Missing the Bus by Tolu Daniel – A Short Story


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Tolu Daniel

That was how you missed the bus; you had awoken earlier than the usual time and skipped your normal morning routines. Yet, you still missed the damned bus! Only three buses made the journey from Abeokuta to Abuja daily and you missed the last one and the only one that would get you to Abuja in time for you to sleep and prepare for the examination.
You stand by the bus stop to contemplate upon traveling to Lagos or Ibadan to get another bus, your earpiece blasting sad tunes from your favorite musician Regina Spektor. You swayed your shoulders to the left and then to the right, singing along offhandedly.
You missed the call of another Abuja bus conductor calling aggressively for three more passengers. You move slowly towards the Ibadan cabs, the extra fare that you would need to pay to get to Ibadan turns your stomach. You bite your tongue and wonder why you had punished yourself. You mistook the driver’s gesture of trying to point you to the fact that the Abuja bus still had two more seats, to him insulting you because you felt embarrassed when you caught some people watching you as you did a dance move that you had practiced overtime.
You trembled at his huge tribal marks; a warning rang in your head not to exchange words with him so you turn quietly towards the cab. You entered his cab and sat down at the front seat, ready to go to Ibadan. Then your earpiece falls off and you hear ‘Abuja one, Abuja Enikan’. You jumped from the Ibadan cab forgetting about the restraint of the seat belt and fell back. You slowly detach the belt and made your way to the Abuja bound bus only to meet the pretty girl who lived next door whom the neighbors had told you said that you were proud and arrogant, going towards the same bus.
You keep walking, eyes on the prize, seriously concentrating and pretending as though you had not seen her. Then you get to the bus before her, you notice that she had seen you make the last minute dash for the last seat on the bus, yet she still kept coming towards the bus, smiling as though she had just won a lottery.
“You are David Agboola, are you not?” she said as she spoke to you, her face still aglow with that victorious seeming air as she got nearer to the bus. You couldn’t find your voice and hoped that you never find it so that you would not have to say something wrong, so you nod instead. She brought something that looked all too familiar from her hand bag that had the letters MUSCHINO largely printed on it, evidence that it was probably a knockoff; that was when you realized that you had misplaced your wallet. Your hand went straight to your back pocket to seek succor but you were left disappointed.
She had made the effort to bring you the wallet all the way from your house at this hour of the day; it suddenly began to dawn on you that she expected gratitude as she handed the naira filled wallet over to you. There would have been no way for you to pay for the bus that had gone earlier, if you had not missed it, you manage a grunt and suddenly felt out rightly emotional and since words were failing you, so you get off the bus and gave her a hug.

Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.


Sisi by Tolu Daniel – A Short Story 18+


SISI by Tolu Daniel

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‘Sisi, touch me, touch me in that sweet and sexy way, the way you touch those boyfriends of yours’ Chief Kunle said in that husky tone of his, as though he was whispering to some unholy genie that would appear as he rubbed the tip of his penis back and forth. He was already far gone, intoxicated by his drive for sex and not planning to get sober any time soon. He wondered for a brief moment how any woman could resist him especially since his instrument of digging was already out and throbbing for a ground to sink. He thought about the way Sisi smiled and laughed at his crude jokes, he had been certain that she wanted him and hence any resistance she gave would probably be likened to a chicken dance.
The way she’d wiggled her tiny waist, whenever she walked out of his office always made him crazy. He had been watching her for a longtime, sometimes through the security camera that was attached to his office. He had imagined a lot of things that he could do with her, how she would stay on top and ride him like a cowboy on a bull and ride him into oblivion, he didn’t give a shit about the consequences. Who thinks about consequences when the girl is as set and as sexy as Sisi.
The first time he had tried to pin her down and ensured that he got a piece of her. He had ensured that he grabbed her breasts, the two generously swollen mounds on her chest that made her look like a black Kim Kardashian; he had not imagined that she would not be all over him and begging him for more. But she had resisted, mustering all the energy she could but he had still blown his load on her before she could escape, the white mucus thingy falling haplessly on the sofa and landing on her dress. She had had to clean herself up before she left his office and he had continued doing the same thing, believing that someday, she would stop resisting and give in and probably give him some head too.
His colleagues from other departments had seen her too and the mere sight of her ass had sent them drooling but he had warned them off her and told them in no small words that she was his and they had stayed away. Some of them had advised him to ensure he smashed her as much as he could reminding him of the legend of Edo girls and their monstrous sexual appetite and he had sworn to get his piece from her. None of them knew that she was resisting of course. After all, he was taking care of her, buying her gifts, making promises of retaining her services immediately her service year was completed, isn’t that the dream of every Corp member? To get a job after their service year, she had never rejected anything from him not even the meager five thousand Naira he always threw at her after their numerous episodes hence he believed that her resistance would wear thin sooner than later and that delicious looking ass of hers would be his to excavate. He knew about the legend of Edo girls, how crazy their sexual appetite was and he was certain that Sisi’s was probably as crazy as the legend’s if not crazier. The last Edo girl that had completed her service year in his office had been a Yoruba girl of Edo descent and had done crazy things with him.
He had never been able to satisfy the girl sexually except maybe sometimes when he had his Viagra around or when he had taken some of the concoction that the Baba whom his driver had brought to his office when he hinted him of his situation as regards his inability to last longer than three seconds. The mixture had done wonders the last time he spent his vacation with his wife in the United Kingdom. Since he had taken up this political appointment, he had decided that it was a sensible thing to keep his wife and kids abroad, so that he could keep them safe from the prying spectacles of the press and also the unfortunate eyes of the detractors of his political party and rival groups that may have mischief on their minds.
The first week he had flown his family out the country, he had spent most of his nights in hotels and brothels; Oloshosor roadside prostitutes as they were called were his specialties. These girls would ensure that they milked him well before they left him; some of them even stole from him. And the result had affected his accounts way too much.
He stopped using this method and adopted a simpler and cheaper way of satiating himself sexually but he never enjoyed sleeping with any of the women that he had to settle for, married women and unattractive spinsters that worked with him at the office and moreover there was too much drama about it all; once he was sleeping with a particular woman who was so possessive of him as though he was married to her. He decided thereafter to keep his little man zipped based on a philosophy that cheating was way too expensive and dramatic and as such, he would rather get laid whenever his wife was in the country or whenever he visited.
All these resolutions were till an old friend of his, introduced him to his niece and informed him that she wanted to complete her service year in his office, reminding him of a business deal. With a wink of an eye, the deal had been agreed and the niece was be payment. Chief Kunle could not be certain if the girl had been briefed about her role in the deal but agreed immediately and requested that the girl, Jessica be posted directly to his office.
He didn’t need to say much to get Jessica’s attention as it seemed as though the girl was compensation for all the money that he had spent while whoring the city because not only was she ridiculously pretty, she was ready for whatever he offered.
He found out sooner enough that sleeping with the Corpers posted to his office was more cost effective and had never looked back ever since. Since her first day on the job, Kunle had been certain that he was going to have her. And have her he did, for one full year, taking her along with him on all his official assignments at home and abroad only careful enough to avoid taking her to the United Kingdom till a replacement came and that had been how the cycle had been for all those years with the other female Corp members.
‘Sisi, come on’ Chief Kunle said, walking close to her as nicely as his baulk could muster. ‘Don’t deny an old man of your sweetness’.
Sisi looked at him, her eyes filled with disgust but Chief Kunle could not see it, infact he kept walking towards her with a solemn grin playing around his face, his hands still holding on to the flaccid attachment to his body. It was clear, Sisi was confused, she wasn’t sure she knew what she was doing, either by refusing him or by allowing him, it was all registered on her face, perhaps this was what the Chief saw . Revenge was heavy on her mind, she wanted to do something that would hurt her ex-boyfriend but she wasn’t sure this was it.
It was almost certain that the one that would hurt most from this would certainly be her. It had been quite a rough week, the idiot had broken off her relationship of over five years only two nights ago, a relationship she had given so much of herself into, and the worst part was the fact that he had not given her a tangible reason but she was sure that it had something to do with that Skunk of a girl that he met the month before, the one that he kept telling her about.
She was in such a bad shape, normally it would have been easy to escape Chief Kunle, she had done it so many times, even though in recent times it had not been a clean escape, but it had been an escape nonetheless; she was in such confusion that her mind could not play out an escape route for her. There was nobody she could talk to; it was as though the other members of staff in the department were in on the conspiracy somehow, because there was always a strange smirk on their faces whenever she emerged from the office of Chief Kunle.
The coolness that the air conditioner in the office brought seemed to have vanished as Chief Kunle closed in on Sisi, trapping her with his round belly to an angle in his office that have served him so well whenever he strafed any of the other girls. There was nowhere to run to now, she couldn’t possibly back away any further, the wall was a willing ally for the chief. The chief was sweating profusely like a buffet pig and it seemed like he might die if he didn’t get what he wanted, his eyes were bloodshot and his face was void of an expression. Chief Kunle wasn’t exactly optimistic about what could happen or what will happen with Sisi, because he was not thinking with his head any longer, he had lost control of it; he was like a zombie trying to capture a person in order to eat their brains.
‘No sir, I can’t do this…..’ Sisi managed to say, as the bigger man drew her closer for an involuntary kiss but before she could finish talking, Chief Kunle’s larger lips had already crushed hers and they were locked in a perverted kiss that looked as though the Chief was going to eat her up if she didn’t disentangle her mouth from his. Sisi was not totally surprised at the audacity of the chief, he had done it before. She felt like she might pass out because his cologne could knockout a fully grown whale. All she could muster was a soft moan that escaped from her throat that made it look as if she was enjoying it instead of trying to breath just as the Chief molested one of her breasts.
The moan was all the encouragement that Chief Kunle needed as his mouth left hers and made its way to her chest where he fought her for the right to taste the sweetness of her breasts. His beefy fingers had violated her enough because she could feel his hands already in between her legs and she really was not gonna have him go to second base without her permission. This wasn’t the first time that he would be fighting her for the rights to touch her down there, Sisi slapped his hands away and from some strange reasons, the Chief snapped out of his trance momentarily and allowed his eyes to settle on Sisi’s half exposed cleavage.
Sisi seized the moment and made to escape the trap that she was in. Her head was clearer now; maybe it was because of the little triumph of winning the battle against the chief. She adjusted her shirt and made to clean her face while trying to ensure that she kept him within at least three feet from her. But as she was making for the door, Chief Kunle grabbed her ass from behind, it was so unexpected that Sisi tried pull away from him jerking her hands free of his hold with such force that they both fell down flat on their backs, the Chief on the marble tile and Sisi fell on the chief.
The fall was awkward for two reasons, the Chief’s shrieked like a girl who just saw a ghost and Sisi for a brief moment thought maybe her tight trouser had let her down and that the Chief’s hard penis had gotten a safe passage into her because he had been so stiff just some minutes ago when he had hugged her but then again, it didn’t seem right, because she only felt his stiffness for a couple of seconds after she fell.
As she made to stand up, she realized that the Chief was not moving and when he in fact opened his eyes, tears pooled in his eyes. Sisi saw why he had screamed and she stood up as fast as she could, he looked sorry and helpless. She had accidentally broken his penis, it was still rounded and had lost its outright stiffness, the white tip now had a shade of purple – an eyesore.

Sisi heaved a deep sigh, stood up and left the office without casting a glance backwards. Chief Kunle had it coming.

Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.

Ineffable by Tolu Daniel – A Short Story


Hey Guys!

Yes…..too long. A while since any post made it here…Apologizes…

Today, we will be posting series of short stories by our Tolu Daniel and a new writer Arikor Collins….do enjoy.

INEFFABLE by Tolu Daniel

You wished you could say those words, that you’ve been told she wanted to hear but you couldn’t, logic says no, logic does not understand the language of the heart, so you are stuck with throwing mindless and thoughtless tantrums till you lose her.

Four years later, you meet her at the airport on your way back from a journey to the states, she smiles sweetly at you waving her hands at you. She told you that she has been seeing you on television and had read all your books over the years hoping you’d be impressed that she had finally taken a liking for books like you always wanted her to. You felt a tinge of pride; your success had been a major hit. You had expected that she would definitely have heard about it. And you were indeed impressed that she had chosen not to forget you even if she never contacted you.

Then, it suddenly dawned on you, the reason for her wave of hands, as the blinking ring on her engagement finger caught your sight. She’s getting married she announces; You are not moved, you didn’t smile nor congratulate her, Logic who had always been your best friend starts denying you like Peter at the Crucifixion of Christ.
You are still single, she is now engaged; you couldn’t confess your feelings for her back then because you were scared of immediate commitment. You were scared that you were not man enough for her; your bank accounts as at then couldn’t boast of a thousand naira. She had told you that she didn’t mind starving so far she was with you.

You didn’t believe her; you had seen what the lack of money did to your parents. How it was your mother that had been responsible for most of the things in your house because your father lost his job and broke his spine in an accident that condemned him to the wheelchair the rest of his life. You saw what that had done to him, how hurt his pride had been whenever he had to collect money from your mother to do anything. You had sworn to work as hard as you could possibly work to ensure that your father’s fate never befalls you.

You felt sorry that you couldn’t ask her out back then or call her your own. You felt that she deserved better than you could give; not that you had anything to give her anyway. Now the same commitment that you had eluded back then is all you are looking for but it is nowhere, four years down the lane; you are a successful writer and speaker of international repute. You had slaved yourself over the years to editors and publicists to make a hard living and when success came it had not come with all the perks that you had imagined it would come with, though it had been overwhelming but you couldn’t find anyone who could love you for who you are and you feared that you were still in love with someone who you never expressed your feelings to and whom you are now finding out that she’s engaged.

So you mouthed the words in a mumble that sounded like the gibberish that came readily available to you and didn’t allow them to come out clearly.‘I loved you back then and I still love you’ Bisi strained herself to hear you clearly but you did not say those words again. This is not a movie, you thought to yourself, this is life and this is the shit that happens when you don’t talk when you were supposed to, so sulk it up and move on.

“I could almost guess what you were thinking you know” She says watching your mouth drop as you fear that she may have figured out your gibberish. “You’re thinking of what happened between us those years ago and how it was possible for me to move on after you broke my heart.”

Words failed you; you stared after her in disbelief and wandered for a brief moment if you would ever have the chance to tell her how you really felt about her. “It’s not like that Bisi, and I know you know that too” You say, your guilt renewed like a newly fueled fire.
“It’s never like that with you, everything has got to be complicated and you never talk, you never truly open up except maybe in your books. I read all of your works and hoped that maybe somewhere inside it there was a hidden message for me, something to hold on to, but I found none!”
“That’s not true Bisi, all or at least most of my works were a message to you. I didn’t want to start something that I couldn’t finish with you. I thought you understood that.”
“Understood? Sola was right about you. You really are heartless. Did you ever sit down to consider how I felt?” The mention of the name Sola brought back cruel memories to you. You remember him clearly; he had been the one who gave her the attention that you were not willing to give; the rich boy who roamed campus with his father’s car, who had almost everything given to him on a silver platter. He had been your arch-rival from the get go and despite your best efforts to stave away the trouble which his rivalry might cause to your friendship with Bisi, he had continued to debase you at every opportunity he got.

She could see the effect of her words on you, so she backed off. “I had feelings for you back then and I think I still do. I just couldn’t do it as at that time. I couldn’t handle a relationship then and I didn’t know how else to break it to you than the way I did.”
“I don’t know what to say to you…I’m sorry” she said as a tear rolled down her ebony cheek. You blink back the tears yourself.
“I’m sorry too, so when’s the big day?” You managed to say, struggling to catch your breath, you felt a lot better after saying those words to her because it had been at the tip of your tongue since you discovered the rings on her finger.
“It’s next Saturday and I’m getting married to Sola.” You stared at her in utter disbelief, you felt really angry, not at her nor at Sola but at yourself. You managed a smile even though your heart was in sharp contrast with what your face was producing. You felt like a thousand knifes were stabbing your heart at the same time but you smiled still and urged her to send you the invite to the wedding.

Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.

Caught – A Short Story


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Caught by Tolu Daniel
I have heard about the stars that encircle around a dazed man’s face after receiving a knock on the head or a brutal blow to the face, but I never thought any of it was real. My unbelief could have stemmed from the fact that I saw so many cartoons while I was growing up. Those yellow suspended birds that hover around the cartoon characters always seemed mythical to me; I never imagined that they could ever become so reachable, almost touchable. But there I was, standing in front of the igbo trader with the enormous sausages that were supposed to be his hands, as he dazed me with the biggest slap that my face had ever encountered. It felt as though I had run into a moving train, for a split second, I was in a universe that was neither here nor there, it was though all was on a merry go round. The birds danced, they even sang, so was the glory of Chibuzor’s slap on my face.

I would have cried a fountain, I would have shed buckets of tears there and then, because the sight of Chibuzor’s beefy hands should have been enough to make any child cry, but I was not a child or was I? A scrawny looking and witty nine years old with what many described as a bad habit would describe me. I didn’t feel any pain after the slap; however my head suddenly felt lighter, the world appeared as a shade of many colors with my brain suspended for a little while in a sepia configuration; the little birdies were still dancing around my head. I knew what I did was termed as wrong by the society but I had issues with societal stereotypes and what everybody defined as wrong or right. I couldn’t help myself, I felt as though I had a responsibility, like superman’s was to save the world, mine was to defy the generational belief system that certain things were wrong and certain others were right; I had questions that nobody was willing to give me answer to. So I developed theories for myself and ensured that I live by these theories, these seems a little too impossible for a child of nine, right? But I was not just any child.

For as long as I could remember, I had developed an affinity for seeing movies; I loved seeing movies, in whatever genre the movie was, I would watch. I remembered once when my mother needed to send me on an errand and after she had yelled my name over six to seven times, she had decided to come looking for me and found me sprawled carelessly on the rug, body facing down and my two arms holding my head firm, mouth slightly opened in reckless abandon as a long slimy salivary rope connected the floor and my mouth as I paid raft attention to the movie that I was seeing. My love for movies was never derailed by the fact that I lived in a town that could not boast of a single cinema, the best we could do was to buy these movies from the movie store at whatever price.

So whenever I went to Chibuzor’s store to buy movies, I always picked one extra without his knowledge. I was subscribed to the school of thought that stated that Chibuzor was cheating me, that the movies that he was selling to me were a lot cheaper than the amount that he was selling them and that I needed to ensure that I did my own back, a tit for tat philosophy from a nine year old could never go wrong, but I was mistaken, the music of the birdies still lingered in my head and was an unsubstantial proof.

Today Chibuzor un-customarily asked to check the backpack that I had brought into his store. As a witty nine year old, I tried to get myself out of the mess, I stalled, insulted him in Yoruba but unfortunately Chibuzor insisted that he had to see the contents of my bag. So, reluctantly I allowed him to check and the expression on his face was one that would remain with me even in my adult years.
Ewo….oooo!!!” Chibuzor exclaimed, his eyes bulging like a ripe volcano ready to explode, I should have made a dash for the door at that instance, but I didn’t want to, I thought that I could talk myself out of it like most of my usual escapades. I was certain that he would understand once he heard my opinion and the reason why I was doing what I was doing, but like many of the things that happened that fateful day, I could not have been more wrong.
“You skinny little thief” He screamed as he threw my bag at me and followed it with a thunderous slap. I would have replied him like I normally do to my older siblings when they accuse me of testing out my theories on them, ‘what sort of nonsense was that? How dare he insult me like that? Who does he think he is? Who does he think I am? Just a mere road side trader’: but the slap was so resounding, that it drowned every thought from my head, Mr. Kokosari my Elementary School teacher whose palms my face had grown accustomed to would have been proud of Chibuzor.

I was still in my dazed state when I realized that our little squabble had attracted several on-lookers and interested participants and there was a crowd gathering slowly at the store and somewhere in my head, in the deepest of my recess, I could hear some diabolical chants or maybe it was my mind that was playing games on me.
“Ti owo ba te ole, Pipa ni e pa, ka roun jeba lola”
(If a thief is caught, he must be killed to make an example for the rest)
For a child that grew up in a very superstitious environment, who watched tales by moonlight without missing an episode, who was subjected to listening to ‘Nkan nbe’ by Kola Olawuyi on the radio every Friday night and who never missed a chance to sit by grandpa who was a major exporter of unrated and scary tales, I was certain that I was going to die; that song was always accompanied with bloodshed in all of grandpa’s tales and those crappy Yoruba movies that we saw at home, and yes, there were no age restrictions to most of them.

Chibuzor dragged me with the back of my shirt and dragged me outside to the main-street, and rained down another set of slaps on me, I didn’t wince once, neither did I pretend nor behave as though I felt any tinge of pain but I didn’t miss the chirping birds that hung over my head. The scene was so overwhelming; I could not bring myself to look up, by now I was feeling ashamed that I got caught. I still felt that I was supposed to get a chance to defend myself, because my unfortunate theory still lurked somewhere in my mind.
Among the several persons that were gathered watching the seeming movie that was unfolding, was a rather strange woman; she was strange because of the fact that she was strangely attired. Garbed in a traditional white attire, the blouse was hanging loosely to her lean shape and the Iro was held tightly too, she was jeweled in cowries and shells, and fairness of her skin made her all the more attractive. Chibuzor and his slap seemed to become the last thing on my mind as the woman got nearer. There was a longing in me to know more about her and the longing consumed me: She reminded me of the Yoruba mythical character called Yeye Osun , the first wife of Sango, the one whom a river in South-western Nigeria was also named after, she moved nearer to the scene where I was being manhandled and said something that I could not really understand to the orderlies that were with her and the next thing that I could remember was the manner in which the orderlies yanked me out of the clutches of Chibuzor and his cohorts.
“Don’t you know that this boy is the son of the soil?” the weird looking lady screamed at the angry igbo traders from whom I was just yanked off. “Do you want to take the law into your own hands?” I wondered what she meant by ‘the son of the soil’, I wondered if my crime was made any easier by the fact that I was an indigene of the town or the fact that I was a Yoruba and Chibuzor was Igbo. And why ethnicity was always a tool so easily used during the smallest of squabbles.
Madam, I no send law o, do you know wetin my oga don do me because of this brat?” Chibuzor barked back at her. “Where law dey that time?”
“So you think beating him to death because of a few Nairas won’t cause you wahala? Abi?”
Chibuzor was angry and for good reasons too, the woman seemed as though she was not trying to understand at all. Ignoring Chibuzor she just snapped her fingers, a rather strange act that seemed overtly dramatic but which he orderlies understood only tool well as they came to drag me inside an ancient looking white 505 Peugeot.
Madam, make I no disrespect you o, where you dey carry that pikin dey go? Me I wan collect my money…you think say I dey crase?” as he was uttering those words, the crowd was slowly thinning out, some of the onlookers were slowly losing interest, that was how such matters were solved these days, when the intertribal sword was drawn, nobody dares tackle it without having a better weapon in the fight. And without uttering another word back to Chibuzor, the lady checked her white handbag and removed a minty whole one thousand naira note and handed it over to Chibuzor. Despite myself, my eyes twitched with rage, I struggled to get free of my captors but they were a lot stronger than I was.
“But ma’m, he does not deserve the money”
“Did you deserve to get beaten?” she asked looking at me with face like an eagle, as though she could follow it up with a scarier version of Chibuzor’s slap. I had to change the direction of my gaze; her hawk face seemed to have had some sort of Kraken effect on me.

Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.

Acidious – A Short Story


Today is Short Stories Friday!

African Stories brings you three short stories for your reading pleasurezzzz…..Happy Holidays!

Love Stories, Share Stories…

Acidious by Tolu Daniel

You were furious, she had just broken up with you and this time she informed you that it was for good. There was no was plausible cause nor a possibility of redemption this time. You had tried, really tried to get yourself on the same page with her and like a diamond with many edges you had kept on scraping her edges and hurting her without really doing anything; that was the story she told you. You didn’t understand it, not a bit. It all seemed a wee bit strange to you but you played along, understandingly.

You were the stuff of fairy tales, the Prince Charming that Princess Fiona was waiting for after all the Shreks that she had met in her life, her friends confirmed this too. You were not just good looking; you were cool and spontaneous too. You were godly and fun to be with; little wonders you always had people around you. She didn’t believe you when you informed her about your vow of celibacy because your shrink had diagnosed you of nymphomania after you had an affair with her. An affair that started during one of those sessions that the organization you worked for insisted you attend.

You had walked into her office hoping to see an old man or an old woman but upon entering her office; you had tripped beyond measure, she had been so fine and sexy that you couldn’t imagine not getting down with her; and the rest is as better imagined than told.
That was the problem she had informed you one of those nights while you walked her home; it was under the mango tree that stood proudly like a peacock in its prideful glory in front of her house. ‘I want more from this relationship’ she had said as though you were not giving her enough. ‘I want you inside me, and I want you to be committed to me as I am to you’. You stared at her in disbelief; the words coming of her mouth were foreign to you. You had chosen her because of her innocent outlook; the definition of a good girl was what she represented to you. You had assumed that she would want to stay pure till marriage; and by pure you meant a virgin but now you are finding out that looks can be deceiving.

You decided not to preempt her not for any other reason but the fact that you could have easily misunderstood what she was saying. “I want to you to make love to me and make me scream like all those movies, I want you to be my first and only” she had said to you. You stared at her unbelievably horrified, it occurred to you at that moment that she must have put a lot of thoughts into it. She had continued by challenging you to do it, just to prove to her that you loved her.

Two warnings rang on your head at that moment, one was that of your shrink but it was easily replaced by an X-rated memory of you banging her inside her office; the other warning was that of your priest. Sunday’s mass had been abnormal, the priest had mentioned something about running away from all appearances of evil, not that you were the religious type but it was still ringing in your head because your innocent seeming girlfriend at the moment seemed like the stuff of horror movies, pure evil.

Then there was you philosophizing, you were in love with her and she had just challenged you about proving your love for her and if you couldn’t you guys were done for good. You couldn’t blame her, she had met two of your ex-friends with benefits and you could see that she longed to have a taste of what ever drug made their eyes tingle whenever they saw you, not that they were better looking than her. You were amazed at how stupid and naïve she seemed but you kept your mouth shut and let your mind wander. She had decided there and then that it must be the fact that they had had sex. You wondered why she had waited for so long and why she was in such a hurry to let it go now.
You stop thinking for a bit and look into her eyes; you fell in love with her over and again. But you still couldn’t make a decision on what to do.

***THE END***

Tolu Daniel is a fiction writer, blogger and administrator of A Poet’s Diary. He blogs at http://toluojuola.wordpress.com and is @iamToluDaniel on twitter.