I was hungry that afternoon and the house was devoid of food. Save for the half bag of rice and the tins of oats, nothing was in the kitchen. Even if I were to decide to cook some rice, I might not be alive to see it through.

We had recently moved to this new part of town, a relatively higher class vicinity than the one we moved from. Had we been at the former place, I wouldn’t be so bothered.

Food vendors selling cheap coconut rice, or ewa agoyin and Agege  bread, or  even  fried yams and akara abound. But not in this zone. The only place one could get food here are these bucca’s where one would have to pay one’s ass off for such small food.

I finally decided to trace my way downstairs. I made it to the front of my compound before the figure of a girl standing at the front caught the corner of my eyes.

I glanced her way and flung a “hello dear” at her. Not minding whether she replied, I reached for the gate, stepped out and looked out both sides of the street, not exactly sure what I was looking out for. 

Realising this effort was in futility, I came back inside and beckoned to the girl,

“Nne, please how do you people get food here? I’m very hungry.”

She flashed her set of white teeth in a smile before telling me she doesn’t know herself but if I don’t mind, she could prepare me some Indomie noodles.

“With all pleasure,” I told her.

I got some packs of noodles from the kiosk in the opposite house and she followed me into my flat. While she prepared the noodles, I asked her about herself.

She was Cynthia (I always asked girls who gave me foreign names for their native names. Hers was Adaugo). She was eighteen and just finished secondary school and waiting for JAMB to hand her admission into a university. She saw the tin of oats and begged to have some.

“My parents don’t like oats. They prefer custard. Only me like oats in my house.” She confessed.

“Me too,” I lied trying to find some common ground. Any common ground.

I acted the gentleman, making her oats while she made me noodles, all the while staring at her plump nyash and wondering how she managed to be so endowed at eighteen.

“How come I haven’t seen you around?” I asked her.

“I’m mostly indoors,” she replied. “I don’t even know what brought me out today.”

“Na God bring you out o,” I crooned. “I no know how I for do this alarm wey tear me today if no be for you,” I replied.

We ate our meals and discussed some more. She had little or no friends around. I had marvelled at her backside and she had laughed and said it was her ex-boyfriend who pressed the nyash too much.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” She asked.

“No,” I promptly replied.  Another false common ground. “Why did you break up?” I asked her back.

“He liked sex too much,” she said.

“Oh!” I exclaimed.

“Yes,” she replied.

I asked her to hang out with me and my friends on Sunday and she said she’ll try. I took her number and promised to call her.

At the appointed time on Sunday, I had dialed her number to remind  her but she didn’t pick so I  sent her a text message. Her reply read, “Daddy at home, can’t leave.” I sent her another which read, “tell him you’re going for church programme,” and few minutes later, she came out tying a scarf around her head.

We drank some beer, she took Smirnoff Ice and we had a lot of lewd chat. She taunted most of my friends who talked about sex saying, “if you see the Bleep now, you go fit Bleep?” This had enraged most of them, who had asked her to try them and see. She simply leered at them, hurting their pride the more. I liked girls like this. All out babes.

At about nine, she started giving me signs and sending me messages about her dad getting suspicious if she wasn’t home on time.

I obliged her and took her home. “E pass Bleep?” she had asked me on our way when I told her she was rude to the guys. I made up my mind there and then to screw this girl and screw her like the tease she was. With such effrontery she must be a champion fucker.

Damnnn niggar..

Putting myself through stress Reading this your write up

I just hope it ends well.

If not me and bros op go get problem