I have always thought of Lagos as a crazy place. Funny enough, I was born and breed there for thirteen years but still every time I go back, I feel like I’ve been packed into the same box with everyone else in the world.

This time, I came to Lagos for Marlians book and arts festival. As a freelance journalist, I have more time on my hands than the typical journalist, and I dictated my scenes. I was checking out the music, art and fashion scene when I came across the event is I thought, “Why not check it out?”.

It was a three-day event and girl, was I glad I came? Well, I was until it was time to leave – Saturday night, the severe event was over, and it was time to dance and get freaky.

I found myself combing my way through the crowd of Zero Mannerz people; some going, some gyrating, exotically (if I may add)to “Opotoyi” in a bid to get out.

I was cussing out the spirit that made me wait to this stage of the event when I felt someone push me from behind; I lost my footing and slammed into the comfy, built body of a sweet-smelling figure.

I found myself being held steady with one hand on my shoulder by a man who was way taller than my height of 5ft1. Yeah, they say when you’re short everyone looks taller to you, but I know what a 6ft plus looks like thank you.

I am not a fan of love at first sight, but I do drool over chocolate skinned guys wit well-sculpted jawlines, a perfect nose to go with the face, a pair of tempting lips and beard. I couldn’t see his eyes because he had shaded glasses on. He had dreadlocks, and I couldn’t resist asking “How old are your locs?”

Yep, that was the first thing I said to him. No Thank you, No Sorry. I’m sure he probably had on a stunned or angry expression at this moment, but I couldn’t see it, so I just stood there gazing at the most attractive figure I’ve come across. I would have probably stood there, lost in my imagination if he hadn’t replied.

“Seven years” he replied as he removed his hand from my shoulder and made to leave.

My brain finally got a booth, and I mumbled, “I’m sorry. Someone bumped into me.” “And you bumped into me,” he replied as he brushed a hand over his vintage shirt and checked out his white shorts to make sure I haven’t stained it I guess.

When you’re in my line of work, you learn to read people’s tune and tone, but still, it took me a moment to realize that although his voice was husky, he sounded bored and a bit annoyed.

So I let him walk away without so much as a backward glance even as the feminist spirit in me screamed I go after him and shoot my shot. You never know.

Watch out for the next Episode

Source: https://www.naijalovetips.com/the-lust-affair-a-misconstrued-story/

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Rocktation

It's a story of Lust, watch out for more.

Wow! I'm loving the story already. OP please cc me the next time you update it. @Lalasticlala do your magic. We want to see this post in front page.

The Lust Affair – Chapter Two

Six months two weeks and four days later, I came across my molten god again. No, I wasn’t counting, the calendar did.

My schedule has been demanding, tightly organized, with no time for social life over the past couple of months. My junior sister was diagnosed with ovarian cancer four months back, and I’d have to work my back off to pay for her surgery and chemotherapy.

Today she practically pushed me out of the house. She is telling me how my social life has suffered during the past few months. Although she’s been declared free, I still feel like I need to work harder, save more and look after her properly.

Our mother entrusted her to me on her deathbed when she was just two, and our father, well, let’s just say, my mom was his breeder. A breeder he wasn’t interested in anymore after giving birth to two GIRLS 8 years apart. He had to go secure his legacy with someone else.

I was at the Kuramo beach, running my feet through the sand and letting the breeze blow out my hair when I heard a familiar voice. I gravitated towards the sound and caught a scent of him. My Saturday-night fantasy. That’s what I’ve bullied my brain into believing.

He was the same towering, gorgeous, muscle-ripped man from Marlian book and arts events that left me drooling after him. And he still has the same effect on me. The female muscles deep in my lower belly clenched as I saw him, and I felt so conscious of my body. He had no chemical traces of aftershave or deodorant, just pure

man: a mix of sun-warmed leather on skin, a kiss of something spicy and seductive, a touch of sweat, and

the raw, unspoken stake of sex. He reeked of male sexual dominion, and it had my brained all mussed up like the ultimate pheromone, I was suffering from sexual tension.

He glanced up.

I suddenly became conscious of the see-through bralette and shorts I was putting on, plus I was barefoot. I dashed my friends, but his velvet voice stopped me.

“Wait! I’m Fola,” he said as he closed the distance between us.

“Yomi. Oriyomi”. I responded.

“That’s a manly name for a girl.” He said, repeating a phrase I’ve heard a gazillion times already. He started walking towards the bar and turned halfway to confirm if I was following him.

“Walk closer Yomi, I would not want you falling on your face in case someone runs into you,” he said with a hint of a smile. He was referring to the circumstance we first met, and on a typical day, with an average person, I would have attacked him for mentioning I don’t have steady feet.

Instead, I walked closer to him and took his hand in mine. I waited for him to complain, but he simply linked his fingers with mine. His palm was soft, and there was heat where our palms touched.

I tried to rationalize the situation; this was me, someone who avoided physical contact with the opposite sex on a regular day, I even sent someone to the first aid room for touching me without my permission, and here I was, willingly getting myself physically entangled with a male — felt him without his consent too.

If I was to judge me, I’d call myself stupid and naive, but there is this air around Fola I can’t explain. He scares and excites me but also exhumes the aura of safety. He feels like home to me.

We got to the bar, and he asked me what I wanted to drink.

“I’ll take anything you are having,” I replied. He chuckled and told the bartender to give us Smirnoff Ice on the rock. One glass. He handed the glass to me first and proceeded to lead me to a secluded part of the beach.

We stood there quietly for a while, watching the waves.

“Won’t you share the drink?” He asked, and that was when I noticed I’ve almost finished the drink without even asking if he wants a sip. I passed him the glass and took note he drank from the same spot my lips had been. So hot. We gradually slipped into easy conversation.
He asked what I did for a living, and I told him I was a journalist. He smiled and asked if he was safe. “The fear of journalist nowadays is the beginning of wisdom.” I laughed and told him if he was no lecturer that asked for sex for grades or a corrupt citizen generally, he had nothing to fear.

“I’m a professional Forex trader.”

“Professional Forex trader? That’s a profession now? I’ve always seen it as a side hustle. I don’t mean to be rude”.

He laughed and shook his head.

“Yes, it’s a profession now,” he finished.

I know Forex trading is a lucrative business, and it takes time and study, but I never imagined someone would do it professionally.

We had another quiet spell where I mostly wondered what he was thinking about and if he liked me. I was saved by the bell right before I blurted out something embarrassing when two of my friends came looking for me.

“I’m sorry if I appeared rude the first time we saw. I didn’t mean to,” he said out of the blue, and as usual, I was shocked speechless. An apology was the last thing I was expecting from him.

“It’s fine,” I responded, ”I shouldn’t keep my friends waiting,” I indicated at my friends waiting for me at the side.

“I’ll call you,” he said. And in a way I’ll come to know as his signature, he left.

Watch Out For the next chapter...

Source: https://www.naijalovetips.com/the-lust-affair-chapter-two/

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