https://penastory.com/2016/05/30/now-that-you-are-here-episode-nine-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/

Excerpt From Episode 8:

“I am coming to Nigeria to see you Dammy. I miss you and I know I have been a jerk but I want to make things right with you. When I think of love, you are all I can think of is you. I love you Dammy and I can’t stop loving you.”

To read episode 8: CLICK HERE

It was like the last time all over again but this time she wasn’t nervous in an excited sort of way. Truth was she didn’t know exactly how she felt. Maybe confusion was the best way to describe how she felt but she knew that Muyiwa wasn’t pleased. He had been acting silent and aloof since she told him of Gbade’s call.

“Gbade said he is coming to Nigeria to see me, he said he still loves me and wants to work things through,” she had blurted during one of his visits. Muyiwa shrugged nonchalantly.

“It is your choice if you want to go back to him.”

Damilola wasn’t fooled. She could sense his hurt but had decided not to pursue the conversation further. Why was he acting upset, he after all had a girlfriend and they both knew there wasn’t much of a future for either of them together? The friendship with Halima was another thing to consider, it still gave her a bit of odd feeling knowing she was sleeping with kind Halima’s boyfriend.

Damilola was jerked out of her thoughts when a sweet female voice announced the arrival of Gbade’s flight over the loudspeaker. Her heart fluttered in her chest and she looked imploringly at Anu who only stared back impassively, a chilly look of unconcern on her face. Anu wasn’t in support of her meeting with Gbade and there had been an argument about it. Anu’s argument had been that she needed time to heal and not revisit her old wounds but Damilola knew Anu didn’t understand. Nobody did. They didn’t understand that her heart still thumped for him, how the sound of his voice was enough to send her heart racing and how she smiled and thought of him when a song they both liked came on on the radio or television.

She was not even conscious that she had a smile on her face now as she anticipated Gbade and Anu didn’t bother to hide her disgust either, looking at Damilola was like looking at a hopeless puppy awaiting the orders of its master.

***

Later that night as she and Gbade were getting ready for bed, it suddenly dawned on Damilola that they had not discussed sleeping arrangements. Was he going to sleep in the guest room or her bedroom with her? They had not been able to talk much with Anu’s presence and Gbade in his ever self-conscious manner had been silent all through the day till Anu finally left.

Damilola knew Anu had done it on purpose. She had chosen to follow them home and made sure they had no privacy as a way of delaying the inevitable. If he was going to destroy her friend a second time, at least she could make him stew for it.

***

“Can we talk now Tangy?”

Damilola’s head jerked backwards and she turned to face Gbade who was standing by the entrance of the bathroom. She had been about to step into the bathroom and had not heard him come in. she was standing fully naked and his eyes roved over her body appreciatively.

“You scared me Gbade,” she said moving towards the bed to pick up the towel she had laid out to dry herself when she came out of the bathroom. His eyes followed her every movement and she quickly wrapped the towel around herself while trying to avoid meeting his gaze.

“I will be out of the bathroom soon, we can talk then.” She didn’t wait for him to reply and walked into the bathroom with shaky legs. He followed her. She cocked an eyebrow at him and tried to control her heartbeat which was beating so loudly she was sure he could hear the sound.

“I know I have wronged you Damilola, I messed up big time. While I am not trying to blame you, we both had our faults and I should have handled things better. Getting involved with Mirabel was one of the stupidest mistakes I have ever made in my life, it cost me one of the most important things in my life, you. You getting pregnant for another man was the final straw that broke me but the good Lord in the high heavens know I still love you. I want you to give me a second chance to make things right, I know you still love me and together we can do forever. I love you my Tangy baby.”

She had been expecting it all day long and she melted into his hands without so much as a word. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her softly on the lips. Her lips were just as soft as he last remembered and his hand tugged at the towel hiding her unclothedness from view. His own clothes came off as if of their own accord on their way back to the bedroom and soon both were panting heavily on the bed as they gyrated to the steady rhythm of two lovers who had been apart for too long.

***

Gbade was true to his word, he was the perfect boyfriend once again. While Damilola felt elated, Anu took every opportunity to make her disapproval known and surprisingly even endorsed Muyiwa as a better option to Gbade. Anu was of the opinion that had Damilola had the baby, Gbade would most likely not have returned but Damilola was too much in love care.

After his first meeting with Gbade, Muyiwa became an absent figure in Damilola’s life and she didn’t notice it till it was time for Gbade to return to America. She suddenly realized that in her happiness to have Gbade back, she had not paid much attention to Muyiwa. Damilola felt a twinge of sadness when she realized she had lost Muyiwa to have Gbade back. Muyiwa barely talked to her and when they did manage to talk, the conversation was always strained.

She was lying in bed beside Gbade who was to return to America the following day. He had been in Nigeria about two months now and during the period, he had vaguely said something about getting married although she had acted like she didn’t hear him. If he wanted to marry her, then he would have to propose in the traditional manner of going on his knees with a proper engagement ring. Her heart went back to Muyiwa and she vowed to see him immediately Gbade’s flight left. They could at least remain friends couldn’t they?

***

It wasn’t until two days after Gbade left that she finally mustered enough courage to call Muyiwa over the phone and invite him for dinner. He had the same cool tone he had developed since her decision to get back with Gbade but she decided to ignore the cold tone as she tried to joke with him in their usual banter. He was unresponsive.

“What is wrong with you Muyiwa. You have been so cold and distant to me ever since Gbade came back. If there is something bothering you, why not say it so we can talk about it like adults instead of this sullen behavior.”

He was silent for a few seconds and when he finally replied, his tone held a hint of mockery. “I am sorry your Royal Highness Damilola, I have just been very busy with work and you had your hands full with Gbade as well. It wasn’t like you had the time for anything or anybody else.”

“We are not going to argue about this over the phone. Meet with me today by 6p.m. at my apartment.”

He hesitated and then said, “Alright.”

***

Damilola wasn’t sure inviting him over was the best thing to have done but she knew she missed him and was anticipating his visit. She missed the way he made her laugh and how they could just joke and banter about everything. She loved Gbade and he made her feel alive but not in the same way Muyiwa did. Was she in love with two men? Damilola thought to herself as she got ready for the evening. There was no future with Muyiwa, he had his precious Halima but then Gbade could also be hooking up with Mirabel again, and after all he had only claimed she was the one. She slammed her makeup box down angrily and plopped into her bed with a heavy sigh. She hated this mixed feelings.

Before leaving, Gbade had revealed he wasn’t coming back for another two years and wanted her to come join him but she wasn’t so sure about that. The life she knew was here in Nigeria, she couldn’t abandon that for a man that had not even popped the question now could she? The doorbell rang just then and jolted her out of her thoughts.

“The ever punctual Muyiwa,”she said as she made for the door.

***

“What will you have me do Damilola? Hang around like a fool waiting for moments when you are not with your boyfriend?” You going back to him isn’t the wisest thing you have done believe me.” Muyiwa’s voice was raised in a manner that matched the frustration he was feeling. He stood with his eyes blazing. Damilola had brought up the issue of his avoiding her and his cold behavior shortly after his arrival.

“You also have a girlfriend,” she fired back. “All I am saying is I want the old you back,” she continued heatedly, “the guy that makes me smile and makes me feel special, is that too much to ask? Or is that man gone?”

His face softened a bit as he saw the genuine anguish on her face. He realized he was jealous. Jealous that she had gone back to a man that had hurt her and he was hiding behind his anger. He was shocked at himself, why was he jealous? He had no right to be.

“Don’t you get it Dammy? I am jealous and it’s killing me. I shouldn’t feel this way about you but I do and we both know I have no right to be jealous. Keeping my distance is the best way I know how to keep my sanity. I can’t stand the sight of you two together but you deserve to be happy and since he makes you happy I can’t stand in the way of that.”

Damilola’s eyes misted over. She felt a warm feeling of emotion course through her body.

“I have Halima and God knows I love her and don’t ever want to hurt her so acting the way I have been is good for everybody at the end of the day. I can’t be with you without thinking of wanting to kiss you, strip you off your clothes, hug you close to me or cuddle you. You deserve better than Gbade or me, we shouldn’t keep treating you this way…”

Damilola could take no more, she stood up and drew him close by his tie. She shut off the rest of his words with a kiss. He groaned deep in his throat and drew her roughly to him, his mouth raping hers. His hand found the mound of her breasts and he squeezed. Her hands flew to his buckle as they stripped each other of their clothes. She was wearing no pants so when he pulled her skirt down, he pushed into her in one quick stroke. She arched her back and they both collapsed on the floor of the living room as he rode her.

“Damilola!” Gbade’s voice broke through the fog of pleasure. Muyiwa jumped off Damilola as if stung and the trio stared at each other. Gbade was standing there, a travelling bag in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other.




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Source: PenAStory - www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/05/25/twenty-episode-14/

Excerpt From Episode 13:

“Everything is just fine! We are okay.” Chioma snapped and turned on her heels, slamming the door behind her. Mrs. Ugochukwu frowned and stood up from the bed, following her daughter to her room,

“Okay, tell me, what’s going on with you girls?” Mrs. Ugochukwu said addressing Chioma and Maryam.

“I said nothing, Maryam let’s go,” Chioma snatched her bag from the dresser and beckoned to Maryam to follow her.

To read episode 13: CLICK HERE

Mrs, Ugochukwu stared in puzzlement as Chioma and Maryam left the house in stony silence. It was obvious Chioma was no longer a little girl she used to know and this worried her as much as it pleased her.

“Just when I was going to talk to her about bridal stuffs…” Chioma had been too defensive when she asked if there was a problem. Something was definitely not right with the girls but since they were not going to confide her, all she could was wait till they thought it. Her mind was soon off the matter as her phone beeped and another client from Abuja requested her presence.

***

The journey from Edmund Crescent to Mrs. Ugochukwu’s fashion house was a thirty minute drive and during the drive, Chioma and Maryama were silent. One could tell the anxiety in Chioma’s eyes and fear seemed to be oozing out of every pore in Maryam’s body. Both girls were lost in their own thoughts as to what Gift and Grace could be up to. Maryam contemplated telling Chioma about the one night stand with David but thought better of it as Chioma finally broke the silence.

“I saw Matthew last night in a dream but it felt much more than just a dream.” Maryam stared at her friend with an expression that made Chioma feel like she was a deranged woman talking gibberish.

“He was there,” she defended before continuing, “and we sort of made out a little.” A hint of a smile crossed her face at the memory.

“You made out with the dead in a dream? That’s a bad thing oh. Really bad!” Maryam said with criticism in her voice.

“Leave those stupid superstitions babe,” Chioma said with a larger smile.

Maryam’s phone beeped to signal a text message and Maryam’s face clouded over as her eyes scanned the wording. Chioma noticed the change.

“What’s up?” Chioma asked. Maryam placed the phone in Chioma’s laps and stared out the window.

“The truth will not set you free, the truth will haunt you to the grave. Maryam Kosoko.” Chioma’s smile was replaced by a frown as she read the wordings. The text was aimed directly at Maryam.

“Who do you think that is?” Maryam shrugged without looking at Chioma concentrating on the scenery outside as if there was something fascinating there. Chioma knew better than to push and kept quiet as they both lapsed into silence again.

***

Mrs. Ugochukwu walked around the house in a tight shorts and slightly loosed tank top. For someone her age, she was a stunner and the frown on her face as she wondered what to make for breakfast only seemed to highlight her beauty further. She had just made up her mind and about to head for the kitchen when he phone rang and hoping that it was Chioma, she dashed to it. It was. It was Mrs. Beebs calling to ask about Chioma.

“Chioma is not home, she left some couple of minutes ago. Okay, I will inform her when she is back.” As she rang off, she wondered why Mrs. Beebs was asking to see Chioma. She had not bothered to ask. She made for the kitchen and her movement was stopped a second time by the sound of the doorbell. She sighed exasperatedly and went towards the door with annoyance.
“Good morning Mrs. Ugochukwu,” it was detective Chidi from the police. The young policeman was handsome in his uniform but Mrs. Ugochukwu was not seeing the bright smile on his face as he asked after Chioma.

“She is not home? Hope nothing is the problem?”

“We are simply investigating the circumstances surrounding the death of a Mr. Matthews whom we believed she was close to. I just wanted to talk to her about some things. We have had cause to reopen the case.”

“What circumstances?” she asked suspiciously.

“That is classified information ma but we have reason to suspect foul play in his death.” Mrs Ugochukwu studied him thoughtfully and finally said,

“This must be serious, I will inform Chioma you stopped by and get her to come around to the station for your questions.”

“There would be no need for that ma, I will simply check in on her again. She is not a suspect if that is your fear ma.”

“Of course she is not a suspect, she loved that boy. She is still grieving as a matter of fact.”

“Sorry about the loss. I will be on my way now, thank you for your time.”

***

It was around 11am when Chioma and Maryam arrived the fashion house. Some of the staff greeted her with a smile. She was a regular visitor here and with Maryam by her side, she headed towards Gift’s office.

Gift’s office was next to Mrs Ugochukwu’s former space for tested designs, it was large and filled with fabrics and mannequins. Gift was not at her desk.

“Why’s your mom calling me?” Maryam asked in puzzlement.

“How should I know, we left the house together didn’t we? Pick and find out!” Chioma answered irritably. The business of meeting Gift was making her edgy and she wanted to get it over and done with.

“Hello ma,” Gift said just as Gift walked into the room. Maryam passed the other lady by the door, nodding her head in greeting.

***

“You are saying she left? But we just got here” Maryam had returned to the room a couple of minutes later to find Chioma gone and Gift working away at her work desk.

“She received a call and said she had to dash out. She said to tell you she would catch up with you later.”

“Chioma would have come to me. That is uncharacteristic of her.”

“I don’t know. Like I said, she received a call and dashed out in a hurry before we could even begin talking. How am I to know whether she came to you or not?”

Something didn’t seem right with Gift’s story. Chioma couldn’t have left. Where was she? Had Gift done something to her? Calm down, you are being paranoid. Maryam chided herself. The place was filled with people, there was no way Gift could have done anything to Chioma.

“Why don’t you call her on phone?”

“She left her phone at the house this morning.” Maryam snapped and walked out for the room.




Source: PenAStory -www.penastory.com

https://penastory.com/2016/04/19/3-oclock-in-the-morning-dairo-sekemi/

Gbam! Gbam!! Gbam!!! Came the rapid banging on the door. Reluctantly, I cleared my sleepy eyes wondering why someone would disturb the neighbourhood at that odd hour of the morning. Like a flash, the door to my room flung open revealing the two horrible looking men pointing the dangerous end of their guns at me. I shivered as the taller one twitched an eyebrow at the sight of my naked upper region and giggled like my breasts had just said something funny to him. The shorter one hissed and dragged me by my hair to the sitting room only to find my parents and three younger brothers lying face down in cold shivers. My mother screamed, “mogbe ooo!!!” at the sight of my dangling breast and I knew that trouble loomed.

They had assembled what seemed like all the valuables we had at a corner of the room. They led me to a corner, ignoring my family’s plea for mercy. “This konji don dey hold me since last week mehn,” I struggled to understand their words as pidgin was forbidden in my home. I couldn’t speak nor move as they threatened to pull the trigger at the slightest sound. With all the courage I could muster amidst the tears and fears, I muttered, “I have the incurable disease of HIV just don’t force me. I am saying this for your sake.”

It didn’t come out right. I knew that the minute the entire room went silent. I met the dead stare of my mother followed by the resounding slaps from the taller thief who unperturbed made his way to the button of my shorts.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/14/i-stand-opeyemi-ademola/

I look into those men eyes
I see nothing to stand for
Their excellent lies are awarded
Believing in institution
With falling body
I stand and see nothing

I am not impressed
Oh! True ambassadors of poverty
Let rise on intruders our delve
We all stand for mission


At times I ask about our past questions
Heads are guilty of the past
Yet I stand and see nothing

Youths are the hope
If oceans can rise
If plants can grow
Yes we can
For great change
Not like night day owls
Hope I stand

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/12/poetry-play-20/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Opeyemi Gaji



S:

My skin is a scroll with the handwriting of my heritage

O:

Do not time, places sojourned erase that glorious writing?

S:

This writing is my birthmark

My skin’s soulmate till the sepulchre separates us

O:

Even birthmarks lose its intensity

Time not only changes the seasons

Even altering the course of lives, even birthmarks

S:

This birthmark may be bleached by time

But it breathes in the cave of my marrow

O:

The time comes when even the body wastes away,

Do our souls retain this mark of birth you speak so highly of?

S:

The soul without the body

Is like a book without pages

It’s ignorant of ink

O:

Our body is indeed lost without a soul

Devoid of thoughts and dreams

A mere vessel of operating physically

S:

So let me live my lettered flesh

Let me stay as the scroll

With the handwriting of my heritage

Before my souls sojourns out of my body.

NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/07/now-that-you-are-here-episode-one-a-tale-of-deception-betrayal-and-murder/
Damilola couldn’t contain her excitement as the announcement that the flight she and Anu were waiting for was about to land. She watched as the airplane came into view and as it began its descent from the sky onto the runway, her heartbeat quickened in her chest. She scrounged her hands together gleefully in anticipation. He was finally here! She hugged Anu happily in her joy that he was going to be with her in some few minutes. She didn’t have long to wait and another ten minutes saw him walking towards them from arrivals.

Immediately he stepped into sight, she rushed towards him and tried to envelope him in a heartfelt hug but he brushed her aside, a slight frown marring his handsome features. He squeezed her hand instead and softened the blow of the reject with a smile. Damilola found her enthusiasm dampened a bit but she was undeterred, mentally reminding herself that he was a shy person and hated public display of affection. The only acknowledgement he made of Anu was a smile before they all left for the waiting car while Damilola chatted nineteen to the dozen to cover what would have otherwise been an awkward silence.

Anu had agreed to drive them as if they were a newly married couple and would steal a glance at the two seating at the back seat, flashing Damilola a smile whenever their eyes met. She couldn’t understand why he wasn’t as excited as Damilola, one would think that he wasn’t the same guy that had insisted to come down from America to see her and talked with Damilola almost every hour of the day over the phone and all social media platforms available to the both of them. Anu tried to keep her mind on the road and not on the strange behavior of her best friend’s boyfriend. Maybe his silence had to do with her presence? Or perhaps he was tired from his flight, who wouldn’t be with the way Damilola said he worked so hard. Unknown to Anu, the same thoughts were running through Damilola’s mind as she wondered why he was so cold and unresponsive to her. He must be tired, she chided herself silently and snuggled closer to him.

***

Damilola stared at her reflection in the mirror and smiled at her reflection. She looked good but she couldn’t help worrying if she looked good enough for him. Did he still like her smile? Did he still find her charming and attractive? Maybe she should have gotten a manicure before he arrived? This hair looks so old, she thought as she adjusted her curls so that it fell in loose waves over her shoulder. They had been apart for two years and although they had talked every single day of the two years, she couldn’t help feeling something was missing. She ran a brush through her hair one more time before going to sit on the bed to wait for him to finish having his bath. Her eyes strayed to his phone lying on the dresser and she picked it up instinctively. A part of her felt like going to his messages but she decided against it, it was best to let sleeping dogs lie, hadn’t she learnt that from her last two relationships. His gallery was a much more harmless place to check how he had passed the last two years.

She laughed at a picture of him cooking in his boxers, there was another of him snowballing and then the third picture hit her like a bombshell. It was a pretty buxom black woman in nothing but panties posing sexily in the same kitchen he had been cooking in the first picture. Damilola swallowed involuntarily as her thumb slid across the screen of the phone to go to the next picture and this time the other woman was smiling at her seductively with the panties gone. She had her middle finger up and her tongue dangling out. Damilola dropped the phone as if it was suddenly too hot to the touch and dashed at the tears that had quickly found their way to her eyes. The wheels in her head turned and her mouth suddenly felt bitter; she didn’t need to be psychic to know that Gbade was cheating on her. Their perfect world was not so perfect after all, she thought wryly. She heard the shower going off, a signal that he was done in the bathroom and she tried to compose her features so that none of the raging emotions she was feeling inside would bubble to the surface.

***

Gbade came out of the bathroom and smiled at her warmly, his warmest since his arrival and she found that his smile only made her feel cold. Should she confront him? Should she ask him about it? Who was the woman? What was her name? What was she doing in his house? He didn’t seem bothered that she was with his phone, did that mean he had nothing to hide or he simply didn’t care? If he didn’t care, why had he come down to Nigeria because of her? The thoughts chased themselves around in her head and Gbade must have noticed that she was suddenly not as excited as before because he asked her,

“Are you alright? You look angry?” With a quick bright smile, she assured him she was alright.

“Just a bit tired from having to wait at the airport for so long.”

“You shouldn’t have come out so early though, I wish you allowed me take a taxi or something. You have outdone yourself with that meal I smelled when we came in.” Damilola had cooked him his favourite dish hours before she headed to the airport as a welcome home treat and he had said he would get to it as soon as he freshened up.

“It’s nothing really, you know…” the shrill sound of the phone cut her off and she looked down at the phone in her hand. Mirabel! Could this be the other woman? She studied his expression closely, trying to read his facials as he talked in clipped tones with the other person over the phone. His answers were short and from her position on the bed, it sounded strained. The alarm bells were ringing in her head, why couldn’t he talk well to this person? This must be the other woman. He wouldn’t meet her eyes as he talked and immediately he dropped the phone, Damilola found herself asking,

“Who was that? I thought nobody knows you are coming to Nigeria?” He shrugged and muttered something about an overzealous colleague, walking out of the room to prevent any further questions. He was barely out of the door when the phone rang again, and she sat on the bed, straining her ear to listen to the conversation. His voice was a bit hushed and Damilola found herself tiptoeing to the bedroom door to listen. He was saying something about being with the other woman,

“I will call you when I have privacy, I am with her now. You really need to stop calling me.” The hurt welled up inside of her and this time, the tears spilled out of her eyes. She dashed at them with her hands angrily and headed for the bathroom to splash water on her face so that he won’t know that she had been crying. She wouldn’t let him see her cry. So she was the Nigerian girlfriend? The girl to come home to? Perhaps she was just another name on his list? Had she been foolish in love these last two years trying to keep a long distance relationship? After she was sure she was calm enough to face him, she came out of the room and watched him as he ate his food.

“Can I see your phone?” She finally blurted, unable to resist the urge any longer after she had been sitting for some minutes. His stare was a second too long before he indicated she take it on the table and grabbing it like a prized possession, she went straight for the gallery.

“You look so funny cooking though,” she said with a force laugh, feigning mirth at the photograph as if she was just seeing it for the first time. He looked at her and smiled before quickly taking a sip of water, averting his eyes.

When she got to the incriminating photo, she turned to him with a questioning look in her eyes.

“Who is this?”

“I didn’t take the picture!” Damilola snapped then. They might have been apart two years didn’t mean she didn’t know when he was lying, she stood up and stared at him in anger, her eyes flashing, “How stupid do you think I am Gbade? You have a naked woman in your kitchen, the same kitchen you are cooking in with nothing but your undies. I didn’t even ask who took the photo, I bloody asked who she is? Don’t insult my intelligence!”

He stared at her sheepishly, the guilt written all over his face, his hands paused with a spoon of rice and dodo in his hands. He dropped the spoon and bowed his head slightly. There was silence in the room.

“Why Gbade? Why?” He reached for her then but she moved back before dropping the phone and walked towards the door.

“Dammy…wait. Hear me out. Please!”

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/03/04/poetry-play-17/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Nellie V. O.



S:

Can you hear the rhythm of the rain?

Do you understand the tongue of thunder, or the language of lightning?

N:

Can you feel the wind as it brushes past your skin?

Or hear the droplets as they make their way into puddles?

S:

The sky bleed with no doctor to bandage its wound

It bleeds onto the swollen foot of the gods

And the lightning laughs at it

While the thunder testifies of the sky’s trouble

N:

The squirrels scamper to their tree holes

And the snakes imitate the same into the ground

The tears of the sky ceasing not

S:

The inebriated earth now emits back sky’s tears

And its vomits flood both the flora and fauna

N:

But can we question this?

Of course not

For we have no control over any

Being only human

S:

Can’t we beckon the rainmaker

To cast charms on the sky before the sky uses us

As handkerchiefs to wipe away its tears?

N:

Or can we go on our knees and succumb to the punishment of our deeds?

S:

If we do that, the water will feed on our weakness

And waste us

We are supreme beings;

A king doesn’t kneel, even before a kinsman

N:

As supreme as he is…

A king also listens to his people

Levelling himself to hear their opinion…

S:

Being keen differs from kneeling

It’s a long walk from the ear to the knee

Knightly kings don’t engage in this walk

N:

Truth be told

Humility is the backbone of success

As humble as nature is to the voice of the gods

So should we all to the voice of nature

S:

If so, let us all succumb to this sea knocking on our doors and walls

Let us die water-death

How beautiful it is to be buried in a liquid coffin!

N:

For death is death

Be it liquid or solid

For you know not when you die

As quickly as you forget the cause of death

NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/27/the-lagos-hustle-is-real-kunbi-black/

“Oshodi-Cele-Mile 2-Oshodi” I was seated right under his coarse voice as he screamed continuously on top of his voice, the veins standing out prominently in his bid to get more passengers. I decided to stare at something more interesting than the conductor’s dirty boxers peeping out of his tattered shorts. I have always wondered if being dirty and unkempt is also a criteria for becoming a bus conductor.

I feed my eyes with just about every and anything I could see from my position. My eyes took in the woman singing “bottle water, pure water, Lahcarsarah, cold mineral here” in a voice that was oddly sonorous to the young boy who looked just about 15 begging passengers to give him money because he has not eaten all day. My eyes moved on to the KAI officials trying to arrest a man who had failed to use the pedestrian bridge before settling on the visually impaired old woman and her son singing praise and worship in the name of alms begging. Chai!!! The hustle is real. It is a really crazy struggle here in Lagos. Despite the craze however, I remain positive in joining the Lagos hustle but before that let me tell you about a day when my best friend – my mum invited me for a night vigil in her church. I don’t seem to know why but as of late my love for Jesus has tripled, maybe it has something to do with the “holy fall.” Anyways, if you missed that gist, you can read that HERE.

My Dad has the habit of leaving for home right after the grace which most times ends by 2:00am in the morning but my mum prefers to wait till the day breaks. Each time they argued about the merits and demerits of their choices, mum argument is that is not safe to be going around at that time of the day or should I say night while dad would argue that he preferred the comfort of his bed to waiting around in church when he has used all his energy to serve the good Lord. My friend, this is one argument that they never both seem to get tired of because it has been going on for as long as I have known them as my parents and they usually brought it home from church. But then dad always won, it’s just seems like mom didn’t want to give in without putting up an argument was what the quarrel was usually about if you can really call it a quarrel.

We were still residing at Magodo-Isheri then and we were coming from Ikeja this particular day that I had accompanied them. If you know Lagos roads well, you would know we have to pass through Berger under-bridge. We got to Berger around 3:45am when I saw this huge crowd and I was super scared thinking that there was a riot or something. I asked my dad what was happening and this is what he had to say. “Son! This is Lagos for you. These people are off to work and they are only waiting for their respective buses be it staff or public.”

Yup! I had the exact same open mouthed expression you have right now. Who does that? Do this people even sleep? How much are they paid for this stress? They get back probably by 10pm at night, sleep for barely 4 hours, and get up to prepare for another work day by 3:00am in the morning. This is total madness!!! This then means they have no time for themselves, no time for their spouses and kids not to talk about their kids.

I remember one story my best friend told me some time back. She told me about a banker couple who had two kids who were aged four and two years respectively. This couple left home at 4:00am and always came back 4:00pm everyday leaving their kids in the hands of the house help. One day, the husband left as usual but returned around 7:00am to pick up a file he left at home. His kids were seated in the parlour waiting for their school bus and when he opens the door as a normal house owner would, he hears his children screaming and shouting “Aunty!!!… Thief!!! Thief!!!” All efforts by him to calm them down that he is their father proved abortive till the house help came to his rescue. Can you blame those kids? Apparently, they have no idea what their father looks like.

To my kids, I want to be able to work, have fun and time for family and myself but then the Lagos hustle makes it all impossible. You are probably thinking, I should probably just settle somewhere else outside Lagos but don’t we all know Lagos is where it all happens especially for people like me in entertainment. I can’t imagine doing all of my radio/tv/mc/acting stuff somewhere like Ondo – LOL! In all, despite how much I wish I could settle outside Lagos, I might just be – sad right? That’s the kind of life have I chosen. Finally the bus is about to move.

Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/27/poetry-play-16/#more-1692

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Maryann Godfrey



M:

Tick tick drops on the bell of my heart

Lost is the soul of the born searching for the unborn

S:

It’s a soul’s search for the unknown

A hunt to fill the hole in the heart

M:

But the hole is too wide that no quarter of seed can fill

The heart seeks beyond it feels

Light it seems, but too heavy yet empty

S:

Your empty heart envisions an Elysian

Somewhere that it can sip the sweetness of serenity

A peace from the pounding pain it feels

M:

This day I feel peace

The next might be war…

Now pain feels normal

And I drown in this river with no ribs to paddle

S:

It’s a storm of emotions that troubles you

But let me offer you the boat of my heart

Just sit or sleep in it without worries

It will take you to the heaven your heart desires

M:

*finger snaps* wake me up if I may be asleep…

Familiar words burn deep to my heart

Wake me up if I may be asleep

S:

When words burn deep into your heart

It’s the water of words that will be used to assuage the flames

So allow me to be the messiah with the water of life

M:

You give me wonder word

Powder to cover up my acne

When all I want is to stroke a paddle

S:

My words aren’t just mere powder

They become a pillar when you want to stand

And a pillow when you want to sleep

They peel off the patterns of pain on your face and plaster it with pulchritude

You want a paddle for a canoe, but you have been given a boat

Do you want to walk when you have been given wings to fly?

M:

The heart doesn’t fall no more to powder sellers

As it’s still gathering its piece from the damage of the last sold out

S:

When you hold on to the pains of the past

How can you accept the presents of the present?

Which do you prefer: the powder of the face or the powder of the feet?

M:

One thing is certain I don’t fix my present to suffer for my past

The edge gets its limit

S:

A taste of sweetness doesn’t produce tears of sorrow

When you are fixed, you are free

Don’t limit yourself with the lines of loneliness

NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec


Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/18/penastory-love-contest-entry-15-adejuyigbe-adetutu/

The war was never over! The gun shots, the grenades, the explosives, and briskly escape of death never ceased! I had a life pact with my country, an oath that could sacrifice my life for the nation.

Turai held my shoulders and whispered weakly, ‘Remember I and Babaginda would be waiting for you here, you must understand we love you more than the country does’ I saw fear clouding Turai’s eyes, eyes that

ignited passion in my heart whenever we kissed. I dropped my rifle on our biggest couch, removed my thick hand gloves to feel the freshness of her skin. Tiny streaks of her tears flowed gently into my hands. ‘I will be fine, Turai. Just trust me on this one mission’ I spoke convincingly. She nodded her head as she struggled to hold back her tears, and hugged me firmly.

Turai and I dated for ten years before we finally danced our ways till-death-do-us-part. Our love still stands as mystery to friends and families, how incredible it was to remain bonded even with the criticisms and jabbers that flooded our affection. Unlike Adele, our Hello was relentlessly from the same side.

I kissed her forehead passionately and picked my rifle to meet my colleagues already waiting in the van. I marched out in my full-fledged uniform with my jungle boots thumping the ground successively that one foot could hardly wait for the other. I hopped in the van and my mind went wild on the mission.

My love for my country was strangely profound! Prior to my recruitment in the military arm, my parents chastised and rebuked my decision to become a soldier. I was a graduate of Mechanical Engineering but my heart yearned for the peace of the nation with an undying verve to guard her from unscrupulous forces that contested her amity. I studied historical books on our heroes and heroines in the past, how selflessness governed the hearts of our rulers, I pitied the defenseless and wept for the weak. These prompted my decision to join the army, to fight for my country, to love my country even it would suck the last pinch of blood in my system.

Although, the country never cared for us! Our deaths meant nothing. Our love seemed like peeled backs of plantain, useless only but for consumption by pigs.

Our van accelerated with high speed as we jerked continuously in the van. I am sure we all thought of the mission coupled with little prayers to return back to our families.

Suddenly, a small Toyota car came out of a juncture and crashed into our van. We swiftly took our rifles and jumped off our vans in our thick green khaki.

We heard just two beeps from the car and the rest became history!

We were fifteen that began the journey, only two of us made it back, from coma in fact!

Turai’s prayers.

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/18/penastory-love-contest-entry-14-ugwu-henry-ikenna/

Hannah’s hands were trembling as she blared her horn on the road. Scaring away other drivers and blurting “I have an emergency” each time she gets to a police stopover. She had been weaving in and out of lanes, sometimes endangering herself and her new Honda Pilot Jeep, but it hadn’t done her much good. It would still be 40 minutes at least, before he made it home to Gwarinmpa from Nyanya

– Abuja. She was keen to finding out who shares her husband’s love with her. She parked outside her gate and crept into her house.

She wondered what her husband had been up to lately and scared of what any negative discovery she might make would do to her marriage. She would hold and leave the door knob and run thoughts of how she and Adamu, her husband and a soldier got to this point. She never wanted to marry a soldier but after so much wooing and care from Adamu. She fell for him and saw how delicious Adamu is to her life and family. Their marriage was among the few exceptional soldiers’ marriage characterized by faithfulness, love, bliss, trust in each other and a deep faith in God. She frequently swore that her husband would never cheat on her, that such a thing would be inconceivable to him as a deacon in church. But her friends told her to save her oaths; that it was unwise to vouch for any man (husband or boyfriend) that you were not with 24/7. That position seemed extremely cynical to her. She trusted her husband but having read a popped up BBM message from “Clara” while fiddling her husband’s phone that morning she had every need to fear. The message read “Call me when the tension is doused” Another read “Is the coast clear now?” to which he responded “will be clear by 2pm, she will be at the office.”

Hannah pulled the door open and saw a female shoe at the corridor that leads to the entrance staircase of their sitting room. She was sure she had caught her husband in the act. “Why will it be on our matrimonial home? She queried herself as she climbed the staircase. She had vowed to divorce Adamu if it was happening on their matrimonial bed. She quickly pulled the bedroom door open and saw nobody, checked the toilet and then dashed to the visitor’s room. It was locked. She climbed in through the window and then holds the shutter as if she wants to allow another person climb in after her. There were loosely thrown wears on the bed of the dusty room. She watched as the door knob quaked and Adamu held his gun high to shoot the burglar as the door opened. Wait! She exclaimed. “Where is Clara?” “Oh! You know her? She is in the kitchen baking our Valentine’s cake for tomorrow. I contracted her so we can have a little family love bash.”

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Source: PenAStory www.penaastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/18/penastory-love-contest-entry-13-jegede-oluwakayode/

Death still smelled on our bodies. It dwelt with us and fed on our joy, our peace. We were helpless and hapless as hope for safety seemed like building castles in the air with the latest car models driven therein. Death dealt with us void of compassion in Maiduguri. Running became inevitable!

We were stacked in the truck like tomatoes from the North even though

it took us miles away from impending death orchestrated by terrorists. Most of us looked battered and broken having lost relatives. The stench of agony filled the air throughout our journey, rendering us to stare miserably at the forests we passed by.

Aisha placed her head on my shoulder and slumbered. We were only 15, perhaps too little for the anguish we saw back home, but a little stroke of bliss for me was travelling to a camp with the girl that has enveloped my thoughts in cold nights, the girl that coordinated my moods every day at Goza College. She was Fulani with the characteristic adorable Fulani looks. Eyes that further lit up the stars in the nights we held hands, and like the dew’s soothing touch on waiting leaves, her touch sent refreshing sensations through my veins. Teases and laughter persisted as my fingers never ceased sliding through her long hairs. I was probably too young to fall in love but in Aisha’s heart, I discovered love that damned age barriers!

I was deeply inundated by these love reflections when our truck dashed into a large pot-hole. We joggled roughly as though we were meats shook well in a pot for effective mixture with ingredients. Aisha woke up, looked me in the eyes, and decided to lay on my laps. Our journey continued.

My mind flashed through our first kiss. I always saw movies with scenes of deep kisses and often placed fantasies in my head, on my bed. I was yet to feel the softness of her lips, but I would fondly imagine my lips meeting hers, with the intertwining of our tongues and subsequent caresses that would get ‘me’ hard till I dozed off at nights. After school hours that day, we held hands mute and motionless in our class. Our unspoken words sent more messages and penetrated deeper in our hearts. We stood and stared into each other eyes with so much intent while the butterflies were busy tingling in our bellies. I touched the insignia ‘Assistant Head girl’ on the badge on her chest and then brought her face nearer.

My pleasurable thoughts halted as I observed Aisha’s movements in the truck. I threw a swift glance at her and saw Aisha with a miniature device under her hijab with few thick wires and red lights blinking intermittently. Still on my laps, she crookedly tapped a button on this device and before I could scream, she whispered to me;

‘Abubakar, I’d love you forever’

Death yet smelled on our bodies!

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Source: PenAStory www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/11/blue-velvet/

All the lights appear in your face when you hear my lies

You trust in my weakness and rejoice in my pain

I heard you danced the day I was cuffed

Why I wonder?

Why my heart asks

I love and cared too much

I showed you the depths of my heart and you showed me the depths of hell

If I ever die alone I will haunt you in blue velvet

If I ever die alone I will haunt you to the depths of the hell you showed me

All my life I have lived to love

On my death I will prowl to haunt you

Haunt you in blue velvet

Find more literary pieces on www.penastory.com

I am Black like Sango
Dark god of thunder
I’m Black like the brackish waters of Osun origin
Black is beautiful like Yemoja
Spirit of the flowing rivers
I am courageous like Afonja
Boisterous general of Yoruba land
I am sorrowful like Moremi
Mother of our children
I am impartial yet brutal like Ogun
The god of iron
I am skillful like the blacksmith
In rooms of dark aura
I am obedient like Oduduwa
Progenitor of Yoruba ancestry
I am Black like the dark depths of Yoruba tradition
I am merciful like Olodumare
Almighty of the mighties

Source: www.penastory.com
http://penastory.com/2016/02/12/origins/

http://penastory.com/2016/02/12/poetry-play-11/

Samuel Oluwatobi Olatunji and Zee Cod

Z:

Their game is like the chameleon faeces into which I have stepped

When I clean it cannot go

So I’m in and out I find impossible

S:

I am tattooed in faeces

As I walk into this forest of faces

Z:

I live as a man of many faces

Seeing life in different views

S:

Views like pieces of broken mirrors

Mirrors that have forgotten how to be whole again

Z:

I treat people as thus I do a mirror

Seeing how I reflect in their eyes

S:

It’s the crystal ball in their eyes that drives my actions towards them

Z:

Alas! My actions have brought upon my enemies great pain

And they see not any salvation

Salvation, it is you seek

But then I refuse to offer

S:

I offer what I have, and I’m a salvation-less soul

Z:

I am considered wicked and emotionless for I have no soul

I fear not anything

For I am soulless and nothing it is I have to lose

S:

I have become a torpedo that trebles tears

I’m a drunkard, and my wine is that salty silvery river

Flowing from the bank of their eyes



NB: Poetry Play, a product of Artilogue in partnership with PenAStory, is a game in form of poetic dialogue for every poet on BBM. It is a game of two poets: one drops a line or more, and the other replies, flowing along until one of them gives up, or the poem gets too long. Every poem formed from this game will be published here (penastory.com) every Friday and Saturday. So poets, are you ready to play? If yes, contact Samuel via BBM: 7f5210ec

www.penastory.com, a literary site for all lovers of literature and art

http://penastory.com/2016/02/04/melanin/

When you look at the sun
You see how it shines on you
And everything you do
And yes, they are all Black

I came yesterday
I wrote this piece for you
And all the things you did
And it was called Black

So then I took my turn
I know I shouldn’t have done that
Still it was Black

Your skin,
Actually, your bones and skin
Turned into something beautiful
Do you know?
I love you so Black,

I ran my life
I fought the beast for you
Oh! what a thing to do
‘Cause you were all Black

I made a dress
I made a dress for you
Fine linen and colorful cotton
And it was all Black

Your skin turn into-
Something beautiful
That’s why I’d bleed myself for it
It’s true
It always shone on you, they never lied
It was always Black

Find more interesting stuffs on www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/04/the-other-side-of-the-coin/

They never knew it would turn out like this. They always thought it was a time of talents and not of coins. Society tosses the coin, a very fair toss and a very partial drop. Their destinies tumbling till it eventually stops at class and material obstructions; obstructions of closed doors. Tunde, a young adult with a raw talent for football. It is mesmerizing the way he wiggles with the movement of the ball, it is like dancing, the ball his music and the pitch a disco party. He was a human being like everyone of them but he became a god the minute he had the ball. He knew what he was meant to be, never let anybody steal his heart away from it. Even though he was from the rungs of the society, he was disposed with the rights to climb it but now it was time for society’s verdict. His agent came to tell him the good news, a club needed a striker and a couple of midfielders. A very good news it was for Tunde who jumped in excitement. This was his opportunity! But alas he had only seen one side of the coin. There was another side he had been blinded to. He needed money to meet his destiny, to fund his dream. It was then it dawned on him that even if dreams do come true, life is not a bed of roses where you sleep in bliss. It had mosquitoes in form of poverty to suck on your dreams and perhaps leave you sick with illness.

Society is not human and really not a small god with the letter g starting it. It does not care for dreams, talents and hearts or destinies but for class and wealth. She knew her heart was where it was meant to be. Not everybody liked the path she chose not even her father who was opposed to her decision to pose for pictures and hear the click click sound of the cameras. To see the blinding flashing lights and know that that was all she needed. It was her passion, to shine in the spotlight,a burning fire of God’s glorious light. She had that natural confidence that she showed in her modelling pictures, that we saw when she covered the front pages of small scale magazines. All she had been able to do were small scale magazines when school gave her some free time but this was big. She had made the modelling business her priority, schooling her plan B. This could propel her dreams, jump start her career as a supermodel so she opted for it. But she had to come from the wrong side, the other side; the lower side. The side where there were no connections, important connections to aid her dreams. So it was another that got what she wanted even though she was more than qualified for it. Did it have to do with the fact that she refused to lay with the guy in charge? Alas her coin had been between her legs.

Find more literary pieces on www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/03/wine-or-cream-18/

Sex with Kelvin had been unintentional. We were just two friends that never saw each other romantically not to mention that as at the time we first met, he was seeing someone. He was just the guy that made me laugh and was comfortable being himself around me. Then things changed.

Kelvin called me up one late afternoon sounding distraught and said I should meet him at one of our favourite hangout spots, KFC by Sabo and judging from the tone of his voice, there was something wrong with him. I didn’t ask him why he was calling me in the middle of the afternoon and sounding like the world was coming to an end, we were just that close now. I got there and met him looking gloomy like his entire world had just crashed and he soon told me what happened, his girlfriend Natasha had broken up with him just two days after her twenty-seventh birthday. He had given her a Toyota Camry as a birthday gift despite the fact that they had been dating for less than a year. Since she collected the car with all glee and pleasure, he had assumed that she was going to accept his marriage proposal but she turned him down. Following his proposal she had informed him she was leaving the country in about two weeks for her postgraduate studies and didn’t plan on returning to Nigeria for at least another five years. She had not even told him of her plans, it was apparent she had just been stringing him all along. My heart went out to him.

Days went by and the breakup between Natasha and Kelvin drew me closer to him as I became not only his friend but also his one source of comfort. I was always there for him whenever he needed to talk, hang out and we got even closer than we were before. It was only natural that Kelvin was going to transfer his attention from Natasha.

I had gone to Kelvin’s house on a Saturday morning to pick him up for a movie at Genesis Deluxe Cinemas in Lekki but he was not yet ready. He said he had overslept and I should give him a second to quickly prepare. I settled myself into a chair and picked up a magazine while he went to have his bath and dress up and then it happened. Kelvin came out of his bedroom with nothing but a towel tied around his waist. He had two shirts in his hand, “Which of these two should I wear?” he asked. I stared quizzically at the cream coloured shirt that was in his right hand and the wine coloured one he held in his left hand.

“Just wear one damn it,” I snapped and shut the magazine I had been reading. I walked to him and looked more closely at the shirts mumbling under my breath “it’s not like I am your girlfriend that you should be bothered about how you look.”

“But you could be,” he said. He had apparently overheard me and I raised my eyebrows at him in mock horror. I don’t know what took over me but then I did something crazy.

“Your girlfriend? You think I would want to be your girlfriend with this your small thing right?” With that I tugged playfully at his towel and it came loose leaving him standing naked in front of me. I stepped back, shocked at what I had done, Kelvin and I were close but I had never seen him naked before. Unruffled he took his dick in his hand and playfully shook it at me.

“This small thing ehen? Does this look like it is small?” My eyes went involuntarily to the dick that he was holding in his hand and I saw that even half limp, it looked like it was at least five inches long. Trying to hide my embarrassment, I laughed and tried to cover up with bravado so he couldn’t see the effect that his dick was having on me

“Yes, is that not all there is to it?” I was very close to him so I could smell the soap he had used to bath.

“That is not all to it,” he replied and closed the gap between us. I should have turned and gone back to my position on the chair but I didn’t, instead I stood and watched him. He took my hand and closed it to his dick before using his right hand to draw me closer. My breasts were crushed against his hard, naked chest and when his lips brushed mine, I opened my mouth eagerly like a cat that had a bowl of milk dropped in front of it. I felt a stirring in my hand and without looking, knew that his dick was beginning to get hard in my mouth. It was like I had never been kissed before as his tongue delved into my mouth and I kissed him back, my nails racking his still somewhat wet back. He pressed me closer to him and I dropped the shirts that I had collected from him for inspection.

There were no words said as he lifted me off my feet and put me against the arm rest of the chair I had just stood up from. He was like an excited kid with a gift of chocolate that had been wrapped in too many boxes as he yanked at my blouse and brought out one of my breasts. He squeezed it roughly with one hand even as I began to jerk on his dick which had grown rock hard in my hand, all the while still kissing him back as fiercely as he was kissing me.

His other hand was looking for the zipper of the trouser I was wearing and when he finally found it, he tugged down on it roughly before hooking his finger into the waistband of the trouser. He pulled it down just to give him enough access, he didn’t need everything off. He moved aside my pant with two fingers and entered me in a quick stroke. I gasped from the sheer pleasure of it. His thrusts were a bit awkward because of our position but neither of us cared, we just had to get this burning desire satiated and as he went in and out of me, my hand explored his body frantically. How come I had not noticed that he had such a well-developed body before? How come I didn’t know that he smelt this good? As my hand explored his body, he kept on riding fast like the movement of my hands was me urging him on.

He pulled out of me and drew me up against the wall. He bent me over without saying a word and pushing aside the barrier of my pant again, he reentered me and began to pummel me from behind. My hair was all over my face while my one loose breasts dangled in rhythm with his thrusts. This new position meant that I could meet his thrust, and every time he pulled out to slam into me again, I would move my ass and smash back so that I met him halfway. He obviously liked that because he soon pulled both of us to the bare floor and taking me by the hips began to slam me while I sat atop his dick. This was like the bouncing castle that my father had never taken me to as a kid but I was sure that this was much more fun than that which I had cried for in my childhood days. With me riding his cock, I soon knew he was close to as his finger dug into my skin and I felt like he was practically lifting me into the air before slamming me on his dick again. With a quick movement, he pulled out and taking my mouth close to his dick, he jerked on his dick twice before his cum came spurting out in quick ropes all over my face. As he branded my face with his seed, I played with the nipple of my free breasts till I saw he had no jitz left in him any more.

He stared at my face that was covered in his cum and he smiled slyly before saying slyly, “I think I would take the wine, you just took all the cream.”

Find more interesting stuffs on www.penastory.com

http://penastory.com/2016/02/03/sally-a-sequel-to-ruckus/

Excerpt From Ruckus:

“This stupid sickness will rob my kids of a good life. I might do the surgery and still die. If I don’t do it according to Dr Thomas I won’t survive. What if I do it and get through this?” he thought again and that thought birthed a self-centeredness, an alluring temptation to survive no matter whose education would be on the line. He did not want that caprice to blossom, so he lit another blunt and puffed the smoke in the air with false ego to shake off the fear that he may actually die.

To read Ruckus, visit www.penastory.com

Sally returned from work and found her husband fast asleep. She hurried to the bed to make sure he was still alive. She sighed in relief at the sound of his breath and left him to trying not to disturb his sleep. Ruckus had retired to bed after his smoke, wrapping himself with a blanket and rebuking the thoughts of death with the bible verse Psalms 118: 17 that came running through his mind, “I shall not die but live to declare the works of the Lord.” He had recited the verse without actually believing it but it had helped him fall asleep.

She was tired; she had left work early to watch her daughters’ school dance and from there stopped by the farmer’s market to get some ingredients for dinner. Now that she was home she couldn’t wait to get out of her work clothes. She unzipped her skirt, pulled it down in one yank and threw on a yoga pant. She took off her shirt and looked for a round neck in her closet. She found a red shirt, the one that had been given to her by the cancer support group when she visited the hospital. She thought of the man lying on the bed, her husband, Ruckus Jefferson, born on July 3rd 1980, thirty five years old, father of her twin girls, ten year olds, Sandra and Bella. Doctor Thomas of the St. James Cancer Research Hospital had told them that surgery was an option and that there was less than fifty percent chance of survival because the cancer cells invaded the most part of his lungs and may have spread to the left side of his chest.

“The cancer cells are in the lymph nodes and have spread to the opposite side of his chest. We can do surgery but there is less than fifty percent chance that he will survive. We don’t know the exact survival rate and we cannot promise anything” Doctor Thomas told her and her husband three weeks ago.

“How could he have said no to the surgery? How dare he say no to life even if it’s just one percent chance of survival?” she asked herself as she put down the red shirt and searched for another a shirt that was less infuriating. “I always knew I married a coward but I did not know that it was to this extent, to the point of death.” she thought to herself as she left the room to the kitchen. “Well if he wants to die, he wants to die,” she mumbled as she saw a lighter and empty box of Newport cigarettes on the kitchen counter. “He can smoke all he wants. I will live my life after he is gone. If Ruckus is choosing to die, I am choosing to live,” she blurted out in fury even though she was not sure about how she would cope after his death. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes as she arranged her cooking ingredients on the kitchen counter trying to still her hands that were shaking from emotion. “I can live without him. I can do it,” she tried to convince herself trying not to think of anything but thoughts of survival.

“I will have to sell this house. It should be worth something, maybe a hundred thousand dollars,” she paused and evaluated the worth of the house with her eyes. I will get a nice small apartment in Idaho. Me and the kids can live in Lewiston. Louisa said the schools there are good and the neighborhood is native enough for raising children. And I can find me an office space close to the house and close to their new school. I will have Louisa, it shouldn’t be so hard, would it?” she questioned as she tried conjuring a future in Lewiston without Ruckus.

She hated what she was doing, mourning a man that was still alive. She poured some potatoes into the tray and sprinkled a little bit of salt. Between the kitchen counter and the oven, she found cigar ash on the carpet. She put down the tray and stormed to the room to give him a piece of her mind. She couldn’t hold this provocation anymore

“If you are weak enough to want to die, you don’t have to make the rest of the world who are trying to be strong after you are gone become as weak as you, “ she yelled in frustration, tapping him where he was still sleeping on the bed.

“What are you talking about, Sally?” Ruckus asked with the innocent ignorance of a man that had just been woken up from sleep on his face.

“You are sick, dying as a matter of fact but you still smoke heavy. Despite the cancer, despite your weak lungs, it is obvious you want to die and while you do it don’t leave your cigar in plain sight or let your ashes stain the ground.” She declared and paused for a second, waiting for a response, waiting to see if he would deny it. She shrugged in frustration when he gave none.

“Just die, die so that the living can be rid of you. Your daughters, Sandra and Bella don’t have to live with the memories of you as the father whose love for the whiff was stronger than his love for his children.” Ruckus felt like she was poking at his heart with every word that came out of her mouth in her anger.

“You refused the surgery, and since then you haven’t done anything to help yourself, you went back to smoking. That’s all you do these days, lay in here like a bag of wasted nothing, wake up, eat, sleep and light a cigar once you are bored,” Sally declared with accusing fingers stretched towards Ruckus who was now fully awake and dumbfounded. She glared at him and he stared back at her to make sure she was out of steam before he responded

“Oh really? You think I have a death wish? That death is fun? That I think of it has a mere vacation? You are ridiculous Sally. You are!“ He snapped at her and paused to catch a glimpse of the expression on her face. Sally was surprised at the tone of his voice, at the words he uttered, at the fire in them.

“I am dying and scared and living my life by the clock knowing that death is certain, it is coming closer at every stroke of the clock. Yet you blame a dying man for smoking, for living while he can,” now there was accusation in his voice. “And the stupid surgery can’t do anything for me. These lungs are gone, the surgery cant save me. Do you even think about what that would mean for you and the kids if you squander all your money and time on saving me from death and then you fail. All that money and effort goes to waste and the next thing that happens is that you scrounge to find money to give me a befitting burial. All a waste!” Ruckus lashed out.

Sally stood there, speechless, disturbed by his psyche, unsure of how to respond.

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