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Kismet.

I'd always been a believer. From the little girl of eleven who was separated from her parents, to the woman I was now.

•
Twelve years ago

Blood. Gunshots. Screams of agony pierced the still night air.

They had come again, and this time they wanted blood.

Grandpa was telling his nighttime stories when we heard the first shot. He paused for a while and listened, before dismissing it as the sound of a neighbour chopping firewood that late.
He hadn't gone far, before the sounds began again and papa rushed in and told us to file outside as quietly as we could through the back door.

The stench of burning thatch and flesh filled the air. The night was aglow from the flames burning all around. Baby wouldn't stop crying. She couldn't understand why she'd been roused roughly from her sleep.

I slipped my small hands into mama's own, and she guarded me along, as my legs had failed me from fear.

The trek was long and full of twists and turns. Low branches tore at my skin. I'd stepped twice into some thick, slippery liquid, but mama would cover my eyes and refuse to let me look. I was already getting tired of walking, my legs were hurting. Baby had fallen asleep again.
We had already entered grandpa's farm when it happened.

My body was pulled down suddenly as mama's weight collapsed on me.

She managed to open her mouth and whisper to me, just as papa and grandpa fell down with grunts and stopped moving. Run, she said.
I was only a little girl faced with the decision of taking baby along or not.

I was scared but the sound of footsteps drawing nearer hastened my decision and I strapped baby to my back and started running. I knew I couldn't outrun these men, so I did the only thing my little mind could think of, and hid in a ditch where papa kept palm kernel shells, praying for baby to remain silent.

I waited there for hours, and woke up to find sunlight streaming into the hole. I'd slept off from exhaustion, and baby had mercifully been quiet.

Gingerly, I made my way out of the ditch, after making sure the noise had stopped, and retraced my way to the village.

I was hungry, and baby needed to be fed.
I passed a lot of corpses on the road, including that of mama, papa and grandpa. I was scarred for life.

I'd later made my way to a nearby village, and gotten adopted by a couple after they'd heard my story.

Baby got adopted by another couple and they left the village, finally separating me from the last of my kin.

I was a lonely little girl, with scars etched too deep into my memory, that I found it hard making friends.


•
Now




I'd grown up to be a beautiful woman. I fell in love and got married to a man who was nearly twice my age.

Our marriage was okay. We loved and respected each other, but I always felt he was hiding his past.

We'd been married two years when I discovered his hideous secret.


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My AFFAIR WITH RICHMOND had lasted for three months. We were besotted with each other, our relationship was unique and seemed perfect. I always dropped by his house to clean his house, dust the big stereo in his sitting room, scrub his bathroom and prepare his meals. I’d make stew and ofe-akwu and would pack them in plastic containers, then put them in his freezer.


This was expected of every woman dating a Nigerian man. You are expected to know his favourite meal, to know how to keep his house neatly arranged. Wash and iron his clothes. That was the yardstick to measure your wife materialness. If you can’t do these little things for him, his mother and relatives wouldn’t approve of that relationship.

So I tried as much as I could to meet his Nigerian standard of being a wife material, of which my sister never approved of.

“How can you turn yourself into a slave because of that guy, Lisa?” she would ask.

“But you know I love doing them. I enjoy cooking for him Ada, as I fondly called her.” She detests people using her English name instead of her native name.
Ada would shake her head angrily anytime I go with that line. She had passed a warning to me on several occasions, that I should forget societal expectations. Using her words, people most especially women are tied with what the society wants them to do, and to their detriment.

Her cold words and the manner with which she went about the whole thing angered me. I failed to see reason with her. I blamed her words on her inability to hold down any man. To me, she was an intruder. Craving to destroy my relationship. I clutched at my heart and held unto my feelings for Richie. His love was pure and genuine. Nobody will be allowed to spoil what we have going for each other.

Everything was moving swiftly fine with Richie. We hardly ever argue about things and whenever we do, we make up with hot sex. We were so crazy about each other or so I thought. The first sex experience with him made me fall head over heels in love with him. I had never had such terrific sex in my life till I met him.

Our sex life had boomed off after the first one. Things became a little crazier. We barely keep our hands off each other anytime we were together. Sex for us happened almost anywhere. There was a day we had a quickie in his car.

He had dropped me at home during one of the days my parents were on a vacation. It was normal for them to always go on a honeymoon anytime their old love manifested anew. They travelled to Dubai for a short vacation. Ada had been deep in slumber that she never noticed what was going on in a car, parked at the far corner of the house downstairs.
Richie had parked at a dark corner. Where there were no prying eyes. I unstrapped my seatbelt and was reaching out for the doorknob when he stopped me. He drew me back and before I realised what was about to happen, he covered my lips with his. I obliged. His kisses were hungrier, it was not unusual. He tugged me closer to him and my hands sprang forth, to hold his neck, spiralling down his back in a sensual motion.

His mouth tasted of fresh wine. Or maybe a freshly made juice would appropriate the taste I felt. He stopped for a fleeting second and gesticulated for me to go to the back seat. I proceeded without uttering any sound. Tension hung on air, defying law of gravitation. The air surrounding us were humid. A little touch of his hands and I’d feel moist underneath me. He pulled his shirt off, not entirely off. He undid the buttons, exposing furiously hard nipples. The hairs on his chest were still, begging for my fingers to caress them. In an easy manner, like he had been doing this his whole life, he joined me in the back seat. His body hovering over mine as his legs tangled with mine.

I lowered my hand over his budge and started palming him through his pants as he pulled the hem of my dress up so that it rested on my waist and my lower part was exposed to his lustful eyes.
“We don’t have time for that,” he groaned as he pushed my hand away from his pant and in a snap of a finger, dropped his pants down his ankle.
I couldn’t make out his face as there was no light infiltrating through the car window. The faint scar on his face were invisible. Our thoughts jarred by the spur of the moment.

His boxers were the only thin pieces of clothing covering his erection. I grabbed the elastic and pulled at it till it dropped to his thighs. He seemed pleased with my action and smiled. A knowing smile, one that had volume. Weighted with unspoken words. Words embedded in our hearts.
He shifted and parted my legs so as to have better access to my core. I was on my back. He then grabbed his shaft in his hands and pumped it a few times before placing his tip at my entrance, he ran it up and down my folds, spreading my arousal as he hummed in satisfaction.

“Richie please,” I moaned and he slammed into me, making my whole body jerk in the seat. My lips parted and the only thing that escaped from it were his name.

“Say my name again,” he growled and I obliged as his fingers started to dig into my hips. We were lost in our own world, our body working together to get us the most pleasurable experience in our bliss.
He grabbed my thighs and pulled them up a bit so that he could reach deeper inside of me, the new angle allowing him to hit my center of gravity each time.

“Richie, I’m close, I managed to gasp as he kept on, roughly slamming into me.

“Hold on baby,” he muttered as he hurriedly sat up and wrapped his arms around me. He moved us both so we were on sitting position and I was straddling him on the backseat of his car. The thought alone made a tingling sensation course through my being.

“Ride me honey,” he said, sending another chilling feeling down my spine. I obeyed him. Wanting nothing but to bring us both to our release. I eased myself down on his member and he threw his head back in pleasure as I began to work my way up his cock. I rode on him in a fast and merciless pace. His hands flew to my waist as he tried to guide my movements and I could feel myself getting close again as his hands travelled up to massage my breasts through my dress.

“I can’t hold it,” I breathed as energy slowly started to dissipate from my body, my movements slowing as he grabbed my hips again. He started lifting his hips up very quickly, his tip brushing against all the right places and I placed my hands on his shoulder for support as my orgasm ripped through me.
I came softly, dreading the thought of my sister hearing our noise from her room. His thighs tensed and he threw his head back as I felt him come inside of me, his shaft twitching as he did so.

His forehead was pressed against my shoulder as we both tried to catch our breath. We clumsily made our way to the front seats and he zipped up his pants back up before leading me to my door.
In the morning that followed our love making in the car...


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