sonnie10:
I snapped at him to “hold his peace and keep his distance”. Taken aback, he promptly turned his back to me and shifted away.

If should read, "hold your peace and keep your distance." Again, the Full Stop (.) before end of quote.

Ishilove:

Anyone who takes me out, dines and wines me and expects me to nyash them as gratitude will find that, I, Ishilove, am indeed bad market for that kain parol.

Ishilove:
Killing mosquitoes…”, a slang campus babes use to describe the battle women face when trying to keep many an over eager hand away from the more sensitive parts of their anatomy… I vividly recall the night I partook in this ancient contest…

Many years ago, in my final year in school, I met a guy whom I didn’t waste time in liking. Nice guy, attractive, gentle and unassuming. A generally easy going person. One night, he took me out to Ojez club in Surulere where we took some drinks, chatted, and generally had ourselves a good time.

We ordered for “point and kill” fish pepper soup, and I am not ashamed to admit that I consumed the soup with great gusto and lip smacking relish.

We had too good a time apparently, because by the time we got to school, it was past 12am, and the school gate closes by 12am on the dot. After pleading fruitlessly with the villainous-faced security man to let us in, the guy {let me call him Morris} decided to take me to pass the night in his friend’s apartment in Fadeyi. Left with no other option, I had no choice but to agree and follow him.

In the apartment, his friend gave us a room with a bathroom and toilet to ourselves. Morris took his bath and asked me to do same, but I refused, because a bath would make me too relaxed, and I wanted to be on the alert because you can never know with men… but the drinks {Smirnoff Ice}I had taken earlier in the clubmade me drowsy, and soon I was dozing off.

After what seemed like an hour, Morris tapped me awake, breath fetid, and whispering into my ears, asked to be granted permission to “play” with me.

MEN

I snapped at him to “hold his peace and keep his distance”. Taken aback, he promptly turned his back to me and shifted away.

I don’t know how long I slept before something woke me up. I felt something like dry sticks walking up and down my midriff. Panicked, I bolted up and looked around.

The room was quiet, and Morris seemed to be sound asleep…I peered into his face to make sure he really was asleep. He seemed to be, except that his face did not have the slack, relaxed expression of sleep. His face seemed set in granite.

Hmmmm, suspicious… I decided to lie still to see if the dry sticks would make a reappearance…

Sure enough, I felt the sticks again. Slowly crawling up my hips like spiders, they made their way up from my waist to my chest.

I smiled grimly.

Let me see how he was going to tackle my “wonder bra”, I thought to myself, with its extremely complex network of hooks, pins and girders.

Thus, Morris of the over adventurous fingers, strove greatly with my bra, measuring the length, breadth and width of the garment. When the tugging and prodding became too aggressive, and it was becoming very apparent that our Morris was a very determined man on a mission, I whipped around catching him unawares, gripped the interloping fingers and barked “MORRIS, THE GIG IS UP!!!”, or something to that effect {I forget now}.

Then I proceeded to give him a very long lecture on the vices of fornication, ending it with a stern exhortation to CEASE and DESIST his lecherous probing of my anatomy. This done, I turned around and promptly went back to sleep satisfied that my sermon had made an impression on his lust fevered mind. I had had a very long day indeed.

After what seemed like only five minutes, I felt The Fingers again, this time rigmarole around my butt area.

Jesus, didn’t the dude ever give up??!

I got up, and behold, we strove mightily with each other, one against the other, and I was extremely wroth with him.

When it seemed I was losing this contest of fingers, I gathered up my hair around me and fled to the nearest open door: the toilet.

Morris begged, cajoled, threatened from the other side of the door, but I calmly ignored him.

Unfortunately, not long after, I heard my stomach rumble. Oops, it seemed the combination of spicy “point and kill” pepper soup and cold drinks was causing a riot in my stomach. As they say, “awoof they run belle”, and I was experiencing it firsthand.

Literally speaking, the sheeit was going down.

I proceeded to do my business right there and then not minding that Morris was probably listening at the other side of the door. I didn’t care if he heard the ruckus my bowel was making; it was better than using that germ factory in the hostel called toilet.

When I was done, I tried to flush, and the toilet failed to flush. Sheeeeit!!!!! And I mean that literally. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place {or should I say 'shitty' place}.

Do I spend the night inhaling the stench from my bowels, or do I venture out and be 'kponjad' by Morris? That was the million naira question.

I chose the shitty place, and thus, spent the night locked in the toilet, inhaling the very noxious fumes of my own shiit , while Morris half crazed with lust, lay in wait like a ravenous wolf at the other side, ears pressed to the door, ready to ravish my luscious young body at the slightest given chance.

By the time dawn arrived, I was half dead from the stench. When I finally opened the door, the stench from the mess in the toilet bowl heralding my re-entry into the room, I favoured my tormentor with a malevolent glare. With eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he replied me with one of his own. If looks could kill, I’m sure I would have clutched my ample bosom and dropped dead right there and then with the look he gave me.

I grimly ordered him to take me back to school, and he promptly did, dropping me off at my hostel without a backward glance. MEN. They can be such pieces of shiit at times …and I mean that literally…

I never found out who flushed the toilet because in our haste to be rid of each other, we totally forgot about the malfunctioning water closet and its putrefying contents.

I never heard again from Morris after that day. Not that I would have even given him the time of the day after what he had forced me to endure.

The memory of that night will stay with me for a very long time. A very long time indeed

bigfrancis21:


You definitely have good writing skills. I really think you should develop your skills further. Ever considered opening a blog (if you haven't done one already) dedicated to creative write-ups like this one above or publishing a prose book?

I used to write interesting short novels full of drama and action when I was in junior high school, which my siblings loved dearly and would often impatiently wait for till I'm done writing. I would often buy 20 or 40 leaves books then, organize my story into chapters and begin writing, often drawing diagrams in the book to invoke visual imaginations of my story.

I loved reading novels a lot as a kid and teenager and my kid bro's god mother would often bring me novels for me to read and I would finish reading one within a week.

Unfotrunately, I did not advance my writing skills beyond that.

Not only did I have writing skills, I also seemed to have natural electrical wiring skills. One time, using couple of tiger batteries, switches, torch bulbs, wires lying around in the house, cellotape and my father's box of tools, I wired an entire wardrobe with direct current electricity, strategically placing my bulbs here and there to maximize full illumination of my mother's wardrobe.

dwayni:
That was just nasty. You should have given a brother a piece of pusssy. Did you see a doctor afterwards?

Ishilove:

Thanks frankie. Time and laziness have been the greatest drawbacks to my skills development. Alas, life's many responsibilities have a way of reorganising one's priorities on a scale of preference dictated by circumstances. Be that as it may, writing will always be first love.

So which skill have you settled on, Jack?

bigfrancis21:


Yea def, life responsibilities have a way of shaping one's priorities. When I was in Nigeria, I would often sit out in the quiet of the cool breezy night and be at one with nature. Now I don't even know when there's a new moon because I barely have time. Life in US is too demanding.

Right now, I'm honing my business skills. I want to go into business full time after I graduate. I've identified a few business opportunities to start with.
I plan to write books, for posterity's sake, in a couple of years, after I've had much more time in life.

Ishilove:

Indeed, you were forced to sit outside by Nepa and be one with nature. You enjoy the cool breeze outside while you wait for the insecticide you just sprayed indoors to clear off. Talk true

Kai, igboman and 'bizinays'

I wish you success in all your endeavours my dear

Ishilove:
Killing mosquitoes…”, a slang campus babes use to describe the battle women face when trying to keep many an over eager hand away from the more sensitive parts of their anatomy… I vividly recall the night I partook in this ancient contest…

Many years ago, in my final year in school, I met a guy whom I didn’t waste time in liking. Nice guy, attractive, gentle and unassuming. A generally easy going person. One night, he took me out to Ojez club in Surulere where we took some drinks, chatted, and generally had ourselves a good time.

We ordered for “point and kill” fish pepper soup, and I am not ashamed to admit that I consumed the soup with great gusto and lip smacking relish.

We had too good a time apparently, because by the time we got to school, it was past 12am, and the school gate closes by 12am on the dot. After pleading fruitlessly with the villainous-faced security man to let us in, the guy {let me call him Morris} decided to take me to pass the night in his friend’s apartment in Fadeyi. Left with no other option, I had no choice but to agree and follow him.

In the apartment, his friend gave us a room with a bathroom and toilet to ourselves. Morris took his bath and asked me to do same, but I refused, because a bath would make me too relaxed, and I wanted to be on the alert because you can never know with men… but the drinks {Smirnoff Ice}I had taken earlier in the clubmade me drowsy, and soon I was dozing off.

After what seemed like an hour, Morris tapped me awake, breath fetid, and whispering into my ears, asked to be granted permission to “play” with me.

MEN

I snapped at him to “hold his peace and keep his distance”. Taken aback, he promptly turned his back to me and shifted away.

I don’t know how long I slept before something woke me up. I felt something like dry sticks walking up and down my midriff. Panicked, I bolted up and looked around.

The room was quiet, and Morris seemed to be sound asleep…I peered into his face to make sure he really was asleep. He seemed to be, except that his face did not have the slack, relaxed expression of sleep. His face seemed set in granite.

Hmmmm, suspicious… I decided to lie still to see if the dry sticks would make a reappearance…

Sure enough, I felt the sticks again. Slowly crawling up my hips like spiders, they made their way up from my waist to my chest.

I smiled grimly.

Let me see how he was going to tackle my “wonder bra”, I thought to myself, with its extremely complex network of hooks, pins and girders.

Thus, Morris of the over adventurous fingers, strove greatly with my bra, measuring the length, breadth and width of the garment. When the tugging and prodding became too aggressive, and it was becoming very apparent that our Morris was a very determined man on a mission, I whipped around catching him unawares, gripped the interloping fingers and barked “MORRIS, THE GIG IS UP!!!”, or something to that effect {I forget now}.

Then I proceeded to give him a very long lecture on the vices of fornication, ending it with a stern exhortation to CEASE and DESIST his lecherous probing of my anatomy. This done, I turned around and promptly went back to sleep satisfied that my sermon had made an impression on his lust fevered mind. I had had a very long day indeed.

After what seemed like only five minutes, I felt The Fingers again, this time rigmarole around my butt area.

Jesus, didn’t the dude ever give up??!

I got up, and behold, we strove mightily with each other, one against the other, and I was extremely wroth with him.

When it seemed I was losing this contest of fingers, I gathered up my hair around me and fled to the nearest open door: the toilet.

Morris begged, cajoled, threatened from the other side of the door, but I calmly ignored him.

Unfortunately, not long after, I heard my stomach rumble. Oops, it seemed the combination of spicy “point and kill” pepper soup and cold drinks was causing a riot in my stomach. As they say, “awoof they run belle”, and I was experiencing it firsthand.

Literally speaking, the sheeit was going down.

I proceeded to do my business right there and then not minding that Morris was probably listening at the other side of the door. I didn’t care if he heard the ruckus my bowel was making; it was better than using that germ factory in the hostel called toilet.

When I was done, I tried to flush, and the toilet failed to flush. Sheeeeit!!!!! And I mean that literally. Talk about being stuck between a rock and a hard place {or should I say 'shitty' place}.

Do I spend the night inhaling the stench from my bowels, or do I venture out and be 'kponjad' by Morris? That was the million naira question.

I chose the shitty place, and thus, spent the night locked in the toilet, inhaling the very noxious fumes of my own shiit , while Morris half crazed with lust, lay in wait like a ravenous wolf at the other side, ears pressed to the door, ready to ravish my luscious young body at the slightest given chance.

By the time dawn arrived, I was half dead from the stench. When I finally opened the door, the stench from the mess in the toilet bowl heralding my re-entry into the room, I favoured my tormentor with a malevolent glare. With eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep, he replied me with one of his own. If looks could kill, I’m sure I would have clutched my ample bosom and dropped dead right there and then with the look he gave me.

I grimly ordered him to take me back to school, and he promptly did, dropping me off at my hostel without a backward glance. MEN. They can be such pieces of shiit at times …and I mean that literally…

I never found out who flushed the toilet because in our haste to be rid of each other, we totally forgot about the malfunctioning water closet and its putrefying contents.

I never heard again from Morris after that day. Not that I would have even given him the time of the day after what he had forced me to endure.

The memory of that night will stay with me for a very long time. A very long time indeed

Ishilove:

For?

Ishilove:

Yes o. Days of foolishness

femi4:
Madam! come and show me how mosquitoes take enter the story. E don tey wey I commot for school

Goshen360:


Na the hand wey dey touch magic bra fortified with metals just like mosquitoes dey touch n run thinking person don sleep na eim be the gist my guy....Lolz

sonnie10:
I snapped at him to “hold his peace and keep his distance”. Taken aback, he promptly turned his back to me and shifted away.

If should read, "hold your peace and keep your distance." Again, the Full Stop (.) before end of quote.

Lilprincey:
Ishilove u failed to understand that KONJI is a respecter of no man...btw dat morris is a slowpoke cuz even after that day he could have still yansh u

Dat guy fall hands. Some game are lured not chased.