₦airaland Forum

The wine! It must be the wine. It must be having a big effect on me and my guest.

Both of my inner and outside heads were thinking at the same time, and the large one was having a hard time keeping up with the outerl one.

“Tinu," I replied, “You’re my wife’s sister, you’re already engaged and we are actually still family."

She looked at me with a disappointed face and replied, “You don’t find me attractive, Mike?”

I was shocked. She was becoming very daring. The 'uncle' title had gone and she was very brash. I tried to remain cool and to smile reassuringly.

My facial expression must have answered the question about whether she was attractive or not because she quickly followed up with, “Then, what’s the problem?”

I thought fast for any answer I could find. “Tinu, I just think it would make things real uncomfortable for us, now and in the future, "She looked at me with those soft eyes and said, “I’m not asking you to bang me. We both get ourselves off anyway. What’s wrong with doing it together?”

I thought about this for a second, then before I could respond she added: “How about I start and if you feel like joining in you can, if you start to feel uncomfortable, you tell me to stop, "

Once again I thought about it, taking probably longer than she would like, then replied “ Ok, but I still think this is a bad idea, "

Tinu took another long drink of wine from her glass, then leaned back on the sofa. Her eyes were glued to mine, but her hands were visibly gearing to move into action. Before I could ask her if she was sure this is what she wanted, she reached down to her jeans.


She leaned up and once again kissed me long and deep. When our lips parted, she smiled and asked, “Do you think this could be a regular thing between us.”

Somehow I just could not see why not. It was an exhilarating experience and I certainly looked forward to more of it.

Before the thought could leave my head, she came back with: “Do you masturbate a lot?”

I must have looked really embarrassed because she quickly added, “Oh it's ok, I know all men do and most women do too, "She continued. "If I didn’t get myself off regularly, I would never reach the peak, "

Now, this was very personal. How could she say this? That meant Jimi would last only long enough to get himself off, while she would be left high and dry.

It was a moment of revelation. Unabashedly, Tinu told me that many nights after intimacy, Jimi would roll over and fall asleep. She would bring herself to two or three orgasms. I think she could tell I was not the forward type and if this was going to go anywhere, she was going to have to take it there.

“Uncle, my sister and I used to talk a lot about sex and she always told me what a kind, considerate lover you were, "She added, “In fact, Deola told me that many times even though you were tired you would go down on her and make her reach the peak, asking nothing in return.”

Now, I was shocked. Even though Tinu was very right and I knew only Deola could have relayed that information to her, I shrugged my shoulders and stammered, “ I think she said the truth, "

Then Tinu added, “Did you like what you saw the other day?”

I tried to plead ignorance, “What are you talking about?” I knew the quivering in my voice gave me away, but I still feigned it.

"Oh come on Uncle," Tinu replied, “ I saw you looking up my skirt, "

Gosh! This situation was growing more uncomfortable by the moment. While I was extremely embarrassed, I was equally aroused or so it seemed.

“Its ok”, Tinu added, “ In fact, it turned me on to see a man like you paying me such attention.”

Now I knew she was exaggerating. Tinu was beautiful and I could imagine that guys would be attracted to her all the time.

“I doubt that you are suffering from lack of attention, Tinu,” I added.

She chuckled. “Oh I get attention” she said, “But not from decent guys, just from guys who want a quick piece of the action. But, I can get that from Jimi anytime I want, "


I noticed that she was beginning to squirm a bit and had crossed her thighs very tightly. I think she was as uncomfortable as I was, at least I hoped she was. This just was not the kind of conversation I have had with any other woman than my wife. In fact, I had only been so personal with one woman my entire life and that was Deola.


Once again, Tinu spilled a bit of information that could only have come from Deola. “ I know watching a woman making herself reach the peak is big on your list of turn-ons.”

I grinned and told her I really couldn’t believe that Deola had shared so much of our personal life with her. She smiled this almost mischievous grin and told me “Oh, I know a lot more than that.”

Without much hesitation she quickly said: “Would you like to see a woman reach the peak again?”

My head was spinning trying to process all this new information that was being thrown at me. The wine! It must be the wine. It must be having a big effect on me and my guest.

It is worth it.
NOUN is accredited and recognized just like those other accredited institutions.

Best of luck.

Nice work. It's interesting.

Keep it up.

Before I could say anything else, she quickly put in: “Oh, then I will join you, "

I couldn’t say anything else. “Sure, no problem. You are welcome."

“I’ll be right over," Tinu said.

About thirty-five-five minutes later, the doorbell rang and it was Tinu. As she passed me in the open door, I immediately smelled a fresh, powdery fragrance, with a slight hint of perfume. I figured she was just out of the shower. She had on jeans and a “T” shirt, something which I have rarely seen her wear.

I got her a small tray and set her up on the end of the sofa with a plate. We watched TV ate and chatted for a good while. The program went off at 8 p.m., and there wasn’t much else coming on.

“How about some wine?” Tinu asked.

I told her the bottle we had opened earlier in the week was in the fridge in the kitchen.

“Great”, she replied, ambled to the kitchen and was back with two glasses in no time. We talked for a while about her job, family and whatever else I could think of to keep the conversation off Jimi. Then, right out of the blue, she blurted out: “Uncle Mike, can I ask you a really personal question?"

I thought for a second, then hesitantly said: “Well, why not? You're free to ask.”

She took a deep breath, looked a bit fidgety, then asked, “Have you ever had intimacy since my sister died?”

I was thrown off balance. Now, that was the last question I anticipated. “Well, no. Not yet, "

She seemed kind of surprised. “You mean its been almost two years since you had intimacy?”

I answered her in the affirmative and I thought to myself, I hope this conversation is not going the way I thought it would go.

Before the thought could leave my head, she came back with: “Do you do self-servicing a lot?”

Challenges of having Nigerian men as lovers:

1. Traditional Gender Roles:
Nigerian culture, especially in more traditional settings, often emphasizes specific gender roles. Sometimes Nigerian men might expect their partners to fit traditional roles (like managing the home, cooking, etc.), which can clash with more modern or egalitarian expectations.


2. Family Influence and Expectations:
Family plays a huge role in Nigerian life. Many Nigerian men have close-knit families, and family opinions or expectations can strongly influence their relationships. Sometimes family pressure to marry, have children, or behave a certain way can be intense.


3. Communication Styles:
There might be differences in how openly emotions or disagreements are communicated. Some Nigerian men may come from backgrounds where expressing feelings openly isn’t the norm, which can cause misunderstandings.


4. Religious and Cultural Values:
Religion is often very important in Nigerian culture. Differences in religious beliefs or practices between partners can be a source of friction, especially around topics like marriage, children, or lifestyle.


5. Jealousy and Possessiveness:
Some Nigerian men may be culturally socialized to be protective or possessive in relationships, which can sometimes feel controlling depending on the individual.


6. Pressure to Marry and Have Children Quickly:
In Nigerian culture, there can be strong pressure to settle down, get married, and start a family relatively early. This can feel rushed or overwhelming for partners who want to take things slower.


7. Expectations about Financial Roles:
There can be strong expectations on men to be the financial provider, which might affect relationship dynamics, especially if the woman is also career-focused.


8. Dealing with Extended Family:
Extended family involvement in personal relationships can be deep, with relatives sometimes stepping in or giving unsolicited advice.

As we pulled into my area, I thanked them and got out of the car.

It was already getting late, I decided to head straight to bed. In no time, I slept off. I was probably asleep for a couple of hours when my cell phone rang. I reached over, it, still feeling half asleep. I looked at the phone and saw it was Tinu calling.

“Uncle Mike,” she said.

“Yes, how's it?”

“I don’t know”, she replied, “I just can’t sleep, "

"What happened?"

She said after Jimi had dropped her off at their home, he left to go out again and had not returned. Now, she had tried to call him but he could not be reached.

I looked at the clock. It was 1:44 in the morning.

“Well, there's nothing to worry about," I put in kindly. "All will be well. Go to bed and worry over nothing."

She seemed rest assured, thanked me and said good night.


* * *


When day broke, I got myself busy. The day flew by and I got a lot accomplished. That evening I went to a good restaurant, got a lot of take out and went back home. I took a quick shower, then sat down to eat and watch TV. About five minutes later my phone rang and once again it was Tinu on the line.

I actually debated on whether to answer the phone or not. I really was not up to being the considerate listener tonight. But after two more rings, I decided to pick up.

“Hello, Tinu, what’s up?”

“Would you like to go out and have something to eat?”

I told her I had just got back from a restaurant and had a lot of food in the house. Before I could say anything else, she quickly put in: “Oh, then I will join you, "

Hmm....

My body froze before my mind caught up.

He stepped into view like a guilty secret, his tall frame hunched slightly as if trying not to be seen. His shirt was unbuttoned at the top, his hair slightly tousled, his eyes darting left and right like a man on the run.

I stopped in my tracks.

“Chucks,” I whispered, my voice wobbling.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t even look me in the eye.

He just brushed past me—literally brushed past me as if I were just another tenant in the compound—and made for the exit. His pace was quick. Urgent. His steps rang sharply against the concrete floor.

It hit me all at once.
The stench of betrayal, thick and raw, filled the corridor.

I turned to watch him go, confusion boiling into anger. My pulse pounded in my ears. I wanted to run after him, to demand an explanation, but my legs felt like stone. The silence between us, once sweet and flirty, now screamed with unanswered questions.

When did he return from Port Harcourt?

Why hadn’t he called or texted?

What the hell was he doing in my house... without me?

No. In our house.

With Bimpe?

A heavy knot tightened in my stomach. Something was not right — terribly not right.


I stepped into the apartment and shut the door behind me with more force than I intended. The air was thick—too thick. Not with heat, but with something unseen. Something wrong.

The sitting room was dim, the orange-tinted lightbulb casting long shadows on the peeling walls. It was our usual living space: one old sofa that had seen better years, a center table with a wobbly leg, and our small television sitting silently on the stand like a mute witness.

And there—seated calmly on the edge of the sofa, legs crossed, back stiff—was Bimpe.

She looked up the moment I entered, startled, eyes wide—but only for a second. Like someone who'd been caught off guard but had trained herself to recover quickly, she tucked her reaction neatly behind a polite, almost practiced smile.

“Kween, you’re back,” she said, voice smooth but a little too calm. A little too prepared. “I didn’t think you’d be this early.”

I didn’t answer right away. I didn’t move either. I stood near the doorway, arms crossed, eyes locked onto her face like I was trying to peel back her skin and see whatever she was hiding underneath.

The air reeked of something… intimate. The smell was raw and unmistakable. Sweat. Cologne. That musk that lingered after bodies had collided in ways they shouldn't have. It clung to the curtains, the cushions, the very breath of the room. My stomach turned.

I spoke slowly, voice tight with control. “What were you doing with Chucks?”

Her smile flickered—just for a second. A barely-there tremor of guilt, or maybe arrogance. But then it was gone.

She gave a half-shrug. “Nothing. He just came to check on you. Said you weren't home.”

I blinked.

Nothing.

Did she think I was blind? Deaf? Naïve? I remembered the way Chucks had slipped out earlier—hurried, ashamed, like a rat escaping daylight. And now Bimpe sat there, composed, her hair damp like she’d just come out of the shower, her tone deliberate, her smile dishonest.

I took a step forward.

“I’m not a fool, Bimpe. The smell in here. The way he ran. You think I can't put two and two together?”

She looked away then, just briefly, and that was answer enough.

I stared at her, disbelief giving way to fury. The betrayal seared through my chest like hot metal. This wasn’t just about a man. This was about trust. About loyalty. About the kind of line that was never supposed to be crossed.

“How could you?” I whispered, though my voice was shaking. “You—my closest friend? You’ve been seeing Chucks behind my back.”

That got her attention.

Her smile disappeared, replaced by something colder. “Seeing him?” she said, voice tinged with sarcasm. “Let’s not act like you two were married.”

My jaw clenched. “So that justifies what you did?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation, Kween,” she said flatly. “What you do with your body is your business. What I do with mine is mine.”

I stared at her, stunned. Her audacity was like slap after slap. No remorse. No guilt. Just cold defiance.

My voice cracked with emotion. “You should be ashamed of yourself, Bimpe. You’re nothing but a cheap LovePeddler.”

Her eyes narrowed instantly.

“Oh, look who’s talking,” she snapped. “The kettle calling the pot black. You think you’re better than me? Because you pretend to be holy? How many men have you been with, Kween? Or have you forgotten all those nights you cried over guys that didn’t call back?”

My fists clenched at my sides. She was twisting the knife, and she knew it. This wasn’t just betrayal—it was war.

And the worst part? She looked proud. Proud of what she’d done. Proud to hurt me. She sat there like she was the one wronged, like I was being dramatic.

Something in me snapped.

I lunged.

In two long strides, I crossed the room and grabbed her blouse by the collar, yanking it hard. She gasped and reached for my top, gripping it tight as I pulled her off the sofa. We stumbled, legs tangling, bodies colliding. She shoved me backward and I nearly tripped over the center table.

“Oh, so you want to fight?” she hissed, already kicking off her slippers.

“You want fire? Then let’s burn!” I screamed back, grabbing her arm again.

She swung, missing my face by inches, but landing a slap against my shoulder. I retaliated with a shove. She clawed at my blouse. I yanked her scarf from her head. We were no longer two educated women—we were chaos, fury, pain, and history rolled into fists and rage.
.

Within seconds, I tore off her top, revealing the red bra she was wearing. I wasn't done yet. I pulled at the bra until it was yanked off her big breasts.

Only when she would look away, would my eyes dart down to her legs.

We talked for a few minutes more, then she said she had to be going. I thanked her for stopping by and as I leaned in to kiss her cheek, she turned her lips to mine and gave me a soft, very moist quick kiss on the lips, followed by a hug.


As soon as she was out of sight, I sat back down in the seat and tried to watch TV, but my mind kept wandering to those white lacy panties and that soft warm kiss. I decided that it was time for a shower and head to bed, this was getting me no where.

Later in bed, I simply could not sleep. All I could think of was Tinu. Was she really giving me the green light or was I imagining things? Was it just that I have been very lonely for too long of a time. Whatever the case, I soon found my hand around my cock, slowly pumping it up and down. In no time, my cock was throbbing and I could feel my orgasm coming. I closed my eyes, thought of Tinu, and exploded into the best orgasm I had experienced in quite some time. I can honestly say, I fell asleep that night and slept like a baby.

The next day, I was at the office in the school, when I got a call from Tinu.

“How about dinner tonight?” she asked. Though, I did not fancy spending quality time with Jimi, I accepted.

“About 8 p.m, "she said. “ We will pick you up, "

From her use of 'we' it was confirmed that Jimi would be attending. I worked through the day and soon was headed home to get ready. They arrived right on time and we headed out to a really nice first grade restaurant not far away.

Jimi was trying to be charming. However, he talked too much and I just simply could not see what Tinu ever saw in him apart from the fact that he was comfortable. As always, I held my tongue and talked sparingly. The dinner was fantastic. When he ordered for beer, I did notice that Jimi was really drinking a bit more than usual. While waiting for desert, Jimi got up and excused himself to go to the restroom.

Tinu quickly apologized for his behavior.

“Its not your fault Tinu” I replied. “You simply have to stop excusing him for behaving this way.”

She nodded in agreement. Not long after, Jimi returned to the table. We finished the desert, while Jimi took more drinks. When we got up to leave, I just knew he was not in the position to drive home.

As to not get Tinu into an argument with him, I stepped up and said: “Jimi, let me drive home, you can relax."

Jimi gave me one of his mischievous looks and replied, “I am not even close to being ready to go home. Let's head to a club.”

As someone who did not indulge in drinking, I declined. We rode back in silence, I could tell Jimi looked pissed. I felt bad for Tinu because I knew she was going to bear the brunt of it. As we pulled into my area, I thanked them and got out of the car.

Never Fall in Love



Kweensheba



Kween has nasty experiences with men, so she decides never to fall in love again. But, life without passion can be so dry. The same Bimpe, her friend that she earlier fights, becomes her soul mate.

Caution: The story contains steamy scenes.










The evening air wrapped itself around me like a damp cloth as I trudged slowly down Ogunbanwo Street, Ketu. The sky above was smeared with the dull orange haze of a setting sun barely visible through the thick Lagos humidity. All around me, the city roared on—honking danfo buses belching smoke, impatient okada riders weaving between cars with reckless precision, market women yelling over crates of plantains, and the constant, grinding thrum of survival.

I was exhausted.

It had been one of those endless days at the private school where I taught English—full of chalk-streaked lessons, classroom noise, and the dull ache of trying to keep restless children focused on phonics and fractions while silently nursing my own restlessness. My blouse clung to my back. My feet, in their worn black flats, throbbed with every step. I barely had the strength to wave goodbye to the gatekeeper at the school gate, let alone smile.

All I could think about was the room-and-parlour apartment I called home. Small. Modest. One of eight flats in a rundown one-storey building behind a vulcanizer’s workshop and a woman who fried akara in the mornings. But it was mine—or rather, ours.

Bimpe lived there too.

She and I had been friends since our Laspoly days in Ikorodu—tight as skin on flesh. We’d shared hostel rooms, garri, heartbreak, and dreams that hadn’t quite bloomed the way we imagined. Now, in our late twenties, both of us were still figuring out life’s crooked path—teaching jobs, unpaid salaries, dating disappointments, and a friendship that had, lately, begun to show cracks. Small ones. Hairline fractures. But I noticed them.

As I neared the building, something tugged at me.

The front door to our apartment—usually locked by either me or Bimpe—was slightly ajar.

Not wide open, not swinging, but ajar, like someone had slipped out or was about to. A yellow bulb flickered weakly above the entrance, casting long shadows on the corridor walls.

Then it happened.

A shadow shifted inside. A figure emerged. And then—him.

Chucks.

My body froze before my mind caught up.

Mama, come home. You have done your best.

Hmm...

He fell in love with the wrong guy.

.Nice

Deola had decorated our home from sitting-room to the kitchen and it was simply impressive.

"Aren't you lonely?" Tinu asked.

I shrugged and grinned. "Let's just say I manage to get by."

We started chatting. Soon, she broached going out to dinner for my birthday. After appearing to think over it, I said it was not a bad idea although I would prefer to mark it privately.

Now, I could not help but notice how short Tinu’s skirt was. She had pulled it down as far as she could, but it was still mid thigh. We started talking and lost track of time. The conversation turned from my birthday to the problem she said she had with her fiance, Jimi. She confided that she really thought he was having an affair, but had no proof. I told her every relationship had its ups and downs.

“How did you and Sister Deola do it?"She asked. "You two always appeared to be so much in love?”

“ I think it was goodness on one hand. I also think it was about two people who really got it right. We never really worked at it. It came natural."

I could see Tinu's eyes water a little as a result of the reference to her sister.

To get off the subject, I offered her a glass of wine. Both Deola and Tinu were modest drinkers. Personally I never could really taste the difference in the wines, so I always let Deola choose. Tinu went to the kitchen and came back with a pink wine she said she was fond of. I took the bottle went to the shelf to open it and get two glasses. I returned to the living-room and handed Tinu her glass and took my seat.

After taking a sip of the wine, I could not help but notice that Tinu had slightly parted her thighs giving me a few of her silky smooth upper thighs. As we talked, I found it increasingly difficult to carry a conversation, with the view I was getting.

I was not sure but I sensed that several times she caught my eyes wandering. “Can I get another glass of wine?” she asked.

“Sure” I replied, “ Let me get it for you”. I went to the kitchen and returned with a fresh glass for her. As I sat down again, I immediately noticed she had parted her legs even further. I could now see her lacy white panties between her thighs.

Ever since Deola had died, my entire sex life consisted of masturbating alone. It became so monotonous, that I might have been only indulging once a month for the past many months or so. But suddenly with this new visual stimulation, I could feel my penis swelling with absolutely no physical contact. I was trying really hard not be obvious, looking her in the eyes as we spoke. Only when she would look away, would my eyes dart down to her legs.

Strangely, I was yet to find any lady good enough to replace her. Worse still, I was not in a hurry to do so.
My beautiful sister-in-law, Tinu, was twenty-four and from what I could see, was engaged. She called me one evening as I realaxed in the sitting room of my two-bedroom apartment. Tinu was the only sibling that Deola had. Deola had explained that the reason for the gap of many years between herself and her sister was the long delay in conception their mother experienced. Despite the age gap, I could see a good bond between them when Deola was alive.

"Hello, Uncle Mike," Tinu began. She has always refrerred to me as 'Uncle Mike's. "So, how are we preparing for your fortieth birthday?"

I grunted. It was true that in some days' time, I would clock thirty-five. I was pleasantly surprised that Tinu would even remember that!

“Nothing” I told her as I grinned to myself.

“You’re turning thirty-five and you are not celebrating?” she asked with a surprise tone.

"I don't really feel like doing anything. It's going to be weekend and I would probably spend the weekend in the house," I informed her.

She replied: “We can decide to go out and at least have dinner.”
I chuckled at her suggestion. I really liked Tinu. She was always behaving so nice to me in different ways, but the thought of dinner with her was not the way I thought would be the best to spend my birthday.

"I must thank you, but ..." I was saying.

"You cannot keep shutting yourself to the world," Tinu went on. "I will come and see you tomorrow evening. See you."

With that, she cut the line. I only grinned and shrugged. As fate would have it, my former in-laws' house was at Sango which was not very far from where I lived at Ota. Again, Tinu lived her betrothed not far from their family house. So, it was not difficult for Tinu to come around.

The following day was Thursday. I was watching TV in the night when the doorbell rang, and there stood Tinu when I opened the door. We hugged briefly as she entered. There were certain striking things between Deola and Tinu. They were both beautiful and lively to be with. They also dressed with a touch of class.

Tinu, like my wife Deola, was simply stunning. She was always the lady that always dressed impeccably. We entered the sitting-room and sat down, Tinu sat on the large leather section and I sat in my favorite seat that directly faced the television set. When she was alive, Deola had decorated our home from sitting-room to the kitchen and it was simply impressive.