I was 13 when I first fell in love with my mother’s brother. He had just come from the east and wanted to make it in Lagos, so for about three months, he lived in our house. Why I fell in love with him, I could not tell you. Maybe because he was handsome or seemed to care a lot about me. I was the only girl with two younger brothers, but for some reason, I believed I was his favourite.
At first, I consoled myself with the fact that my feelings for him would soon die just as they usually did when I fell for boys in my school. He was my uncle, my blood uncle, I could not continue to feel this way about him, I rationalised.
Whenever he talked to me or smiled at me, my stomach will do a flip. If he commended something I did, I would feel my heart soar with pride and joy. I began to take a serious interest in improving my cooking skills because I knew he liked food. I would make him meals sometimes and serve him. When it tasted good, he looked at me with pride and I just wanted to hold him and kiss him.
At nights, I would crave his touch. I would wonder if he felt the same way about me and if we were ever going to be together. I would hug myself with glee whenever I had a good day where he commended me a lot or told me nice things. I gave him hugs every morning when I greeted him and when he held me back, I wished he would never let go.
When, after three months, he found his own place, I cried for weeks afterwards. A year passed and I still thought about him. I was not interested in anyone else. I just wanted my uncle. I was saving myself for him. I wanted to offer up my virginity so he would love me.
One summer holiday, I had an idea. I convinced my parents to let me go to his place so I could attend a catering school which was located beside his house. They agreed, proud of me for wanting to learn a craft without knowing my motives. I was beyond joyful. I would get two uninterrupted months with my uncle. I wanted to scream with happiness.
It took two nights of me living with him to realise that since he left our home, he had become some sort of a player. He would bring home a new girl almost every night. I would pretend to be asleep when he entered with them. Sometimes, I would hear their sex noises in the next room and my heart would break in pieces. I would hug myself tight and cry myself to sleep. I would clutch my stomach as the pain of him seeking pleasure elsewhere broke me.
The next day, I would do so good with cleaning his house and cooking his meals, hoping that was the day he would fall in love with me, but at night, as usual, another girl warmed his bed. I was starting to think spending summer here was a bad idea. I cried many nights.
One morning, I decided not to attend my catering class because I was so depressed. My uncle came to my room, saw me hiding under the covers and refusing food. His female guest from the night before must have left. He touched my forehead, mentioning that I was not hot, but his brows still furrowed with worry.
He decided to stay home from work that day. He made me my favourite meal then returned to my room. He sat on my bed and lifted me so I was on his laps. He began to feed me, kissing my head as he did and urging me to eat. He was wearing just a pair of shorts so my head was resting against his bare chest. After eating as much as I could, he set the plate down and held me for a while.
I brought both my hands up and wrapped them around his waist and leant up to kiss him on the lips. He looked taken aback but I said, “Uncle, I love you so much.”
“I love you too, my dear,” he said, after pausing for a bit.
I shook my head, knowing he did not understand the intensity of my feelings for him. I leant up again, making sure my breasts were pushed against his chest then kissed him. I slipped my tongue into ...........................

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