op, that your first picture would make a good horror book cover.
Did you design that?

"What do you mean 'dead'?" I asked, shifting uncomfortably.

She looked at me briefly and sighed "Akintoye wasn't at that party. The party was held in his memory."

I was confused, astutely. I wanted to ask her who was the person that introduced her to Obinna but I concluded, that she couldn't have known him too. Maybe they were bound by the darkness of a party.

"I'm sorry--for acting rashly." I apologized,breaking my resolve.

She pulled me closer and rested my head on her breasts. "I'm sorry, too." she whispered into my ears with a tone so pleasantly soft, that it drove me wild.

I rolled on top of her and engaged her tongue in a fierce kiss, she unbuttoned by shirt, and for a moment, I got off her and flung the cloth away. She invited me closer with her eyes and I obeyed, feeling the two soft melon-like objects on her chest. They weren't watery, like Obiageli's nor where they too hard, they were perfect and my body trembled, when I felt it through her ash cloth. Like a mad man, I tore the cloth off, and she chuckled, but I was awed, the breasts were the most beautiful thing I had seen. I buried my head in them and sucked at them in turns, until she called my name lightly, and pleaded with me to attend to the burning sensation she felt in between her legs.
I went down a little, and dug my head inside, welcomed by a scent of blooming petals, well shaved and she wasn't wearing a pant underneath her skirt. It was an open doorway. I teased her clit, and she ran wild, reaching for my head, pushing it in, I wondered if she wanted to suffocate me. I looked at her, and there she was, with sweat covering her body, she ran her fingers over her breasts, moaning at intervals when I touched a soft spot, or when I slid a finger into her welcoming hole. It went in with ease, like how a soft eba welcomes a hand. This made her slap my head viciously, and she pulled her hair too, I wondered if I was doing it wrong, maybe it was painful. I removed the finger, and she growled

"Put it back, plea-please"

I obeyed.

"Two" she moaned "tickle me with two fingers."

I also obeyed, since pain was a thing for her, I romanced her insides quickly, as if I was whipping a cream, while I pressed my other three fingers against her wet walls. She was dripping. I knew it was time.

It was then I realized my trouser was still on. She gave me a nasty smile as she spread on the bed, her bosoms standing upright, side by side, yellow like ripe pawpaws, ready to be devoured. The trouser was off, my boxer too. My third leg sprang up gingerly, staring at her. She sat up and opened her mouth. I replicated the move I watched in sex videos; I thrust it in, she couldn't take the full length, she gurgled on it, then she took it out slowly, and wrapped her mouth around the head, using her tongue to lick at it as if it were her favorite ice cream. I felt a funny feeling just beneath my navel. I knew I had a limited time.

I made her stand up, kissing her as she did, with my left hand finding its way into the warm, wet hole in between her legs, and my right grabbed at her firm buttocks.

She then did something daring. She held the bed stand with both hands, and bent down, giving me an exclusive view of the meaty thing, I got closer, and touched its surface with my hard deek. She pleaded, begged, and cursed, for me to put it in. I had other plans. I rubbed it against the soft sides, as if I was going to put it, but when it got too close, I removed it. Her pleas intensified, as if she was crying, she said

"Please, i'm dripping wet. Pl-ea-se"

I felt so powerful. I took a quick look at it, and the line in between the meaty stuff seemed to be crying too. I gently inserted my deek and her walls clung to it in the warmest embrace ever. I thrusted in ferociously, making slap-like sounds. With each thrust, she moaned beautifully, like the music of a hummingbird and it strengtened the resolve of my waist, the vigor of my deek.

I heard her scream "deeper, deeper" and I did, grunting, as I dug deeper from behind. "I'm co-m" she attempted to say but I ordered her to keep quiet, making a hush like sound. "Me too." I said coldly, still humping in and out of her.

I felt it leave me--the substance, and shortly afterwards, she hit the apex level of sexual satisfaction. I was still inside of her but my man was becoming weak, like my legs, and I fell to the bed. She followed suit, hitting my face with her soft breasts.

Our bodies entangled into each other, and she looked at my eyes, breaking off a kiss.

"I love you" she said

"I love you, Damilola" I replied, wrapping my arm around her. This was bliss, I thought. A big smile was plastered on my face.

It was heaven, but I didn't know that Hell was just by the corner, waiting for me to stumble into it.

Good day. I'm a creative writer who can craft compelling stories and political articles, sports, entertainment and literary essays.

Is there an organization (s) hires someone my talents in Nigeria?

Looking to work from home though.

darkenedrebel:


Thank you, sir-ma'am.

Sure I would, but I must warn you, my schedule is rather crowded.

And no, I do not visit Facebook regularly. Gmail would be fine: aromolarandebo@gmail.com.

I'm a boy, who seeks to learn.

Gmail it is, then.

This is an excellent essay, sir.
Would like for you to teach me a few things. Are you regular on facebook?

Good day, sir. I really admire your style a lot. You also seem to be a voracious reader. I want to read too.

Please do you have ebooks? Prefferably African. I've been itching to read Ben Okri's 'The Famished Road' for ages now.

I called Damilola. Her number was going through but she didn't pick up the call. I guess she must be angry. But, I had no reason or whatsoever to be sorry, or apologize. In my head and heart, I was out to seek vengeance for her. And now I know, that even though Obinna did it--raped her, there was a bigger play here. Someone was massively behind this and Damilola didn't know. This Akintoye could be her course mate, friend, or something, and yet, he introduced Damilola to a drunk and drugged Obinna. I am no law enforcer but, I know a suspect when I see one--or hear about one as the case might be.

Inside the bus, students engaged in the usual Biafra talks but my mind was too occupied to read meaning into it. Even though I heard some of their words, notions, stories, plights, suggestions, I refused to be drawn into it. I was a man with a mission.

Courtesy was lost on me as I entered Damilola's room without even knocking. I found her lying on the bed. Her buttocks were finely sculpted and inviting but nothing in me refused to budge. I was just too deep in this to be moved by beautiful flesh and desires now. She turned, and sat upright. She looked gloomy, slightly dark clots formed under her eye and I could tell, she'd been crying. I felt pity for her. I approached her, and held her on the arm after she refused an embrace. I looked at her. I couldn't be sorry, when I had done no wrong.

"Who is Akintoye?"

Her eyes widened in fascination, surprise, specifically.

"Akintoye?" she asked

"Yes."

She scratched her hair lightly, turning her face to and fro, behaving as if what she wanted to say was too important, too heavy, for me to receive.

"He is a coursemate, with whom I am well acquainted with"

"How acquainted?" I asked

"Enough to know that he is dead" she replied.

"Abacha and Ojukwu married Bob Marley, and they gave birth to Oliver de Qoque. Why is the fan coming down? Ah! Ah! My enemies dun come oo, Nwannem, My enemies! Ekwensu a bata go" Obinna screamed, honestly terrified, as if he was about to run out of his own skin.

I was almost forced to laugh. The effects of weed was quite baffling. I wondered how some people still act 'normal' after smoking it many times in a day.

Splash! I poured a genorous amount of water on his face, soaking the rug as I did so. But I didn't care. I kicked Obinna again, this time, lightly, in the groin, and he twisted in pain. He shut his eyes and opened, and after blinking in quick succesion, he regained his sanity. I saw it in his eyes. He no longer blurted gibberish, or look dazed.

"It was at a party, right?" I asked him again.

He looked around, seeing the trouble I had went to get him to wake. The soaked rug, garri scattered sparingly on the floor, clothes, flung in different directions. He looked away, and stared directly in my eye.

"I'm sorry." he said again, quietly.

"Uhmm...," he scratched his head, trying to remember "Yes. It was a party"

"Who hosted it?" I asked, going straight to the point.

I saw cluelessness registered on his face. Not absolute although. But if it was ever registered on his memory, it was in a far away place.

And thus, we sat, looking at each other, for about twenty minutes. I don't know, but it was for a lengthy spell.

"Akintoye." Obinna said, somewhat unsure. "Akin--yes! Akintoye" his eyes lit.

"I am sure. It was a jersey party. And the name 'Akintoye' I saw printed on one of the jerseys. He wasn't just any regular visitor, he mingled with people, he sprayed cash anyhow, gave orders to the DJ, had girls throwing their bodies on him, and no no no"

"What? Obinna." I jumped down from the bed, holding his head, urging him to talk.

"He was the one who introduced me to Damilola, and served me a drink afterwards."

"You must have been drugged." I said.

"I don't know. But I know, that when I chased her down, I wasn't myself. It was like I was compelled to do so."

"Snap out of it, Jesus, vampires are not real" he said to himself, placing an hand on his forehead. He sweated profusely, quite understandably, the room was hot.

"Damilola should know him."

"Who?" Obinna asked

"This Akintoye of a guy." I replied, standing up, reached for a face cap, wore it, and walked out of the room.

"I--raped her"

"You raped her?" I asked with my eyes wide open, then burst into an hysterical laugh. "Yo-You, You raped her. The word is so easy for you to say"

Obinna looked at me weakly, the effects of the leaves were beginning to show. His eyes dimmed, he looked very weak, and there I knew, I had him at my mercy. He crawled over to where I was, and grabbed my leg with both hands. I thought he was about to fight.

"Punish me!" he screamed, with the last strength he had.

I looked down on him, and my initial resolve was lost. The anger which I felt wasn't enough to make me condemn a remorseful man. A powerless man.

He screamed the same words "Punish me!" breaking up in tears.

"No." I said calmly, as a tear escaped from my eye and landed on him, as if pardoning him for all he had done.

I went over to the bed and sat down. My eyes were still on him. He was sprawled on the floor, he was being held on the side of consciousness by only a very thin thread; his evident remorse.

"How was it?" I asked, with sarcasm seeped in my voice. I said the words as if it was directed at a teenager, who had had his first go at sex.

"I was drunk, wild."

"You pursued her? Chased her down like the cheetah chases its prey, and you devoured her. You devoured her, Obinna! You--" the anger was beginning to set back in.

He couldn't plead his case. This wasn't a hook up with girls where he could sway them with his suave talking, his Igbo accent. He was facing a trial, in this court, over which I preceded, but had already taken a final decision.

I couldn't kill him.

I fell flat on the bed, crying. The name 'Damilola' came to mind and I remembered where we met. It was under a tree, outside the lecture hall for Yoruba studies.

"Wait," I said like a mad man, springing up from the bed "It was at a party right?"

No response.

"Obinna? Obinna?"

I slapped him on anywhere and everywhere on his body, but the drug had taken him, far away. I had to revive him.

I dashed into the cupboard and brought out a green bowl, where we stored garri. It was empty. Rushing out, I approached Obiageli, an undergraduate studying Geology. I knew she had a thing for me but I was seldom interested in her. I banged on the door like an angry housemaster who had come to collect the house rent.

She opened the door, quite alarmed it was me, I was rarely dishellved as I looked now. I was the cool, calm, and smart guy, not this sweaty, panting, person who stood before her.

"What?" she asked me, exposing her set of disarranged teeth.

"Abeg give me small garri" I asked, I saw surprise on her face to hear me speak in pidgin english. But hard times call for drastic measures. She looked at me, hand hung on the door, the rest of her body motionless like a mannequin. I watched her angrily, as she smiled.

"Recite me a poem" she said "that's your payment."

I heaved a sigh.

"okay."

"Your oblong head resembles a frustrated rock
And your teeth is so fine like the word's opposite
I love you, if wisdom becomes one with you
Unfortunately, you sworn a pact to always be ma player in the game of fools"

She smiled sheepishly then went inside to bring the requested. I was disgusted by her ignorance. WonIder how such a person got admitted into such a prestigious university. Then I remembered anything is possible in this, if I may borrow the words of my father--Zoo country. As long as you had the money to grease some important palms, you'll go places.

Out she came, and gave me the garri, inside a little black nylon. She purposely bent down a little so I could get a view of her quite succulent melons. I was too impatient to say 'thanks' but she said 'Anytime' anyway,and I got the feeling it was an invitation to partake in activities only a couple should engage in. It wasn't one I was going to take, anyway.

I ran into the room and in a last try, I kicked Obinna but he didn't budge. I forced opened his mouth and poured the garri inside forcing it further down with water.

I sat on the bed and waited for him to come around. I exactly didn'tt know if garri worked but I had heard it, somewhere, and since it was the only option I had pre-requisite knowledge of, I had to try.

He did, come around, announcing his return with a cough, emitting very little balls of the garri.

ruggedadventure:
Buh,Fikfaknuel, u no try at all oooo..... why u no give us details of John and suliyat's hot and steamy sex nah





Na dat part gan gan I been dey wait since.
U jst fall my hand

Lolzz. You made me take special classes for that.
Check the previous update. It's been MODIFIED.

People wey no sabi this man go dey talk.

For him to have stood a chance to win means he was nominated by a previous winner. So, people wey sabi pass us talk say dis man is worth the Nobel. And here I see some people, calling Eminem and Kendrick Lamar, and some Hip Hop peeps but truth is, none of them has or ever can positively affect the world like Bob Dylan, Bob Marley or The Beatles, Fela too. If any Hip Hopper can even be considered, it will be Rakim the god MC.

"Idiot wind blowing every time you move your teeth
You're an idiot, babe
It's a wonder you still know how to breathe"
-Idiot Wind.

"As human gods aim for their mark
Make everything from toy guns that spark
To flesh colored Christs that glow in the dark
Easy to see without looking too far
That not really much is sacred"
-It's Alright Ma (I'm only bleeding)

Now my favorite song of his...
"Oh, where have you been, my blue eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
I've stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I've walked and crawled, on six crooked highways
I've stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I've been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard
And it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard, it's a hard
It's a hard rain a gonna fall"
-Hard Rain

this is great work. You can send it to my email....emmanuelesomnofu@gmail.com.
I'm a writer too.

I waited, with the venomous rage burning inside of me. It almost quenched but I rekindled it by thinking of how it must have felt. Obinna ontop of Damilola. I spat on the ground as I thought how it was the same penis he had used to satisfy his demonic urge with my Dami, was the same he had used on other promiscous girls. I was irritated further when I thought about how to cycle extended to me.

Finally, Obinna staggered like in like a drunkard with a long-stretching smile on his face. The resent on mine couldn't be hidden, no matter how hard I tried. Acting wasn't no easy job. Obinna came to where I sat on my study, folded his arms into each other, and looked at me in a funny manner. If only he knew what was brewing in my heart. I stuck to the plan. He would easily counter any attempt I made to attack him physically.

"What?" I mumbled, irritated by his persistent stare into my eyes. It made me uneasy. Breaking into a guffaw, he held his stomach, gesticulating that whatever made him laugh was very funny to command such stupid reaction.

"I think sey you no go ask" he said "that female lecturer, Anyanwu, the one wey dey from strict strict. She blow me for her office oo"

I was puzzled. Why on earth would anyone who wasn't a lunatic be so excited about a blow? I looked on his face for marks to connot a hit but I didn't find any, except how he cringed in mocking fashion, breaking into another of his repulsable laughter. "Blow mean BJ--she suck my thing" he explained mildly, sparing me explicit details I would have done without.

The devil whispered again.

"Come chop oo" I said to him, feigning a nobled face of benovolence.

"thank you, nwanne" he said "but hungry no dey catch me."

I frowned in a disgusted manner, but turned my face away so Obinna wouldn't see. I stretched my hand and opened the pot, which made a creaky sound, as steam escaped from the confines of the pot and filled our nostrils. Obinna smiled. Me too. I knew he licked his lips in relish. Too bad nobody was present to scream at him "Obinna no!!!"

He swaggerly approached me with a plate, and gave it to me, signalling his interest. The mischievous smile I had strewn on the sides of my lips stretchered. I served him the devil's beans, carefully selecting the part of where the leaves were less visible.

Again, I peddled with the thought of abandoning this method which might prove futile but when I gave Obinna the food, my eye wandered to where his adventurous penis was, dangling inside his boxers. I was reminded by the sight of that monster, that we were no agemates.

And so, I watched, until Obinna's spoon dug into the plate. One, two, three, four, he was eating the food, looking at me at intervals with his trademark funny face. Just that this time, it was inquiring.

"Guy, you put anything for this beans?" he asked

"Idiot. Na ugwu leaf. I want make the food fresh"

"Ehen...but you no dey put am before na. Today own somehow bitter"

"Na because of Damilola I cook am"

"Damilola?" he asked, eyes wide open "She come here?"

I looked at Obinna as he struggled with his thoughts, sweat breaking out from different places on his body.

He mumbled some words, he stuttered as he said these, as I saw a tear trickle down his eye. I touched my ear to gesticulate that perhaps, he was inaudible.

"I want to tell you something, about Damilola" he said weakly.

ruggedadventure:
Buh,Fikfaknuel, u no try at all oooo..... why u no give us details of John and suliyat's hot and steamy sex nah





Na dat part gan gan I been dey wait since.
U jst fall my hand

You don't know how some people have been on my neck. Claiming sey I just dey describe, describe. But once i'm free today i'll check the plot. If I see a chance to alter it, I will include the scene.

"What do you mean?" I asked, gently dropping the bottle on the ground. I sat beside her, placing a comforting arm over her shoulder, and the other on her laps. I urged her with my eyes, to tell me why the sudden weirdness.

She sighed "it's nothing" turning her head away, her hair brushing my cheeks as she did. "Nothing? Nothing, Dami. Since when?"

Her eyes were watered with hot tears. For a reason, I shared in her pain, though I refused to cry.

"The person who ra-raped me. He's your room mate." I was taken aback. What was she saying? Obinna. A rapist? He was a chronic womanizer but a rape wasn't something he had the guts to pull off. He would be surely delusional to do such.

I almost laughed it off, touching her neck to check if she was alright, pushing my hand away fiercly, she ordered "stop it! Stop! Do I seem sick?"

She didn't. But her theory was hard, almost impossible for me to believe. Not until she said "I remember. He wore a football jersey. White and Red." I ran off the bed to Obinna's bag, and like how the creature Smeagol sought the ring, I rummaged through the bag, looking for a jersey which should be the home outfit of the Enugu rangers. I knew Obinna was a fan and as she called the colors, my suspicion was roused but I held up the tiniest of hope, that maybe, it wasn't him.

However, in a twist of fate, an unfortunate mocking of me, I saw a jersey in Obinna's bag--white and red.

I needn't ask any further questions. I raged out of the room and went out in rage. I approached my lodge mate's room and picked up an almost rustful cutlass lying innocently by the door. Damilola came out, holding my hand in a plea, attemping to calm the tempest. Her pleas fell on deaf ears as I was determined that if that rapist's blood didn't grease the cutlass back to usefulness, I had lost my dignity and for the rest of my days in school, my head would forever be bent in shame.

Armed with the destructive tool, I marched spartanly to the lecture hall, where Obinna was supposed to be. On the long walk, students looked at me in the expected manner--as if I was mad. Some laughed like overfed hyenas whilst some could only spare me two seconds of their time, thinking I had taken "osogbo weed." I wasn't high. I was bloodthirsty, and it was evident in my eyes as I stormed into the lecture hall. The professor, a man of about sixty, whose bald hair revealed a shiny spot in the middle of his head, whilst beards clung sparingly on his cheek. He wore an 'Obafemi Awolowo eyeglass' which only served to amplify the look of curiosity on his animated face.

"What sort of generational scallywag is this? Cascading into such places with no sense of nobility and look--he is wielding a cutlass. Maybe he's one of the herdsmen"

The students all turned back to look at me with unsmiling faces. They looked at my hand and were threatened by the weapon. I knew they would charge at me if I stood still, moping at their bewildered faces. I quickly surveyed the class with my quite naked eyes and Obinna wasn't present. Maybe he was raping another innocent girl in the presence of the broad daylight.

I retraced my steps and went back to my lodge, then into my room--the cutlass still in hand. I figured that if Obinna were to show up now, he would take the cutlass off me, due to his superior strength.

The devil, or something, whispered into my ears and a plan was conceived. An evil plan, which I had to execute with the help of Clippo, the student whose room was four rooms away from mine. His house served as a barbing salon and a...weed shop.

I put half-a-cup full of beans on the fire and quickly made my way to Clippo's door, where he thrust the product wrapped in newspaper into my hand once I had given him a fifty naira note. He smiled stupidly and shut the door to my face. I entered back into my room and emptied the content into the small pot.
Then I waited.

The next day came as quickly as an onrushing tornado and I attested to the quip that suggests that no machine cleans faster than a man expecting his woman.

Funny but true. I was clad in sweat as I heaved like an exhausted elephant, looking around the room in achievement, and I looked as if I was waiting for an object in it to say "you did a good job."

I called Damilola and we met in her lodge. She had prepared a sumptous meal for me and I ate with so much gusto knowing that if I married her, the project plans of my stomach infrastructure was in good hands. She quickly took her bath and we set off.

It was a smooth ride on one of UNN's shuttle buses. The driver was an Igbo man whose smile was as charming as his words, embellished in proverbs, with which he spoke about, yet again; Biafra.

He said he was a kid when the war broke out and his father was a cocoa seller in Ibadan. The extremists in the area took up knives and guns and fearing for his live, and that of his only kid, his father, quite a rich man, left behind his wealth and ran back to Biafra. In the middle of his tale, the driver recounted an ugly tale about how a Nigerian soldier shot a pregnant woman point blank in the belly. She fell and her blood quickly mixed with the sand, like toothpaste. When he said this, a thick tear dropped from the side of his eye and no one could doubt the veracity of his story.

Damilola who'd been quietly listening all the while began crying softly. She raised her head and spoke in a loud voice, even though it strained, due to the emotions embedded in them. Any human would feel.

"The bloodshed was unnecessary and stupid. It makes me cry. Baba, sorry for the pain you had to watch. One love will eventually see us through. We are all Nigerians" she said.

The students inside the bus received her first words mildly but the last seemed to rouse their collective anger. In a conspiration of growling voices, they echoed their displeasure.

"I am not Nigerian--Abum Biafran"

"just, negodu rubbish this girl is saying"

"Nigeria is a failure"

I felt pity for myself and Damilola. Subject to public ridicule, it hurts I couldn't pacify her. Inside, I was indifferent to such matters concerning secession. I just seeked to love. It was a damp afternoon but the venomous noise in the bus made me sweat a little on the chest. With my hand placed firmly on her shoulder, and hers reaching over to my hip, we walked towards my room, and my lodge mates registered their surprise with ridiculous looks. I paid them no mind but inside, I was like a peacock, proudly showing off his feathers. She was mine.

We staggered into the room sharing a laugh after I sought to calm her nerves. It seemed to work. Once she settled on the bed, she took in the scent of the room in an inhale. She smiled and I was unreservedly proud that she repaid my efforts with her beautiful smile. I quickly opened the fridge and due to the absence of light, it stank a little, but I wiped a bottle clean with my hands, and turned to offer her the malt drink.

However, her face had a nolstagic look on it. Even my prowess with words still, I couldn't place the look on her face. Just the word, 'nolstagic' came to mind.

"who lives here?" she asked me

It was a dumb question, really.

"Me, of course" I replied, fighting hard to ensure that the irritation I felt didn't manifest in my vocals.

"I'm really sorry" she apologized profusely "just that here smells--familiar."

Now, this was getting weirder than I envisaged.

ruggedadventure:
Fikfaknuel, ur stories are really dope I must confess. Buh try not to leave ur characters for a long period of time, they might stop speaking to you and u may end up not completing ur story and also....not posting updates might make ur readers weary of the story itself and you wouldn't want any of that to happen. Please, do something about it bro. More grease to ur elbow.









Ruggedadventure

Thanks bro. Work has been really tight coupled with the fact that I am working on like three novels (no joke).

But, because of you, I promise i'll finish this 'short' story before the demise of tomorrow.

abeg make una read my story. Click the link below. It's on NL.

Tellemall:



Oh, you write?

I wonder why people like you never mention me. Instead it's the religious nuts who do.

BTW, If Elnathan deserved it, I think he would have gotten it. I do not particularly like him or his writing.

What do you hold against Elnathan?

TelleMall

The aftermath of the visit to Saliu's mother brought its mysteries and bond. Suliyat had protested against John returning to his house after he disclosed that he lived alone. It wasn't thoughtful for her to leave him. Not when he wasn't okay. He still looked shaken and was unable to wrap his head around what had transpired in that haunted house. Doomed that no man would enter. He stared blankly at the windscreen. Voodoo did exist, and Orthodox Medicine had so strongly tried to disprove its potency. Now he knew better.

A kiss. Yes he kissed her. He licked his lower lip in relish. She too, seemed to enjoy it. But never to be overconfident of the magnetizing abilities of his lip, he had to try again.

Applying the age-long confirmation test, he placed his hand on her laps. It was warm and soft. John smiled. He knew that Suliyat knew what he was doing. He counted to ten seconds, and she didn't register the tiniest hint of a protest. Suliyat could feel shockwaves surging up and down her body as John's adventurous hand ventured under her gown, making its way to her spot. He slid two fingers in, tickling the walls. She shook, moaning, her hand could barely keep ahold of the steering.

She managed to say, weakly, "John, not here"

He removed his hand, smiling, as she sat upright, her eyes forward, breathing hard, so hard to catch her breath.

In a twenty minutes drive that ensued, none said anything.

Suliyat checked into the hotel and the receptionist, a funny-faced lady looked at John behind, then Suliyat. She smiled like an aged fox. Suliyat knew what ran through her mind. It was only normal. In Nigeria, 'the eye' must be paid to you when you are a lady and venture into a neutral territory with a man.
They both staggered into the room like drunk sailors. Suliyat leaned on the wall and removed her shoes. John walked gracefully to her, as she bent slightly forward, projecting the fullness of her bosoms. He kissed her ferociously, running his left hand down her breasts, tickling her spot with the right. He was a talented man, and as he gently caressed all the delicate parts of her body, his tongue was still in hers, sucking, gently chewing. Suliyat's eyes shut close in ecstasy as she so desperately tried to hold the wall. It provide futile and she held the back of John instead. The possesed man called John, slowly, gently, turned her backwards, facing the wall. Her body shivered as he kissed from her neck to her nape. So occupied were her thoughts, that she didn't feel his hand on her zip. He ran them down, and removed her gown and pant. He gave her buttocks a gentle pat to which it responded, dancing seductively. Suliyat's leg wobbled. She turned, clad in sweat. John drew a pattern of some sorts, with his fingers, around the well shaved area below her navel. He watched her face to get an approval that he was doing it right but Suliyat was nowhere to be found, she said inaudible things, whilst biting her lips, and at times, holding her head like a crazed person. John pushed her to the bed, and she obliged lazily. He knelt at the bed stand, and spread her legs wide open. He licked her navel softly, his left hand stretched, gently pinching and caressing her soft breast. He abandoned that exercise, digging his head between her legs, using his tongue to tickle her clit. Suliyat moaned delicately, it was the most beautiful and passionate music he had ever heard in his life. His trouser was a prison and he was so hard that with a little more pressure, the tool would force a break away.

Suliyat gently stood off the bed and shoved John roughly on it. He looked at her desirous eyes as she smiled intently, packing her hair on one side of her neck. She took calculated steps, with each, her bosoms dangled slowly. She knelt down at the spot John were and like a pro, she unhooked his belt and flung it away. She unzipped the trouser and drew it down to his legs. Still maintaining eye contact, she removed his pants slowly, like how one unwraps a present.

The beast was free. It sprung up and the little eye stared at Suliyat inquisitively, as if it asked "what are you waiting for?"She chuckled in awe of the tool; big, black and thick. Several veins threatened to burst out of it.
She spat on it, gently using her hands to pat it, then faster. John groaned weakly as she did this. She re-adjusted her hair and bent down, licking the head carefully, she licked its sides until it was turning pink then, she led its entirety into her mouth, using it brush all the sides but, her teeth never touched it. Faster she went, as John's groan turned to a weak grunt, his belly felt like butterflies played inside, his knee was weak, and from waist down, he jerked, and in anticipation, Suliyat removed his deek from her mouth but still, pet it with her hand until he let out an exasperated groan and came on her. He breathed like an obese person that had run a marathon.

But, Suliyat was far from done. She cleaned the whitish substance off her hand with a tissue paper. Then she went over to her drawer, and collected something shiny, wrapped in a silver-colored nylon.

"Condom?" John asked, surprised at what such was doing in her hotel room.

"Yes," she replied, flashing a beautiful smile, displaying her flawless set of teeth "I'm a safe player."

She wore back on, her nasty look as she elegantly catwalked to the bed, tearing open the latex condom pack. John's man had become limp so Suliyat had to resurrect it. She rubbed it intensely, then using her mouth to lick it up. Like magic, the once asleep penis sprang up back to life. Suliyat rewarded its compliance by stooping low a little, and using it to thrust through her breasts. It was so soft and pleasurable that John found it hard to remove. However, Suliyat was in control. She inserted the condom into the fully erect deek of John. John's cluelessness was paramount. How on Earth did she learn such bedroom tricks?

As if to throw him into a deeper abyss of confusion but intricate sexomania, Suliyat got on the bed and placed 'her' over the action ready tool. She guided it by her hand and led it to the promised land. It was wet, warm and welcoming. She began bouncing like a playing child and John, lifted his waist, thrusting, to meet her midway. He grabbed breasts with both hands, squeezing gently. Suliyat bent a little as John opened his mouth in a welcome for the melon-sized breast that found its way iNside. He sucked it as if his life depended on it.

"Arrrgh, ooo, J-J-fvck" Suliyat moaned, pulling her hair, bouncing faster than before.

John thrust in deeper, and faster. He groaned, the sweat on their bodies would bathe a cow.

That feeling--in his tummy. He felt it again just that this time, it was stronger. His body felt empty. His thigh shook, his thrusts were slower.

"I'm coming" he groaned

"Me too"she said softly

They both hit climax at the same time. Suliyat rolled onto the bed. She shut her eyes a and opened them. This is reality, but it wasn't really real.

"This won't happen again" she warned calmly.

"I know" John replied, heaving a sigh of satisfaction.

**********
It was an hazy Saturday morning and one of the busiest days of the week in a restaurant. Moji was washing the dishes, whilst his madam sold food to the customers. Moji looked at the hungry people, whose teeth jammed ferociously, crushing the helpless rice as it entered into their mouths. He took interest in a young man who looked at him suspiciously. The young man was stoutly-framed, and had some scars etched on his face; razor scars. Moji put his head down, focusing on the plates he was washing but he could still feel the person's heated gaze on him. He looked up, and the young man's eyes were still fixed on him.

"Idiot, wash those plates joor" his madam, the buka owner screamed at him.

The weird acting person stood up, paid for his food and left but Moji couldn't help wondering why the person looked at him so. He was scared. He had heard tales of how people are kidnapped. He didn't want to be a victim of kidnappers or worse still, of ritualists. Allah would never allow such happen to him.

He continued his work for which he was paid nothing and each morning, the weird person came to the buka and would look at him endlessly. Moji was restless. He wanted to complain to his madam but he knew that a slap would be the reply he would receive.

It wasn't until one day, thursday, whilst he held a rake and was deeply engrossed in the envioronmental sanitation exercise that a person approached from behind. It was the person. The stout person. Moji froze in fear.

"who you be?" he asked, looking around to know if people were present, incase this person tried anything funny. He would scream his lungs out. He felt at least, safe, that some youthful men were closeby, cleaning the environ.

The person coughed terribly, scratching his eyes as he did. It was as red as a failing heart. Moji knew that he was a smoker.

"I wan give you better work" the person said. Moji observed that his voice was thin, like a lady's. However, he was irritated by the person's persistence of looking at him in the eye, whilst licking his lips.

"I no dey work" Moji replied

The stout man nursed an all-knowing smile on his lips.

"I think you'll want to work with me" he said, asserting in English. Moji replied first, with a smile of his own, maybe the person thinks that speaking in English would sway him into saying a 'yes'. Moji dropped the rake and folded his arms into each other, looking well into the person's eyes. His posture suggested that he was ready to listen.

"Your mother. It concerns your mother"

Moji's eyes widened, his thin ears attained the efficiency of a newly wired antenna. The person frowned, he was annoyed by the people around who paid more attention to him than they ever did to a bag of naira notes lying on the floor.

"What about my mother?"

"I won't tell here"

In a second, Moji's eyes had scanned the place. He needed to get away so as to know what this weird fellow knew about his late mother.

He led the way, and the person quickly followed from behind. The poke nosers looked at them and one of the young men cleaning the gutters asked, almost screaming

"Moji, where you dey go?"

The little chap called Moji turned and said to the person with a smile

"Na madam boy"

The stranger frowned at this but the reply seemed to settle the inquisitive looks on everyone's faces. The madam was known to have a thing for young men, usuallyvery younger than her. She had once tried to play her game on Moji but the innocent boy didn't have to resist or do anything, she jumped off his body, saying his penis was like a "small carrot."

Little did they know, that as Moji andx the quite short fellow left the street, it was for good. Moji stopped being a dishwasher, sales boy, part-time cook, and errand boy to the lady. But little did he know too, that some waters are better left untested, undisturbed.

A big thumbs up for the winner of the prestigious prize. The biggest in Africa. 48million no be beans.

I do hope to win this prize one day.

I was rooting for Elnathan John's Born On A Tuesday but since the judges wey wise pass me has selected Abubakar's novel, I can only applaud him.

This is good for Nigerian literature particularly Northern Literature. I see a renaissance of some sorts from authors born and bred in the North. We need stories from all parts of the continent.

Please literary critics, please click the link on my signature and read. You can critically abuse me in any way you want.

op, i'm interested. Email is emmanuelesomnofu@gmail.com.
Please, do you have another e-book?

I love Adichie. But she stresses this feminism of a thing that it seems extremist.
Lemme speak like a person with little formal education now. If her FATHER didn't see her mother from afar and APPROACHED her, and they got MARRIED and gave BIRTH to her. Will she be spewing these?

I prefer the term Woman Rights better.

Bossman. I'm here. Keep up.

Akposb:

Your coming is all that matters. Sorry about the moniker spelling and I appreciate your analysis.

I'm honored.

Sir, are you a regular on Facebook? I'd really love for us to be in touch.