[center]This story is about as accurate as the author's limited memory would allow and are absolute facts. Any similarities in event, persons or place is purely coincidental.

The names of the characters were changed due to personal privacy and while vulgarities were kept to a minimum, graphic descriptions were embellished for enjoyment sake.

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Copyright © 2016 by Eternal Wordsmiths Publications

No part of this journal is to be copied, changed or altered in anyway without the prior consent and knowledge of the author. Offenders will be heavily penalised.

Critics are welcome to the high-table . [/center]

Part One

The memories played before my mind's eyes. It was like a movie I had lived in; of love found, lost, and betrayed. I always wondered what would have been.

_ The goodgal

Prologue

They say that the best stories ever told are usually the ones experienced. I decided to write this story for many reasons and I think that the best of them was somehow in a bid to live a legacy behind. My story is like the most typical stories of growing up, teenage wilefulness, rebellion, lust and love. It is a spiral plunge into sexual awareness in a bid to find self.

Chapter one

My childhood was that of a typical Nigerian child. A strict Christian upbringing in a family of six (or an occasional 'ten' if you include the side chick and her three children) with a devoted mother, and an off an on partially nonchalant father.
Yes, my father was off and on because he spent his time inbetween families and he was hardly ever home in my early years.

For some reasons, my mother stuck around and took all his bullshits even though he hadn't properly married her. Never paid even a dime on her head, you know, the traditional marriage thingy they call it. From being boyfriend and girlfriend, a child came into the picture and that was how a family was born but my mom always claimed that she had forever insisted that dad marry her properly but according to her account, he was always bringing up one excuse or the other.

Then he married the other woman and all hell was let loose. She initially became the side chick.

Nobody on my mother's side saw it coming and we all took it hard. It was a blow dealt by an insensitive father to his ever loving children. It was like saying, 'I don't care about you kids. You will never be mine'. My eldest brother felt it the hardest. He became a bitter young man and grew to hate my father savagely. But the old man didn't give a shiit. He had ultimately decided to have nothing to do with my mother anymore. He wanted to be with his new family for his own totally selfish reasons.

Let us put a pause to my family history a bit. What I am trying to tell you is that, I came from a broken home. My parents broke up when I was 13 and that changed alot of things, especially about how I viewed life in general. In your eyes, this might excuse some of things I did and still do.

***
Haa! My first boy friend. I am almost certain that everyone remembered their first, or don't they? His name was Samuel and he was 32years, married with two daughters. He lived in Arizona, USA and had paid a visit to his sister (our land-lady) in Benin City, Edo State Nigeria.

I remembered meeting those eyes. Red from smoking too much and sexxy as hell, at the time. I was just 9½ years old and was very fascinated with sexx and the opposite sexx. By then, I was already masturbatiing with an excitingly curious but dangerous device; a 2B pencil wrapped padded at one end with soft cloth. It was a risky venture but I managed to cum everytime though I never actually inserted it in me, I was wiser than that. I'd humped carefully on it while the padded part was positioned on the ridge between my vagina and anus. For the record, I never got caught humping this make shift dildoo. Only just a close call at one time. And it was by my mom. The stories I told. He he he he.

Samuel wanted me immediately he saw me and I anticipated the move. He was always kind to me, gazing at me intently, speaking kind words and showing interest in the little things I did. I was naive and intrigued. I felt needed, wanted and desired for the first time in my life. I wasn't the lazy, skinny ugly girl with protruding stomach that my brothers said I was. A grown man was in love with me and I saw it in his eyes and the way he stroked my face and arm when he spoke with me. Samuel never spoke 'to' me.

At first his odd messages was entirely misunderstood because he would send me on errands to places within his sister's house where he knew I would be alone. It wasn't until he started coming moments after I entered a place to pick whatever I was sent that I got the message.

I remembered the first time vividly. The urgency of his lips, the smell of his nicotine tinged breathe and his roving fingers. It was revolting at first, not because of the kiss in itself but his breathe. After all, I haven't been kisssed by a man before especially by one who smoked so much. Later I adjusted. I began to look forward to being sent on solitary massages and I relished the ambush.

Samuel was tender, maybe because he had daughters of his own. He gradually introduced fingers. He would caressed my vaagiina ever so lightly and gently and kiiss me urgently, almost swallowing my mouth that I would start to gasp for breath. Only once did he touch me roughly down on my privates and that was the day before he traveled back to the US.

I often thought back to what would have been. As I grew older, I discovered I was an extremely lucky girl. My first and only peodopile was a romantic or maybe it was because of lack of privacy; there was always someone at home. Most little girls who'd been in my shoes hadn't been so lucky. Some have been forced against their will while some had yielded to a seduction they couldn't comprehend until it was too late and I kept wondering, did Sam hold back for lack of opportunity or because his conscience couldn't allow him? I guess I'll never know.

***
There is this theory that says a person's libido is hereditary. Though I haven't really researched this claim, I sort of believe it to be true. Sometimes, I usually gauge both of my parents' sexual lifestyle and had since drawn the conclusion that I took after my dad in that respect.

After Sam, a sexual monster was born. I needed it, badly. I bruised myself with my make shift Love Machine so often that I lost count. Cumming with my fingers or my 2B Love Machine wasn't enough, I needed a solid body. Something like what I experienced with Samuel.

Prior to Sam, we the children of the compound occasional play a game called mama and Papa. I am sure most of you born and bred here in Nigeria can relate. Some call it daddy and mommy, husband and wife, doctor and patient, etc then we called it (I don't think I get the spelling right) 'umababa' in my neighborhood in Benin. It had a slightly different setting from the others but was the same concept. We usually gather lots of sand and leaves on dirty tin cans and then debate amongst ourselves who was going to be the wife, hubby and child. The hottest debate was about who was going to be the husband.

I played that game many times and for a long time, even after we were caught by aunty Idara, the land-lady's kid sister. I'd touched and had been touched feebly, shyly and hesitantly until I experienced what it meant to be properly touched. No, I hadn't craved for that type of touch, I wanted something more deeper. Something more nerve shattering, even more than what I'd experienced with Sam.

Then Ibrahim came into the picture

P. S. I just want to write and entertain . Please CC your pals. Don't enjoy alone. Thanks for reading

Ibrahim was the adolescent son of one of my mom's best friends and he lived just across the street. He was very handsome, slender and dark and was generally known to be 'very spoilt'. In the 1990s, when a child is known to be very spoilt, he is usually the bad seed who if given the slightest chance could turn all your female children into child-mothers and prostitutes and all your male kids into playboys in a matter of minutes. As close as my mother was to his, we were strictly warned (mine was an ear drawing warning) not to play with Ibrahim. I especially could play with the rest of Mrs. Aliyu's children of course but not Ibrahim and anyway, Ibrahim was 2 years older than I so there's no excuse whatsoever to be seen with him.

I liked Ibrahim, way too much for a 10 years old child. He was my crush (I had a lot of crush back then) and I admired him from a distance. I had often fantasized about him and I liked the way he was easy with life, unassuming and always playful even though he knew we were told not to play with him. I wasn't the only one crushing on him though, all the girls in the neighborhood liked Ibrahim, especially Isoken, my best friend.

It happened unexpectedly. I mean, the scene that played out. Whoever wrote that script did me a huge disservice.

I was home alone and bored to death. My mother had just stepped out to get some food from the market and the children of the neighborhood were either busy with housechores or were under house arrest. After thinking of a fun activity to do, I looked around the sitting room and decided to build a cushion house.

This fun but solitary sport gave me a sense of tranquility. I get to be the mother, father and child and could easily switch between roles. I had that talent for acting. I'd build walls and roof of a box-like house and lock myself inside. I'd role play all day long if given the chance to so on that particular day, Ibrahim came in to deliver a message from his mother and saw me scolding my paper and thread doll.

"I go dey talk to you, you no go Dey hear word" I said repeatedly, flogging the paper doll with a broomstick

"What are you playing? " Ibrahim said in good English. He had come in without knocking.

I was shocked at first but quickly smiled at him in response. I couldn't believe that Ibrahim was here, alone with me.

"I am... Em playing"

"Is your mummy home?"

"No" My response was really quick.

He relaxed and came to sit with me in my cushion house. I fidgeted a bit, fighting desperately to avoid his eyes and was he a looker! He could stare at you forever with those big eyeballs of his.

"Can I be your husband? Let's play together "
Suddenly I couldn't breathe properly. I nodded once so he took that as a cue, placed his hand on my arm and started to caress gently. The sensations which went through me was almost akin to what I had once felt a while back. It was pleasant and familiar. Then abruptly, Ibrahim kissed me full on the lips. I was shocked and dazed at the same time. But his action proceeded to be faster than the thinking capabilities of my brain. Before I could say Jack, Ibrahim's shorts were half -way to his knee, his really small peniss was out and he fell ontop of me. He squeezed my little brèasts hard and attempted to part my legs with his other hand.

At that point, my emotions were mixed. I wanted to have him stay on me for a long time but at the same time, I was scared that my mother could walk in at any moment but still, I allow him tug off my panties and spread my thighs. I was already sweating and shivering in excitement and white lust while my hands where taking an opposite reaction. I was shoving him off and urging him on at the same while he was trying to adjust his pènis inbetween my labia.

I panicked and shoved him away, harder this time but he came down on me equally hard. His breathing was rough and his sweat poured like rain. The impact of his rough thrust missed my vagina by a heartbeat and his tiny but hard pencil dick came to rest on my anus.

Thinking that he had hit the spot, he pushed it in. Hard. I shouted in pain and shoved him roughly away. He fell off to the side and this caused the 'pencil' to come out of my anus. But too late, my anus had been disvirgined.

Thinking I heard a sound, I quickly put on my panties and arranged myself but the idiot boy with the pencil diçk came on me again. We struggled for a while and because he knew I loved his lips, trapped me with a kiss. I melted and slowly parted my thighs again.

Suddenly the door burst open and my mom walked in.

To be continued...

Following.. nice one