.

I’m indecisive as to whether I like his reaction to my words or I don’t. I won’t deny the heat that sizzled through me when he so casually reminded me of our upcoming nuptials while he had his hand on me, it’s a feeling I’m beginning to get accustomed to whenever Chuma is around me.

He opens up the door to the house and we walk into a spacious room that is even more breath-taking than the outside, it looks like a sitting room out of the pages of a magazine. The first thing I notice is the large screen door adjacent from the entrance, it leads to a balcony that I’m sure would provide an amazing view of the beach. My eyes move over the length and breadth of what is obviously the sitting room, devouring the earthy tones used to decorate the place, the floor is made out of wood, a couple of paintings of brown-skinned women adorn the walls which look like they were made with bamboo sticks. I can't see a television, which I find odd,but I figure he must have one in another room. Different plants, most notably a couple of hibiscus flowers and palms are placed at each of the four corners of the living room.

What catches my eye though, is a painting next to a door at the opposite side of the room. In it, a woman hunches over two little kids while a large man towers over her, his arm in the air as if about to strike her.

My fingers dance along the visible lines of the painting, particularly lingering on the woman's sad, teary face. It may be just a painting, but the message in it speaks volumes of the love of a mother, the perseverance and raw strength of a woman even when she's being pummeled by an animal.

"I got it a couple of weeks ago, the artiste had his work spread out by the roadside, I couldn't drive past when I saw it. Beautiful, isn't it?" Chuma asks.

I know he's directly behind me simply by the sound of his voice, it's very close- he's close. He doesn't touch me, but his presence alone is powerful. I neither take my eyes nor hands away from the painting.

I don't know if I would use the term 'beautiful' to describe this painting, powerful is a much better term in my opinion, it's not overly done, there are no loud colors, it isn't complicated with too many lines and you can tell the technique isn't quite top class yet by the rough edges here and there, but all of that takes nothing from the message or it's power. It's as if the painter is telling of a personal experience, there are certain details in it that look a bit too real, I wonder if he has other works similar to this.

"It reminded me of you" I hear Chuma in my ear once again. This time, he gets my attention and I turn to him sharply, seeking an explanation. He smiles and gently returns my gaze to the painting with a finger upon my chin, " you're the woman in the picture obviously, the man hovering over her represents the men in your life who have abused you constantly and the children....well, there's only one in your life for now, Ismail, and you protect him despite the men, you love him despite yourself. I can only imagine how difficult it must be for you to love anyone, especially those of us who happen to fall in the same gender as your abusers, but somehow, you do it. You ignore the abuse, to protect those you've come to love. You pull your strength from them, you defeat your tormentors by sourcing power from their own."

At some point in his narrative, I switch the faces in the painting and I can see myself, I see Ismail as well as the many faces of the many men that abused me....I see her too and I'm immediately filled with anger and betrayal.

"What kind of mother sells her daughter to the highest bidder?" I ask darkly, my eyes still fixed on the painting while I try to make sense of her transgressions, " what kind of mother repeatedly lies to her own child about the whereabouts of her father, just to keep her in a hellhole? What kind of woman takes away the innocence of a little child before she even knows the meaning of the word? What was the point of being brought into this world if all it had for me was pain and suffering?" I ask, i do not expect Chuma's reply because my questions are rhetorical. I wouldn't mind an answer to help me make sense of the hell that has been my life, but I don't expect any.

"My mother used to tell me that God never gives to us, what we're incapable of handling. Everything we go through is for a reason, we may not see it today, but in good time, we realize the purpose for which we went through trying times." Chuma replies softly, sounding every bit like his mother. I can just picture Gladys uttering those exact words, but I don't buy it this time.

"She took everything from me!" I scream at him as if expecting him to hear me and drop his philosophical jargons, "She took my conscience, she took my innocence, she took my ability to trust people, to love or even be intimate with anyone. She took the things that made me human"

He shakes his head at me and cradles mine in his hands, "No, she only took what you gave. She didn't take everything, she's not God. You trust Isidore, maybe not a lot of people which is fine, because most people don't trust a lot of people, but you trust. You trust my mother, you trust me. You came down here with me despite how deserted it is, that is trust. You love too, you think you don't, but you love Ismail, you fret over him, you feel pain when he's in pain, you're happy when he's happy, you're cranky when he's cranky. And where do I even begin with you and my mother?" He lets out a laugh, exposing his perfect dentition, "..that day she collapsed and you nearly cut my head off because I didn't wake you up, I never imagined you could be so concerned and vested in someone...."

"She's the reason I'm alive"

"No, God is the reason you're alive. He wants you to see that she hasn't taken everything from you, that you're still human. You have a conscience, you can love and trust and...." His eyes dance over my features and I notice it's glazed with an emotion that shakes me to my core, "...I know, you can be intimate"

Can I really? I wonder. I want to believe him, desperately, but I think back at how repulsed I get whenever I get near a man......wait. My eyes shoot up at Chuma as realization hits me, I'm not repulsed by him. I don't think I've ever been repulsed by him, maybe wary at times and fearful just a little when we initially met, but never repulsed.

I stare at him with hope-filled eyes, maybe he's the cure I need. My mother's death didn't really earn me my freedom. Even from her grave, her actions haunted me. They served as the detriment to whatever progress I could have made. I never really got over her abuse and it pisses me off that she gets to win even in death.

"Maybe if we....you can....I...." The words dance at the tip of my tongue, but they prove to be much too difficult for me to let out.

Chuma looks down at me in confusion at first, and then his eyes widen with shock when my request registers in his head. He's definitely smart.

He and withdraws his touch from me, "No, you're very emotional right now Isi, you don't know what you're asking for"

I shake my head desperately, "I know what I'm asking, please" I don't think I've ever used the word 'please' on a man this desperately, but I need to know if she took everything and he has to help me. Of all the things I managed to psyche myself into believing, the one thing that's never quite stuck was that I can be intimate with a man. The fear those men from my childhood instilled in me, never left.

I get the feeling Chuma likes me, it's not just a feeling. I know he likes me, he's told me that countlessly, the way he looks at me, the way he kisses me. I know he wants something more....at least I think so.

He stares at me with pleading eyes, "Isidore, I beg you. Don't make me do this, I don't want you to hate me later. I can deal with your silent treatment and hostility, but I don't think I can take your hate"

I reach for his hand and grab it, "I won't hate you, I promise. Chuma..." I notice how rigid he is, he still isn't sold on the idea. I don't think he's ever been this unresponsive to me. I see the battle going on within him, I feel the need to take advantage of it. Plead my case a little more aggressively.

****to be completed by tomorrow (for real)***

@danyel09....that's it

wow..... thanks so much for the update. Your hands are blessed ma'am. more ink to your pen

Thank u ma for this long and wonderful update it's always worth the wait