Chapter 8

That question was answered - things took a critical turn for the worse when one of her ladies-in-waiting came over with her phone, a few days later and showed Temilade a picture on Instagram.
“Your Highness, I didn’t realize we are welcoming your co-wife so soon.”

Looking puzzled, Temilade asked, “Co-wife ke? What do you mean?”

It was a picture on one of the popular celebrity blogs. She stared at the picture of a pretty light-skinned girl smiling into the lens, shopping bags around her. Laughing with Adebiyi’s sister. Bola Adenekan out shopping with her soon to be sister-in-law. Bola will marry Adebiyi Aderopo next month. Adebiyi is a lucky man, having two lovely ladies to call his wife. Remember, Adebiyi will marry the first Princess of Ile-Ife in a few days. Congratulations to the new family.

What the fbck!

Heart beating fast in indignation, she was meant to share her new husband with another woman.
No bloody way. Her hands on her hips as she paced her room in annoyance.
That’s not what she signed up for. Armed with this information, she confronted her betrothed that evening.

“Temilade, I don’t understand why you are kicking up a fuss about me marrying another woman after you. Her name is Bola, not that woman. Show her some respect.” They were at Moremi - one of the most expensive restaurants in town, eating dinner and discussing last-minute items for the wedding.

Excuse me! Show her some respect. Was this man for real?

Putting his fork down, Adebiyi said, “Your father has more than one wife. You grew up in a polygamous home, you’re used to it. I don’t understand what you are moaning about.”

“Oh, so you marrying someone else is not something we need to discuss?”

“No.” Shrugging while wiping his hands on a serviette. “You have no right to query my decision to take on another wife. It is going to be my house and my rules.”

“Our house, you mean.”

Pushing his plate away. “You’re lucky I am not marrying the two of you on the same day. You have that concession; so, you better be grateful.” Taking a sip of his drink, then banging the glass down in annoyance. The couple at the next table looked over.

Temilade was speechless. Who the hell did he think he was?

“I am done here; I will drop you home. I’d like to be elsewhere with Bola, who knows her place and isn’t complaining or throwing tantrums about a trivial thing of being a co-wife like a spoilt brat.”

Heart pounding, Temilade opened her mouth to talk, but words failed her. Even though there was a lot of food on her plate, the sight of it made her nauseous. Swallowing the bile rising in her throat, she needed to get away from him. She pushed her plate away. “I better not stop you from going to see whoever you want. I am done here.” Picking up her Mulberry bag and standing up.
The journey back to the palace was silent as a gamut of emotions rushed through her, but she refused to cry in front of him. She wished she had her mum around her right now.
They finally pulled up at the palace gates while waiting for the guards to open it.

He turned to her with a smile on his face. “There is nothing you can do about it, Temilade. Bola is moving into my house, the same time as you. We are marrying the week after you. There is nothing to ask you. So, you better prepare yourself for company, we shall see who produces an heir first.”

Hands shaking, she got out of the car and walked away, tears streaming down her face, feeling lost and alone, as his words echoed in her brain.
It was true, she could not defy the king, the oracle, the elders or the traditions they all held so dear. The die had been cast; the wedding had to go ahead. Faced with no other choice, she cried every evening in the run up to the wedding.
Polygamy was something she detested with every fiber of her being. The intrigues and the rivalries the outside world never saw was something she never got used to. Just because she grew up in it didn’t mean she accepted it or liked it. She could not control what family she landed in when she had been born. The dislike she had for polygamy made her pray every day never to be in the situation where she would be a second wife or have someone share her husband. Her prayers would not be answered.

The void left empty from the passing of her mum made things worse for Temilade, having no one to confide her inner turmoil to. Sam had been dealing with the terminal prognosis of Michael’s illness, she couldn’t burden her with her problems. They felt inconsequential compared to what her best friend was going through.

All this turmoil helped fuel her angst over the injustice of her position at the palace. It angered her even though she was the first-born child, her brother born of the second wife, took precedence over everything in the kingdom. Temilade had seethed with indignation and resentment anytime she’d been relegated to the sidelines. The men of the palace overlooked the fact that stubbornness, bravery, and valor were soaked in her DNA. She was a direct descendant of the lost warrior prince of Ile-Ife, after all.
Wanting to do things that would bring the kingdom into the 21st century, just like her ancestor. But she had been vetoed at every turn and with every innovative idea she had presented to the palace. Hassling them so much that eventually exasperated, they told her to get married and shut up.

Adebiyi’s assault on her in her living quarters was the last straw. Distraught, bruised, and alone, she had tried to speak to her father, but he was more concerned with the preparations and hadn’t or refused to pick up on her distress when she tried to broach the subject. Her stepmothers weren’t of any help either, they viewed her as a threat and wanted her out of the palace.
Feeling alone, betrayed, and angry; after an evening of deep contemplation while staring at the portrait of the Carpenter Prince in her room, she had followed in her ancestor’s footsteps.

She called off the wedding, switched off her phone, dumped her royal beads and fled the kingdom. In the end, instead of being silent and invisible, she brought shame and dishonor to the throne and the kingdom.

Chapter 7

Rubbing her hands over her face, Temilade shook her head, trying to chase away the memories. She was now a Bleep and dump them girl. And if they could not do the fucking properly, they were gone and blocked from her life and phone.

Ghosted.

What did the guys expect? A medal for shoddy services rendered.
Getting up, she stretched her legs; she had changed after the wedding fiasco.

For as long as Temilade could remember, her father drummed it into her - she would marry a distant cousin when she grew up. No one had discussed this with her; why would they? It had been a done deal - signed, sealed, and delivered. There was no way a girl would dare question or complain about what the men of the kingdom decided for her future. It was only later she realized she had been used as a bargaining chip to fulfill an ancient prophecy.

The oracle had preordained the marriage at her birth, and the oracle could never be wrong. The elders were adamant the union had to take place. Consequences, they murmured, consequences…
Because of her upbringing, she believed in the oracle and looked at her forthcoming marriage through the naïve rose-tinted glasses of a child who grew up watching Disney princess movies.

When the elders revealed him to her, physically Adebiyi lived up to all her addled brain romantic fantasies - sexy, tall, handsome, and confident. Saving herself for her betrothed, in all senses of the word, took root in her mind. Masturbation in her lust filled head meant she was being unfaithful, so she had focused her imagination on what her romantic, intimate, and passionate wedding night would be like with her handsome prince.

Well Bleep that, not anymore; that naïve girl had left the building.

Adebiyi, her husband to be the so-called distant cousin, had not been enamored by her when she had been revealed to him.

Temilade,on her part,had gradually grown to dislike Adebiyi, as more of his character was inadvertently revealed to her. The handsome, charming veneer hid a man who was arrogant, spiteful, controlling, and lazy. So bloody full of himself; with views on women rooted in the dark ages.
Things came to a troubling head during a visit to the palace by the groom’s family to discuss the forthcoming marriage arrangements. They had been ensconced in a room to themselves, oblivious to the surrounding people.

Temilade had wandered past the visitor reception room in the palace when she overheard her husband-to-be talking with his family.

“I will enjoy taking her down a peg or two. She needs to learn how to serve and submit to me. Princess or not.”

The malice present in his voice worried and troubled her. The two families didn’t get on because of some transgression relating to a snatched bride over 300 years ago. This marriage was meant to bury the ancient hatchet; a lot was riding on it. She heard a laugh as he continued with his gripes, much to the delight of his attentive audience.

“She is too forward, opinionated, and spoiled. Such women are not submissive or respectful. What she gets away with at the palace she dare not try it with me o, in my house. Emi okunrin meta, lai lai. All her degrees are of no significance to me. Educate a woman and they no longer know their place in society.” There was a clink as a glass was placed on a table.

“But she is a Princess, she is spoiled,” someone said.

Temilade jumped and covered her mouth to muffle her gasp. What had she done to elicit such ire from him? Her heart hammered in her chest in indignation. The bloody arrogance of it all galled her. How dare he talk about her like that in her family home?
He didn’t seem to care that he might be overheard, continuing, his footsteps echoing as he paced the room.

“She needs to know her place, and that place is servitude and submission to me and my family.” He chuckled. “Mum, I am sure you will know how to deal with a spoilt brat like her and make her life hell.”

His mother laughed in response. “Don’t worry, oko mi. We will teach her the manners she lacks the hard way. I am not surprised about her lack of home training,” she replied. “What do you expect? Her mother isn’t here to prepare her for the rigors of marriage and in-laws. If not for the insistence and authority of the elders, I would never approve of her as a wife for you.”

“She isn’t wife material,” someone else complained.

“We will show her with mouth and force how a good submissive wife behaves in our house.” Another voice piped in.

“I bet she doesn’t know how to cook.”

“I bet she doesn’t know how to pound yam.”

“Adebiyi, make sure you don’t let her have any house help o. That is the way to make her into the submissive wife she needs to be.”

“You must not let her go to work either.”

Temilade’s blood ran cold. What a joke. They were lucky to have her. An ache opened in her heart, would she be able to be with someone who didn’t like her, not to talk of him eventually touching her in such an intimate way when he claimed his rights as her husband?

Is this what she had saved herself for?

A man who viewed her with total disregard. Was this what she was letting herself into? This was nothing like the Disney films she watched growing up. This was reality, and if she didn’t critically and objectively appraise the situation, she would walk straight into an abusive marriage without a get-out clause. The society frowned on divorce; as a woman, she was supposed to grin and bear all things in a marriage. The default position being it was the woman’s fault if a marriage failed.

How was she going to cope with her new family?

Chapter 6

His friend’s words echoed in his head. Has anything changed on the home front? The trauma of Jeremy’s childhood had been made bearable by his friendship with Remi. The two of them became friends in primary school, they had then boarded together at the same exclusive secondary school in Scotland. Their nicknames had been ebony and ivory. Where there was one, the other was not too far behind.

Jeremy, who had suffered debilitating bouts of loneliness and depression, hated the school holidays, as it meant he had to go home. He invited Remi over to his home frequently, which Remi always accepted. However, the spooky encounter Remi experienced the first time he visited solidified their friendship further, like no other experience ever would. Remi still mentioned the incident in passing whenever they were together, reminiscing about their school days.

During their school years, Remi had reciprocated the gesture and had invited Jeremy over to Nigeria the summers he had gone back to his parents’ home, but Jeremy’s mother, Ingrid, had been vehemently against it. Letting him know in no uncertain terms, he wasn’t allowed to go. She didn’t mince her words on what she thought of Africa as a whole. As far as his mother was concerned, if you weren’t white, blue eyed, and blond, you were persona non grata. And there was no way she was going to tell her society friends that Jeremy had gone to Africa with his friend for the summer.

Jeremy took a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair, thinking about his birth mother and her attitude towards him always dampened his mood. His dark, almost black eyes wandered over his table; he needed coffee. It had been a restless night, his joints were playing up again, so sleep had been minimal.

If only the doctors could explain the recurring problem,he had with his joints, staring at the inconclusive results of the latest MRI the doctor had requested. It was the same response - there was nothing wrong with him. But if he needed stronger pain killers… One doctor had said that the pain was in his head, that he should see a psychiatrist.

Sure, he thought, why not, it wasn’t just his body that was falling apart. He put the report in his personal file, picked up his phone, and set off to Café Nero. Maybe the heat of Nigeria would help soothe away the pain in his joints and soul.

Chapter 5

Temilade walked back to her desk, sat down and squinted at the screen of her laptop; there were a lot of red squiggly lines on her power point slide. Sighing, she reached for her bag and pulled out her glasses.

Frantically trying to put the finishing touches to the presentation, she was delivering to a select committee of financiers from both the public and private sector in parliament the next day.

She had taken the afternoon off from work, as she needed to visit her warehouse in Shoreditch. The state-of-the-art CCTV system installed helped her monitor the daily operations remotely. Harpreet, her manager, ensured the smooth running of the business and slackers/stealers where dealt with before Temilade voiced the fact she wanted to discipline or sack a member of staff.

The idea for the clothesline had come to her in a recurring dream, but indecision and a generous lack of self-confidence had plagued her for a while. Eventually, she had gone ahead with her ideas, keeping the concept simple. Ten pieces of men’s clothing with a bird logo.

The brand appealed to the brave and rich. Her customers knew they were buying quality, exclusivity, and uniqueness. The clothing had been showcased regularly in several top fashion magazines, the mysterious, eerie, intricate fabric design drawing people in. The identity of the designer, purposefully shrouded in anonymity and mystery, helped add another layer of mystique.

The strategy worked as sales had gradually gone through the roof. Being an online only store helped generate interest. Brand awareness had been improved by having pop ups at key fashion events, which kept overheads down and ensured the women who worked for her got a decent wage. There were no white shirts in her portfolio, the bird she identified with was not white, and depending on the shadow, the plumage could be red, black, or green. So, she had stuck to those colors.

Getting up from her desk to stretch her legs, she looked down into the warehouse from her office and watched as her staff scurried about to complete their tasks. Ladies hunched over sewing machines, others by the labeling machine getting orders ready for dispatch.

There was a smile on her face as she looked over to the dress bag hanging on her door; she needed to put the finishing touches on her friend’s wedding dress. Sam, her best friend, was getting married in Nigeria. She was so happy for her, as Sam had given up on finding love again after her husband died. The two of them had met while doing their A- levels and had remained firm friends since they also shared certain interests. As they got older, they both embraced the things that set them apart from the other ladies in their circle.

Sam, a psychologist, had helped her both off and on the couch. What was the point of seeing another therapist when she had a friend who was one? And as a token of gratitude, she had designed her wedding dress. The only thing left to do, which she would do when she got to Lagos, was to finish the seam on the side just in case Sam had been busy eating too many cakes with her soon to be husband.

She missed him; she could not deny that. Their discussions, arguments, talking about how their individual days had been. Eating together with their hands from the same plate. Him cooking for her when people were not around watching them, he was an exceptional cook; it was a secret they shared with no one else. Shaking her head, she banished the thoughts to the empty box in her mind and slammed it shut.

Temilade sighed, Sam was lucky, she on the other hand, had sworn off men and marriage. Watching loved up couples created a pang of longing, the pangs turning into episodes of melancholy, with self-doubt eating away at her soul. Making her wonder if she had done the right thing - calling off her royal wedding two days before the momentous event.

Chapter 4

Ile-Ife present day

The loud patter of raindrops on the roof of his bedroom shattered the peace of his morning meditation. It was 6AM the Ooni got up and went about his morning ablutions. He liked to meditate before the day started, relishing the solitude and the opportunity to pray and get ready for the day ahead. And after that, move on to read the financial pages in the peace and quiet of his chambers.

There was one financial blog that he followed religiously, The Financial Raven. The global political and financial editorials were second to none. Whoever curated the news was well versed in international current affairs. The blog had appeared as a suggested follow on one of the social media sites he had on his tablet. It had been the logo, one morning around eight months ago, that had evoked strong dormant emotions in him. His fingers tracing over the logo, drawing him in. Regret and sadness heavy in his eyes and heart as he stared at it, making him realize how much he missed her.

The logo looked hand drawn, like the hundreds of drawings locked away in his desk. Every week without fail, from the time she could hold a pencil, she had given him a present. A hand drawn picture of a bird in various poses. It became their weekly ritual; when he traveled whenever he returned, a drawing would be waiting for him on his desk.

Her prodigious talent grew the older she got, highlighting the creativity his ancient family was famous for. She could look at anything once and draw it from memory. Numerous people home and abroad had told her to take her talent further and go to art school. Her response - there was nothing more a western art school could teach her. Telling people her talent came from her ancestor, the Carpenter Prince. To some people her attitude came across as arrogant, she shrugged it off, her work spoke for itself.

He smiled at the memory; he missed her.

The legend of the Carpenter Prince or the Lost Prince as he was known in some quarters, and his carvings still attracted tourists from all over the world to the palace. Unfortunately, some of the valuable artefacts had been looted from Ile-Ife and were now showcased in various museums across the world under immense security.

Legend had it that some of the Carpenter Prince’s most prized carvings still existed, and they would one day find their way back to Ile-Ife. It was a deep-rooted belief; the people of the town believed the artefacts would one day return to their rightful home.
The older she got, the more stubborn, inquisitive, and bold she became, insisting on playing an active role in the kingdom, as the firstborn and first princess. Disney channel helped cement her beliefs of her role in the kingdom. Having watched the programs and films with vested interest.

True, she was the firstborn, but she was a girl. He got weary having to explain to her time and time again that her younger brother, by his other wife, would be the chief representative of the kingdom, not her. Those words riled her, even at such a young age. Her eyes glittered with indignation and annoyance, with words muttered under her breath. His reply to her tantrums had always been she needed to marry, have children, and look after her family. Insisting those responsibilities would not leave much time for her to deal with the affairs of the kingdom.

Those words usually set her off as she seethed at the unfairness of it all. With hindsight, he should have known better. Abike was also academically brilliant, leaving school at 15, with 12 A* GCSE’s and 4 A*A-levels. Gaining admission at sixteen to study at Oxford and Cambridge, just to mention a few. She eventually studied economics and finance at the London School of Economics and after gained a master’s in international relations and another one in international finance.

Her plan and vision - open Ile-Ife to the world and create a tourism conduit with the west. Explaining to him that there was currently enormous interest in all things African and where else to start that renaissance than Ile-Ife the cradle of all civilization. The plans had been bold and full of passion. Having drawn up the documents detailing how they would get financial backing and partnerships from some of the biggest firms and banks in the world.

The plans would have worked if she had been at the helm. Instead of encouraging her, he had purposely and cruelly torn down her dreams and aspirations.

Adesina12:


And she hasn't ventured into yahoo guys' adventure?
I pray she falls into one yahoo guy trap, then she will understand the real meaning of adventure.
i beg update sharp sharp.
sweet popcorn for you babe

Temilade will show any yahoo boy

Adesina12:


Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous!!!!
Adventurous
I laf in Lasgidi!! Kwantinu...
Sweet popcorn for you dear

She is adventurous, or she knows what she wants sex without the hassle of a relationship

Adesina12:
Temilade the public hoeee!!!
Erotic Queen!!! Who is Temilade?
Why she does not want relationship except casual sex?
Is she a feminist? Has she not gotten her match in the bed business?
Is orgasm her condition to be/stay with a man?
We are waiting for more info on the above questions.
Sweet popcorn for you.

All will be revealed.
But is she a hoe... Having lots of partners just makes her adventurous...
Is she a feminist....hmm continue reading

Adesina12:
So, this Jeremmy of man is kinda related to Ademuyiwa if I am truly following.
Anyway, we are waiting for the erotic Queen to clear the coast.
Sweet popcorn for you.

popcorn accepted.... New chapter has dropped.....

Chapter 3

“Ricardo, what do you want?” Rubbing her closed eyelids, annoyed with herself for answering the call.

“I am just calling about the text you sent. I thought we were getting on so well. I really like you.”

Temilade stared at the phone and shook her head. “Ricardo, we were meant to be casual acquaintances who have sex. It was never meant for declaring an undying passion for each other. And it certainly wasn’t a relationship.”

There was silence on the other end.

“The rules of engagement were no strings attached sex. That means casual sex partners.” Pausing for breath. “Remember, you stressed this when we met.” She heard a sigh on the other end.

“I find you so cold, no wonder you’re single.”

“Being single is not a disease, you know. In case you haven’t noticed, you’re single too.”

“Are all of your kind like this, I should have known that you would be difficult.”

Laughing and shaking her head, she bristled in annoyance. “What exactly do you mean by difficult? Because I am not all over you like a rash, you think I am being difficult.”

If he wanted someone to adore him like a trophy, unfortunately he was barking up the wrong iroko tree. He was arrogant and conceited; he had every reason to be. Ricardo had the smoldering Italian looks that had women wetting their knickers while their clits pulsated with desire. His 6’4 physique oozed confidence, masculinity and edginess testament to a man who worked out. But the arrogance she initially deemed attractive as confidence was now bordering on something sinister and controlling.

“What do you want, Ricardo? A badge for being a good Bleep or what. Look, I don’t ride the same dick twice. I did with you, but now it’s time for me to move on.”

“Move on to what? The next man? What exactly are you looking for, little one? I can give it to you.”

You can’t. Just get off the phone. Clenching her fingers in annoyance.

“Your feistiness is so sexy; it reminds me of the feisty Italian women back home. You Bleep well too, I like that.”

Of course, it is until you want to tamp it down, she thought.

“I can’t understand why you are so full of yourself. You should be happy that I even got with you.”

What! Temilade looked into the phone, wishing his face was there, and bash him through the airwaves.

“I normally don’t go for girls like you.” He continued.

His meaning was crystal clear. What the Bleep!! The cheek of it. If only he knew who she really was.
Temilade laughed. “But you did, Ricardo. And it is my prerogative to move on. Goodbye.” Pressing the red button and blocking his number for good measure, she got up and stretched her legs.
What a bloody cheek.

Did he think he was doing her a favor by going out with her?
Idiot.

The one before Ricardo; Femi had called and texted, but she had blocked his less than one-minute arse. Did he really expect her to waste her time with a re-run?

Maybe it was high time to be celibate; the men she had her casual hookups with moaned and whined when she dumped them. They felt used, abused and dumped. Which was ironic, as they were the ones who stressed they did not want a relationship, and when she abided by their rules, they begged her to stay. Men were difficult to understand, she thought as she walked over to the glass window in her office.

Sex with Ricardo had been ok, he had lasted more than Femi’s sixty seconds, but he still had a lot to learn in that department. It was not what she really wanted, but one had to make do and not scare the men away.
And that was what it had been with Ricardo. Sex. Pure and simple.

Relationships weren’t her thing; she shuddered at the thought. Ricardo was angry that he was being treated and discarded the same way he treated women.

The first time they had sex had been at his place and she had left an hour later and didn’t call him. Unable to take the silent treatment, he had called two days later.

“Hey sexy, how come I have not heard from you? You didn’t even send me a message to say you got home in one piece. Is everything ok? I hope you enjoyed our evening together.”

She knew exactly what he was fishing for. Did she enjoy the sex they had? It had been passable. Not great, since she didn’t orgasm. That problem had been resolved when she returned home. He certainly wasn’t getting any medals for that lack luster performance.

“I am ok Ricardo, if something had happened, I wouldn’t be here speaking to you, would I?”

Why would she call? She had thanked him at his place for the tasty meal - pasta. Which was nice, but she didn’t owe him anything else.

“You are so funny, why don’t you come over tonight?”

She needed an itch scratched that night, so she had taken him up on his offer and had broken her one dick ride rule. But it was now time to move on. There was a reason she did not visit the same place twice. It was time to keep her legs crossed, men and their accompanying drama was doing her head in.

Divepen1:
I've been following your advert about this book before its publication. I never knew it was another Lekki Club thing na.

I'd definitely buy this too.

Thank you.

Rosemary33:
Thank you for the update, OP

Chapter 2

Jeremy sucked in air at the sudden, sharp shooting pain in his wrist as he grappled with the tape he was using to measure the circumference of his head. He had forgotten to take his pills that morning.

“Jeremy, you need to make it looser on your forehead.” The voice and face of his childhood friend was admonishing him over Skype from Lagos. “Turn slightly, let me see you. Hmm, let it out an inch. That’s better; we don’t want you looking like a pale wooden mannequin, my friend.”

Jeremy laughed, loosening the tape round his forehead. “Is this good enough?” he asked, writing the numbers into the chat box on the screen for Remi to pass on to the fashion designer in Lagos, Nigeria.

Remi’s head peered in closer on the screen. “Move your head to the left, mate, hmm, not bad. Ok, I think we have it, I will ask the tailor to add a bit of leeway for the caps. You know, just in case your head swells when all those pretty, sexy, ladies swoon all over you in Lagos, especially now that you are so tanned.” Laughing at his joke. “Or when you give them that lost boy look of yours. I can’t wait for you to arrive; we are going to paint Lekki red. Saying that you and the rest of the guys can. I have to be a good boy or else…” Smiling into the screen.

“You better be… Or else.”

“A nice hot Lekki romance will help you unwind from your ever so demanding role of head groomsman. A lot can happen in the space of two weeks.” Winking at him. “Let your hair down, loosen your belt and forget about everything.” He paused, a serious look on his face. “How are things with your family, any changes?

He shrugged, that never changed.

“How’s things with you and Amanda? Is she coming?”

He and slim, blond, blue eyed Amanda had been seeing each other for three months. But she had dumped him via text two weeks ago. Her complaints - he was emotionally retarded and crap in bed. It stung. But he would not make that confession to playboy Remi.
Jeremy shook his head. “Remi, you’re impossible. Amanda and I are no more.”

“Sorry to hear that, her loss. More reason for a two-week romance in Lagos, to help you get Amanda out of your system.”

“If you were sitting here, I would throw this tape measure at you. How can anyone have a full-blown romance in two weeks?”

Remi smiled. “Two weeks is a long time, my friend. I’ve had a full-blown romance, the ‘I love you’ and break up in two weeks, that’s what we players do.”

Jeremy rolled his eyes. “Are you happy with the other measurements, I will leave it to you to decide on the styles? Just make this tiny white boy look like a big man, naija style o.”

“No problem, big man Jez, I also have a big favor to ask of you when you arrive, but I will update you about that before you leave London. Right, I must go Ibukun needs to eat, bye.”

Jeremy pressed end, stood up and walked to the window at the end of his vast office and looked down onto the streets of Shoreditch. The sun was shining, and for once the skies were pristine blue. London was in the middle of a record-breaking heat wave. He could testify to that - his skin’s hue had changed. The presence of the sun saw people cheerily going about their business. Ladies in frilly, floaty dresses, the welcome unexpected gusts of wind showcasing their legs and, sometimes, more. Men brave enough were in long shorts. The dress code was not unusual as the area his office was in was full of the creative types. Suits stood out in this area, irrespective of the sun or the weather.
Shoreditch in East London had transformed significantly and was now known as the silicon roundabout of the UK. Attracting the top and upcoming tech firms into its hippy surroundings. The older, historic City of London was no longer a cool place to be for the young and upcoming startups. That was for the old, stuffy folk and firms, the newbie incomers retorted.

The influx of the new online tech firms helped create a renaissance for an area of London previously known for drugs, gangs, violence, and poverty. It was now home to some of the trendiest and expensive clubs, pubs, bars, coffee shops, eateries and companies in the UK.
His business fit in effortlessly a security consulting firm. NEVAR Consulting was one of the top security companies in the country, working with private and government organizations across the world. The company also dealt with finding things human or otherwise, hence why his associates called him ‘The Locator.’

There was always a trail, and they would find it. Hacking was also a key skill in his line of business, but he chose not to, unless it was absolutely necessary. The stuff he and Remi got up to during their university days had been legendary; it was a miracle they had never been caught.
Turning around, he bent down and rubbed his knee, lost in thought and excitement as he walked back to his desk, having just finished a video call with his childhood friend Remi Olapade and his mum in Lagos.

The call had been to get his body measurements for the aso ebi to be used at Remi’s upcoming engagement ceremonies, being held in two different states in Nigeria and thankfully one wedding ceremony in Lagos. That meant three different traditional custom-made outfits for Jeremy; apart from the suit he would wear to the church. Shaking his head in amusement, he was in the wrong business; he should be in the textile business and move to Nigeria. Nigerian weddings, especially the Yoruba ones, were incomplete without aso ebi. It was a running joke in Nigeria that they would sew aso ebi even if their pet died.

Smiling as he remembered the call, he had a while back with Remi, who had explained all the traditions involved in getting married in Nigeria. The whole thing fascinated him, as he had always been curious and keen to learn more about Remi’s Yoruba heritage, family, and traditions for his own private and complicated reasons.

This wedding would be the perfect cover and excuse for a clandestine visit to Ile-Ife in Nigeria.

Odewaleadesoye:

The green man just landed.
Thanks for the mention. @Adesina12
It's been a while @Lleigh
Guess you're back with back to back stories this time.
Accept my little sweet popcorn.

Received with thanks

kayobeyi:
Hello all. Seems this thread is interesting

Good morning

do4luv14:




Ah no dey vex, but I don't understand oooo, from Prince Ademuyiwa to Femi the one minutes guy,

ayam not understanding oooo

Patience is a virtue... it will all be revealed..

do4luv14:




naim make you wan go on strike, wey you never update since,


BTW were that Ade sef

Make you no vex o. I beg...

Adesina12:
The Queen of erotic write up is back
Are we going to branch at Lekki Club?
Meanwhile, who is Temilade and who is Femi Curchill
(the one seconds man)?
Waiting impatiently for the update
Sweet popcorn for you my sweetie kisses
Someone is jealous of us here.
Please ebawa perosoko oooo
Call your people to come and read sweet romantic erotic and action write up
Sweet popcorn for una

Adeshina, we do branch at the Lekki Club... But you have to have enough popcorn for the ride 0

Chapter 1,

“Oh, baby, you’re so tight,” he groaned.
Temilade’s mind wandered as the guy on top of her thrust his way to his orgasm. The velocity and method of his thrusts was nothing to write home about. If they were, her mind would be occupied with what was happening. pre-intimacy wasn’t in his repertoire, and she hadn’t been invited to the solo orgasm party he was attending.
Wanting to enjoy the occasion, she tried to roll him over a few times and take charge, but no, he wasn’t having it as he kept her down, pulling her feet apart.
“Is this how you want it, baby?” Trying hard and failing to impart his dominance over her.
No, it’s not. Rough play was ok in her world, only if she was the one doing it. Sexual submission to a man or woman wasn’t her thing.
“Oh baby, you’re so good.” Panting as he grabbed her boobs as if they were handles to stop him from falling off a roller coaster ride.
But you’re not.
Ok, so he had a reasonably sized dick, but he didn’t know how to use the bloody thing. Thrusting in and out of her as if making pounded yam while trying to shift her womb was not enjoyable sex for her.
If she had her whip, she would have whipped him into shape and submission for such a lousy performance. Luckily for him and his backside, she wasn’t interested in expending such energy, and she wasn’t in her playroom, either.
This was the vanilla world; an orgasm with him was not on the cards, and he wasn’t getting a call back. Not that he would anyway; she rode a dick once and moved on. Life was too short to waste energy on a bad Bleep, which produced zero orgasms.
Femi, the guy currently fucking himself as he certainly was not fucking her, had been all mouth and now less than sixty seconds in, was about to cum.
Cum?
What kind of fuckery was that?
Didn’t men know about orgasm control? If she had her way, it would be taught as part of sex education for the over 25’s for both men and women.
What was the point of going for a young Bleep boy who could not Bleep and last long in bed?
She sighed.
He must have noticed her apathy as he tried to engage her, but it was too late as he erupted into his condom, his work complete.
Closing her eyes, she waited for him to recover from his solo effort and smiled. Getting up, she headed to the bathroom - to clean up and leave. She was not riding this dick again.

do4luv14:



Is like you don forget this thread, go from Ade dey chop popcorn abi


come and sama us update, before ah report you to sai Baba

I know fit forget you nau....

He hasn't provided the popcorn....

Adesina12:

Abi you missed me?�

I am surprised you still remember me self.

I miss the pop corn o.

####

The day of his departure finally arrived; the missionaries had said their goodbyes to the king the day before.
Early that morning, his father, through his trusted messenger, summoned Ademuyiwa to his chambers. Not knowing what to expect, he entered with fear and trepidation.
His father was sitting on his throne, his hands on two etched male carvings, fashioned into the armrests of the throne. The faces looked real, benevolent, and full of awareness in the dim light of dawn. They were alone.
Adding a mysterious backdrop to the eerie silence in the room were two unusual bags on top of carved wooden storage boxes.
His father’s eyes were bright. “Come in, my son. Come and sit next to me.” His voice catching and soft, unlike his deep, cold, authoritarian baritone.

Shocked, Ademuyiwa walked over, hesitant, and sat near his feet.

“Omo ti ekun babi ekun ni jo.” Staring at his staff, deep in thought. He nodded. “You are even more daring than I was at your age, and I was a fearsome warrior. The true son of a warrior will always take after his father. I shouldn’t be surprised.”
This was a side to his father he’d never seen before.

“I don’t want you to leave my son, but you have decided to, and I must respect your brave decision. I am so proud of you, my son. You are the true son of a warrior, omo oduduwa.”

Ademuyiwa blinked and his mouth opened - this wasn’t the response he was expecting.
“The gods have spoken. Who am I to question their logic and wisdom?” His father stared at him and picked up the first bag. “Look after everything in this bag, Ademuyiwa. You must not lose it. Guard it with your life. Whoever holds it will find their way back home here to the palace and will protect them from…” His voice cracked.

Heart pounding, Ademuyiwa took the bag off his father.

His father breathed deeply and paused as he composed himself before giving him the second bag. “Ademuyiwa, use these items to trade with the white man, do not sell them cheap. They are priceless and are of incredible value to the Yoruba people, the Gods carved them. Only sell them if you have to and make sure they don’t know how desperate you are when you do. And if you can, make sure you buy them back.” A weak smile appeared on his face as he tried to crack a joke. “They are precious to the Yoruba people; rumored to have been carved by the gods themselves.”
The hairs on the back of his neck raised as a white mist swirled slowly in the dark corner of his father’s chambers. Soft voices called out to him as he rubbed the goose bumps on his arms before he turned his attention back to his father.

“They have made you a caretaker - they’re tasking you with safeguarding the items in these boxes. Guard them with your life and bring them back.”
Who were they?

The carvings on the throne blinked and subtly moved their heads towards the mist. Ademuyiwa’s eyes bulged out of his sockets in fright.
“Your talent for carving will take you far, my son. People all over the world will come to know who you are, and you will be feted by influential and famous people across the oceans.” He paused with his hand on his staff. “ranti omo to je Ademuyiwa. Remember whose son you are, that of the Ooni of Ile-Ife. Never ever forget, you are a Prince from the ancient town of Ile-Ife, the seat of civilization. A direct descendant of Oduduwa. Omo mi, Ademuyiwa, you are the ambassador of all the Yoruba people to the white man’s land. Be a great one o. Always do your best to honor your father’s name. I hope to see you again, my son,” his father said with sadness in his eyes.

####

The Ooni, having realized that his favorite son, the Carpenter Prince, was leaving with or without his blessing, had consulted the palace oracle. Armed with its answers, he decided not to share the outcome with his son. However, he made one compromise; he asked the elders to do special protection rituals, for the long and arduous journey Ademuyiwa would undertake to the white man’s land. Thankfully, his son didn’t refuse; he understood the importance of such ancient Yoruba rituals.

This was not a journey to the other surrounding towns or villages, this was different. A trip no one in the town had ever embarked upon.
Ooni Adewale looked at his beloved son, tears pooled in his eyes, he blinked to keep them at bay. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he took a deep breath and tried to appear stoic. As the Ooni of Ile-Ife he couldn’t be seen crying; his title was not that of a mere mortal, but a god. God’s did not cry. Even as the face of his one and only love stared back at him, talking to him through their first son, a god will not cry.
Oh, how he missed Adeyemisi’s presence. His first and only love. The passion he had felt for her had been all consuming and unmatched. Images of him laying his head on her lap appeared while she played with his hair, something he had never done nor would do with any of his other wives. Even the newest one who thought she had him under her spell.

The other wives who he had married due to the obligation of duty and tradition were not passionate unions in the same vein of Adeyemisi. Her place would forever be protected in his heart. The city had needed him to produce a prince, and the gods in their wisdom had decided the crown prince would not be her gift to bear.

His heart had broken into tiny pieces when she had died unexpectedly because of a mysterious pain in her stomach and debilitating rounds of inexplicable pain in her joints. They had tried everything, but it had all been futile.
He wished he had spent more time with her when she was alive. Now her first child was going to leave him as well as another piece of his heart broke into tiny pieces.

The palace oracle had not minced its words delivering the message of the gods to the king - if Prince Ademuyiwa left the kingdom, the king would never see his son again.

However, fate had pronounced the prince had a prophecy to fulfill for the town beyond the city walls.
The sighting of a white fox in the city of Ile-Ife would herald the Prince’s imminent return. The message continued - the king and the palace elders needed to ensure each successive king knew the importance of this sighting. His return would bring fame, fortune; pomp and prosperity as never experienced before or after to the kingdom.

It would be the talk of Ile-Ife for generations. It would be the talk of the world.

The mention of the fox had troubled the king - they were cunning, wild, and dangerous creatures. But he had never seen a white one before. Well, he had never seen a white man before and they had turned up, so the existence of white foxes was a distinct possibility.
Ensuring he adhered to the oracle’s message, the Ooni made a decree. Whenever a white fox is sighted in the kingdom - the palace has to be notified immediately.

He wrote the decree cum prophecy in the sacred book of the palace, to be passed down to the next king just as the book had been passed to him.

Adesina12:
Welcome back Lleigh
Sweet popcorn for you.

I have missed the popcorn

Ile-Ife c.1720.
The slap on his cheek, stinging his skin into protest, was the final straw. With pain radiating from his cheek, Prince Ademuyiwa walked out of his brother’s room, fists clenched smack-bang in the middle of a heated argument.
“Come back here right now, Ademuyiwa! How dare you walk out on me while I am still talking to you?” His brother’s eyes bulged in anger. “Don’t you know who I am?” he bellowed.
I do. He didn’t look back. The words dimming as he walked out of the room and the palace. He needed to clear his head. Breathing shallow hurried breaths, hands still clenched at his side, Ademuyiwa seethed with anger and resentment.
At 6’4, the dark, well built, and handsome Prince cut a dashing figure in Ile-Ife, making the hearts and clits of the young ladies in the kingdom, flutter, and throb with excitement any time his dark brown, soulful eyes held their gaze. The muscle definition on his arms and chest bore testament to a man who worked hard. Contrasting starkly to the soft potbellied body of his older brother, who called upon his servants for everything.
As he walked under the sunlight, the muscles on his shirtless torso gleamed, smooth and shimmery–like ebony wood, his favorite medium for carving. Beautiful, haunting, wooden carvings and sculptures that had given birth to his nickname ‘The Carpenter Prince’ across the continent of Africa. Some so lifelike and real they scared people who stared at them.
The palace displayed his carvings alongside other mysterious sculptures, legend had it they had been chiseled by the gods of the Yoruba people. Visitors gazed upon them in awe, willing to trade anything of value in exchange for one of them. But the king always rebuffed their overtures, telling whoever would listen that the prince’s talent came from the gods themselves. Most people would not and could not dispute that fact.
Calming down, Ademuyiwa took a deep breath and raked his fingers through his hair as he stood outside the palace, staring east. The sun that afternoon was unrelenting in its intensity, deepening the hue of his skin even further. Intensifying the darkening his skin underwent during the hot season, earning him another nickname - Duduyemi.
His eyes deepened with melancholy as he battled with the resolve and courage needed to deliver his news to his father, the King - the Ooni of Ile-Ife.
He was leaving the kingdom and going to the white man’s land to seek his fortune. Trading ancient Yoruba artefacts and his wooden carvings with them and bringing back goods that would be useful and culturally beneficial to the kingdom. If the white man had found them at Ile-Ife, that meant he, Ademuyiwa could find other people in different lands around the world and trade with them. In his mind, the opportunities were endless.
Having made the momentous decision calmed and soothed him - a great weight lifted off his shoulders. The enormity of what he was about to embark on finally dawned on him as he contemplated his father’s reaction to his outlandish plans.
Deep in thought, he walked over to his workshop and picked up his current carving, a female figurine. The sharp blade glittered in the sunlight as he gouged grooves into the gleaming soft wood, releasing the heady smell of fresh mahogany into the air.
Putting the knife down, he wiped the sweat off his face, then picked up a stiff cloth, letting his mind wander as he polished, wishing he was erasing the smirk off his brother’s face instead.
The need for him to get away from the kingdom was growing stronger by the day. Competing with his brother was exhausting; added to that, he was frustrated with his stepmother’s scheming ways. His half-brother in a bid to show him who was boss and who mattered in the household, had laid claim to the woman he was meant to marry - a distant cousin, a beautiful, sexy, voluptuous girl from one of the other royal ruling houses of Ile-Ife. Imagining his brother’s bumbling hands on her beautiful brown skin filled him with rage.
It was times like this that he missed his mother, Olori Adeyemisi, the first wife and only love of his father. But as fate would have it, his mother didn’t get pregnant soon enough after the marriage, in the eyes of the palace busy bodies. They persuaded the king to take another wife as the elders constantly reminded him - he needed to produce an heir imminently. The new wife got pregnant within weeks of her arrival at the palace and gave birth to the first son, the crown prince. Ironically, his mother gave birth to him four months later, but the damage was done.
Growing up he’d been subjected to listening to his half-brother remind him day-in, day-out that Ademuyiwa would forever be the second prince, the spare, seen but never heard. Ramming it down his face on every occasion that he was the favored son and the crown prince of the ancient kingdom.
The years went by and his mother had another son, his brother Aderemi, but she died after battling a brief mysterious illness, when Aderemi was ten. Her death, a welcome release from the agonizing pain. It had broken his heart that he’d been unable to slay the dragon of malaise consuming her.
The palace became unbearable when his father took on another wife, knocking his stepmother off the important pedestal she thought she solely inhabited. The new wife, witty, fiery, and beautiful enchanted the king and dominated his spare time.
Wanting to see the world had long been a dream Ademuyiwa had secretly harbored, as the years rolled by, the dreams became more frequent and vivid.
The arrival of the white missionaries to his hometown helped renew his fervor to travel and explore once he mastered their languages.
He found the white man fascinating; the missionaries who had ventured their way opened his eyes to a world beyond his town. Learning to read and write their languages came to him easily and naturally, much to their surprise.
With Ademuyiwa becoming the go-to person, when the missionaries wanted to speak to the locals or his father the king, and vice versa. With their help, his enunciation improved, surprising them even further. It was obvious his intelligence and skills amazed and intrigued them. Their attitude irritated him; the white man seemed oblivious to the fact that the Yoruba people, language, and culture had existed long before the arrival of the missionaries.
Armed with these new and specialist skills helped deepen Ademuyiwa’s resolve to go traveling. He would go to their land, come back and be the warrior prince his lazy older by four months brother would never be. His younger brother Aderemi who looked up to him didn’t want him to leave. It hurt to see the sadness in his eyes, but he promised him he would return to the kingdom and look after him. Assuring him his absence was temporary.
Two days later, after the show down with his brother, he went to see his father. Having timed his arrival to coincide with his father’s evening meal. Which he ate alone while communing with the spirits of his ancestors, he wouldn’t be surprised if they ate together. “Good evening, Kabiyesi.”
“Ademuyiwa, my son, what brings you here? Have you eaten?” Pointing to the food - pounded yam accompanied with a steaming bowl of egusi and goat meat.
His stomach rumbled as the savory aroma of the egusi made with palm oil played havoc on his senses. His mouth watered and he licked his lips as he imagined the different types of meat in the bowl. When alone he saw a softer side to his father, most people didn’t know existed.
“I am fine, Kabiyesi. I have eaten.” Not wanting to waste time with pleasantries in case he lost his nerve. “Baba mi, I have an important matter to discuss with you.”
His father was an intimidating man in all senses of the word, having been a fearsome warrior in his youth. The stories of his bravery were legendary in and out of the kingdom. In addition, as the Ooni of Ile-Ife, he was not a man, but a god, and most people didn’t want to experience the ire of such an entity.
“I am traveling to the white man’s land. I want to trade my carvings with them and bring back items I think will be beneficial to the city. Opening up a profitable and long-term trade route between the two nations.” He paused to gauge his father’s reaction. “I am leaving with the white missionaries in three days.”
The king’s hand paused midway to his mouth. “Ademuyiwa, what nonsense is this? Have you been drinking palm wine? You want to go where?” He laughed. “Do you know what you are talking about?”
He grimaced and nodded.
“You want to go to the white man’s land? Did you put something in your mouth, to come and talk to me?” Taking a sip of water from a carved wooden mug. “You do know who you’re talking to, don’t you?”
I do. Gazing at the bowl of egusi, he couldn’t meet his father’s eyes.
The king shook his head. “Ehn, look at this boy. Are you asking me Ademuyiwa or are you telling me? Whichever one it is, the answer is no.” Finally putting the morsel of pounded yam in his mouth. He picked a piece of meat from his bowl. “If you are restless, then it’s time for you to get married. Sex and a new bride should kill any wanderlust you have.” Staring at his bare torso and putting the meat in his mouth. “There are lots of girls in the kingdom ready to be your concubine even after you get married.”
“Kabiyesi, you are aware my brother is going to marry the girl the elders had decided for me.” Cracking his knuckles, he took a deep breath, looking for the strength and courage to continue.
“He is your older brother; he has every right to take and marry her if he wants to. There are other girls in the kingdom, you can marry.” Putting another morsel of food in his mouth. “You don’t even have to stick to one, take two, and all this nonsense you’re talking about will stop.”
Ademuyiwa clenched his jaw and took a deep breath. “Baba mi, please give me your blessing and I will go happy in peace, knowing I have honored you. Or you don’t give me your blessing and I will still go.”
His father stilled, then washed his fingers in a bowl and stared at his son in consternation.
“You will not browbeat me into settling for a boring and unfulfilling life. I am sick and tired of the politics and backstabbing of the palace. I am leaving, father. I’m putting you on notice. Good night.” With that, he walked out of his chambers. Hoping and praying to see the dawn of the new day.
His father’s ire was legendary.

How strong is the bond of blood that ties us together down the generations?
A white artic fox. A raven. A Scottish Castle.
What links these three things together?

Jeremy, the titled, suave, successful entrepreneur, still carries the scars of abandonment and
rejection from his birth mother. His relationships with women have been toxic and brief.

The wedding of his best friend Remi Olapade gives him the once in a lifetime opportunity to visit Nigeria
and the ancient sacred town of Ile-Ife.
His visit takes on an unexpected twist when he meets Ebony, who invites him to The Lekki Club and sets him on a
journey of sexual discovery that has nothing to do with his role of 'head groomsman' at the wedding.
A two week sexual encounter that will change his life forever.

But Jeremy's trip to Nigeria is not all what it seems, he is on a clandestine mission,
using the wedding as a cover to get the information he needs.
As he tries to unravel the myth and facts behind his family's curse.
He finds some answers in the ancient town of Ile-Ife where he is confronted with the legend of the White Fox.

Rosemary33:
Okadabooks reader, here is the link to the full story. Please do well to check it out, download and read.

https://test.okadabooks.com/book/about/detail/44642

Sis, Anna2012 this is the link to the full story.

Beautiful

pcicero:


Babe, you have written an enchanting an enthralling story. Kisses �.
You're made for the top.

Thank you

Kawo9ze:
Such a nice story, its sad you didnt complete it Lleigh

I am going to publish it next year. But my other books are now in book stores