Category: Slice of life

Last Christmas

Hello! This post isn’t a new one, No Sir! This was a story I wrote as an entry for an online writing competition still going on at titled The Writer. If you’re on twitter, you can follow the hash tag #TheWriter for all the updates and interviews. Well, my story didn’t make the cut. Guess it wasn’t my best. Different from my usual perhaps! LOL at the title btw. It was originally titled This Christmas but as Keresimesi don pass na… *Weirdo shrug*

Enough of the endless prattling. Enjoy!



I’m suddenly thinking about bees; those fat yellow-black monsters I used to chase at my gran’s garden when I was still young, during the summer-y months of July and August. I wonder why I’m thinking about them. Maybe it’s because of how similar they sound to the clipper that shaved off my red locks of hair some weeks ago at this very place. Yes, it all started with thinking about hair. Hair to bees. It’s funny how my mind roams randomly. This salon is almost like a hive, with the eternal bzzzt of a dozen clippers, the soft, metallic chop chop of two dozens scissors and the innumerable murmurs of ‘Thanks’ and ‘Come back again’.
I close my eyes and I can almost feel the summer’s sun on my skin; almost smell the compost in the garden. My nose wrinkle instinctively at the memory. I never really liked that smell, especially when it was watered down with either the odd rain or gran’s watering hose.
My eyes snap open. I remember where I am, far away from the farm in both distance and years. The woman smiles at me. I wonder how long she has been here standing, watching me in my closed-eye musing. I smile sheepishly in apology and thanks, following her. Humming a carol tune along with the jukebox, we make our way to her office.
“Have a holly jolly Christmas…”
On our way, we pass several posters of multi-racial women with beautiful hair, smiling brilliantly at whatever camera lenses were capturing their images at that moment. I throw one raven-haired a cheeky grin and cackle in my head.

The Christmas song doesn’t leave my head even as I walk outside into the stinging cold, package I went to collect, in hand. I readjust my bright red scarf (Christmas spirit!) across my neck, singing softly as I walk down the street to the hospital.
“I don’t know if there’ll be snow…”
Well there isn’t! Back in Cumbria, houses would have been snowed in by now. Not here of course. All we have for now in London is the rain.
The blue and white NHS signpost welcomes me back and with surety, my feet walk unaided to the ICU. I go past a brightly adorned faux Christmas tree and several strips of green and red decorations; tell-tale signs of someone trying into infuse some cheer in the wards. Sadly, only the members of staff would get to enjoy its beauty; patients strapped to life-giving machines can’t, can they?
“Oh my have a holly jolly Christmas this year!” I whisper as I walk into her room, smiling.
I gently drop my bag, bringing out the early Christmas present. They had done a good job! I walk up to her bedside, bed springs squeaking as I lower my frame to sit.
She’s asleep, chest rising and falling in tandem to the beeping of the huge machine beside her bed.
My lovely angel.
A smile tugs at the side of my lips as I listen to her whistling breath. One genetic trait her father managed to smear on her ‘mini-mummy’ characteristics. My smile turns sad as I remember George.

He left.
He left me four years ago with a one-month old baby to care for all by myself. We were not married after all; no vows holding him down.
The weasel.
She was my bundle of joy, the bundle of joy I refused to abort for his selfish reasons.
I’m her mummy and her daddy; always have been, always will be.
I rub her bald head gently, feeling the tiny pricks of new hair growing. She used to have beautiful, shiny auburn hair, like her mama. Her illness changed that. It started with dizzy spells; then graduated to frightening seizures. Routine brain scans equalled a skinhead four-year old girl.
The brain scans would continue until the doctors are sure about what exactly is wrong with her. They’re confused.
Been a month already. I would not think about it; not now. Maybe in January, after Christmas.
Gently, I wear her the gift.
My gift of Love.
I can’t help smiling.
“Merry Christmas hun” I whisper, kissing her forehead. My tummy growls its protest at being left unattended to.
“Oh hush” I mutter as I get up, picking up my umbrella and wallet.

Windy rain.
I struggle to hold on to my umbrella but a sharp gust of wind snatches my partner away from me, twirling it in a dainty pirouette. My arms flail in protest.
A young man manages to grab on to it before it flies afar.
“Thanks!” I exclaim in gratitude.
His eyes travel across my face to my head and I watch his eyes widen in surprise. I had forgotten my hat. I see his face soften in pity and I can instantly tell what he’s thinking.
Bald head.
“Merry Christmas” he whispers and walks away.
I want to call out to him and correct him but I doubt he’d understand.
What better gift can a mother give her child?

“Mummy do you think there’s a chimney in the hospital?”
I looked up from my reading “Why baby?”
She coughed a little and I went to her side.
“Well dunno if Santa comes to hospitals.”
“Of course he does baby.”
She smiled.
“Mummy, do you think Santa can get me new hair?”
My eyes suddenly smarted.
I kissed her forehead.
“I’m sure he will”
She grinned in satisfaction, her hands playing with my hair.
“New hair as pretty as yours mummy.”

I’m her mummy, her daddy and her Santa.
Call me crazy if you will, but I made a wig for my baby with my hair. Unusual perhaps but then I’ve never been known to be ‘usual’ now have I?
I smile at his retreating back.
“Merry Christmas” I murmur.


That’s it!

Musings of an Introspective Somebody

From the title, you’ve probably guessed this is one of those posts that have no direction and look like rants even though they are not..i think. As usual, this post is being sponsored by a memory. I seem to have a lot of those.

Anyway, have you ever asked yourself this question: If my house was burning what would i first take out?
I have; a lot of times. The first time i asked was when there was a mini explosion near my house. An aerosol can or something. One second there was quiet, the next, BOOM. Mother was unfazed mehn. She just looked up briefly from her reading and went back. Chuck Norris’ older sister. As for me, that was when I started counting my worldly possessions. the only things I could count worth picking were the school books i paid for and the library books I’d pay for if returned in a bad condition. Sad no?

Thankfully, i haven’t been able to answer that question in a real life situation. But, something did happen once that was almost similar.
You see, one fateful morning, i was asleep, when I got woken up by a scream. My sister’s scream. A very chilling scream, asking for her mummy. She was downstairs. The speed at which I woke up ehn. The first thing i thought was “There is a snake in the house!!!” I think I was dreaming about snakes.

I jumped out of bed and my brain did some serious FBI agent style assessment of my surrounding. My room is on the first floor. I could jump out of the window because it is big enough. The little shrub below would break my fall. All these thoughts in seconds. Sharply, i picked up my laptop, put inside my school bag. Picked up my library card too. Took my bank cards and slipped into my pants. Slung the bag on my shoulders, pulled the curtain apart, opened the window and was set to do my James Bond ‘fly-out-of-the-window-and-look-unruffled’ jump.

I didn’t.
There was no snake.
It was just a pervert.
Apparently, my sister was using the toilet downstairs, the curtain was open, the light was on. She turned to get tissue and behold, a face was peering in through the window, watching her.
I just hissed and went back to bed…which she found insensitive as usual. I got a lot of “If it were you, you’d have screamed too!”
No, I wouldn’t have. I’d have either:
1. Shaken my bumbum at the voyeur.
2. Behave like I didn’t see him, get up, leave, rush to the door, open, see his face, stalk him, kill him.
3. Open the window suddenly and bruise his face.
Would I have screamed? No. No Sir.

Anyway, at least it wasn’t a snake.
I went back to sleep. So yeah, there ends that cool story.

Let’s play a game,  ‘Imagine This’. If something were to happen and you had to leave the house immediately, what are the first things you’d pick up? 😀

Photographic Intents II

Again, another picture moment.



‘Attack Iran’


‘Slumbering Succubus’


Now about the picture, Attack Iran. I saw that at a bus stop and asides from taking a picture, I was fascinated albeit morbidly, with the whole idea behind the poster. For those who can’t see it properly, the bombs falling on the Iranian family is labelled ‘US’.
Now, I’m not politically savvy so I won’t go into supporting or condemning.
BUT, Peace via War?
Who’s really the bad guy?
Your contribution would be valued!

Shalom and have a Happy Shabbat! 🙂

Photographic Intents

I know it has been a little quiet here and all. Been busy living a life. Lol ok that was a joke. 😦
Haven’t had time for recreational writing or even editing the stories I’ve gotten from people.
I did promise some time ago to post some pictures I took out of boredom. All done with mobile phones mind you.
Well, here they are!
P.s.: I’m not even worthy to be called an amateur. These are just…stuff.
I’m no good at being deep so I won’t bother saying shit that would boggle the mind like Ekwem ( :p ). Let the pictures speak.
Anyhow! Enough talking!

This one, I titled The Traveller.




Dance like M.J

And the last one….

There you have them!
Half are as recent as two years ago. Half, this year.
I know, I did a lot if tinkering with effects.
Do tell me what you think anyway!

X for Ada

I watch her approach and stand up immediately, even though I know she hasn’t noticed me yet. I watch her meander her way past children playing on the field, laughing as she clumsily kicks a ball that made its way to her. I can’t help but smile.
Big baby.
She finally sees me and waves in excitement, almost stumbling as she runs with her black shoes on uneven grass.
“Hey!” She says, laughing and falling into the wooden seat, trying to catch her breath.
“Still as unfit as ever eh?” I taunt, chuckling as she sticks out her tongue at me in petulance.
“Sit down jo meanie!” She says as she pats the wooden bench, smiling. I sit back down, maintaining a little distance between us. It is only appropriate. She busies herself with unclipping her grey scarf and I take the time to admire her profile. Her long ‘British’ nose as I used to call it, dark pink lips pursed in concentration as she unveils her lovely black hair tied roughly into a bun. Memories of our make-out sessions come unbidden and her murmuring brings me back to the present.
“Weather’s too hot for this thing you know!”
I smile as she sighs in satisfaction, draping the scarf on the bench.
She smiles at me.
“Long time no see! You look great!”
It hasn’t been that long; just over 5 months.
“You too. Beautiful as ever.”
She laughs out loud in her usual asinine fashion. We always joked about how her donkey laugh would earn her a place in a barn. I smile.
“How are you? Work? How’s Ada!”
Work’s good. Got a promotion. My sister’s great. Still asks after you. I watch her brown eyes dance in interest at all I have to say. She had always been a good listener.

“So, how are you doing yourself?” I steer the conversation back to her. She was a talker so I let her ramble on.
I tune her out and watch her body language. I try comparing the new her to the old girl I fell in love with, time ago. Had there been any changes or is five months still too short a time?
Asides the attire and the lack of any trace of make up, nope…not really.
“Are you happy?” I suddenly blurt out, interrupting her lurid description of a particularly nasty boil she had on her behind .
“Of course I am Nino! What kind of question is that!”
She shifts her voluminous grey skirt, pretending to be upset but I can see her mischievous smile playing slowly across her lips.
Without any thoughts or warning, I bridge the gap between us, cup her face in my palms and drop a hard kiss on her lips.
This time, she’s really upset. She pushes at my chest slightly, taking her face away.
“You shouldn’t have done that you know. And we are in public as well!”
I should feel chastised but I don’t. I’m glad I kissed her. I apologise anyway and after a few minutes of cajoling and teasing, the frown lines that marred her smooth honey brown forehead disappears and she punches me playfully.
“Nonsense boy!”

Sins forgiven, we fill up the silence with banalities. She doesn’t have access to the television or internet so I regale her with the latest updates. I notice she hasn’t brought back the distance between us on the bench. I am glad. We are soon lulled into a comfortable silence. I stare out at two young children skipping. I can feel her eyes on me. I wonder what she sees. In what light does she view me now? Nino, the ex-lover or Nino, the friend.

She asks me a question and I turn to her. She’s staring down at her ugly black shoes, kicking at a clump of grass.
How are you?
How does she think I am? Broken, battered and sore from the heart ache. Of course I don’t tell her this.
I shrug, smiling a little. She looks up and smiles back, her beauty hits me anew. Her lopsided smile.
I reach forward and she instinctively draws back. Undeterred, I lean in and drop a kiss on her gorgeous full lips; a soft one this time. She hardens them but I continue probing slowly until she yields and softens up. She’s finally kissing me back. She sucks a little on my lower lip, sighing as I gently caress her upper lip with my tongue. She runs her fingers across my neck,eliciting a little groan from me.
That snaps her back to the present.
She jumps up in embarrassment.
“I’m sorry! Um I must be going now Nino. Mass.”
Without waiting for a reply, she beats a hasty retreat.
“Ada!” I jump up and shout.
She turns reluctantly.
“Your wimple” I say with a sad smile as I watch the comical expression of surprise and dismay on her face as she rushes back and collects it from me.
“Bye” she whispered as she turns her back and walks away.
“Bye” I mouth to myself.

I watch her meander her way past the soccer kids again, her iron cross dangling on her slightly creased white shirt, long skirt playing peek-a-boo with her ankles. I feel the little box poke my thigh and without breaking contact with her retreating back, I bring it out. My hands caress the familiar velvety box I bought five months ago.
I was going to propose that night. The night she told me she’d decided to join the convent; the night she left our little love nest without a backwards glance. For how long had she planned it? Why had I been blind?
I knew she had her personal demons and I was sure proposing to her was going to get her to open up to me, finally. I so wanted to offer her the peace she craved. Fate had other ideas though. I had my girlfriend snatched by God. ‘Who can battle with the Lord’ I ask whimsically in my head.
My fingers run expertly around the curved edges of my little companion. I carried my box everywhere with me since that night. A symbol of our love? Perhaps a symbol of love unrequited or just a stupid buoy for a drowning man.

It had taken a lot of letters to her Mother Superior, to bring her to the park today. Four months worth of correspondence. I wonder why she decided to finally see me today. I won’t be so conceited to think that she misses me even though I miss her terribly. The house has been too silent without her.

I watch her almost stumble and laugh out loud despite myself.
Big baby.
Crazy nun.
Just how were they coping with her?
She finally disappears and I sigh.
I’m not too sad though.
She isn’t happy; despite her outward bubbly character. She never was a good liar.
She said she was happy but her eyes begs to differ. They didn’t do their usual dance of excitement. They went still.
I smile a little, pocketing my little black, velvety, box friend.
There still might be hope.
I just have to be patient.
A ball sails towards me and I skillfully head it back to the rambunctious boys.
“You children better watch how you kick this thing!”

Thank you Joey Parker for the inspiration 🙂 ({})

What the Water Gave Me

The world’s a beast of burden
You’ve been holding on a long time
And all this longing…
Would you have it any other way?
You couldn’t have it any other way…
Lay me down
And let the only sound
Be the overflow…
What The Water Gave Me – Florence + The Machine

So cold, it makes me so alive…

The frigid water invades the frayed faux-leather of my snakeskin boots as I wade a step deeper. It swirls around my exposed calves and swishes in between my toes, coaxing me in ever so slowly. My mascara begins to run as the tears come; trickles at first and then bursting into small torrents of regret and relief. I am finally going to do it. I’m finally going to be free of this constant static in my head.

The water’s come up to my knees. The pebbles have given way to marshy silt that squelch with each step, sucking my feet in. Each step is slightly harder as I wade deeper. I can see lights on the other side, winking off and on, almost beckoning. Swim across, they seem to say, leave your past on yonder shore and start afresh. It is tempting, so beguiling, to just let a swim cleanse me. But I cannot undo the mistakes that have littered my path here, and I will not forgive the hurts that have crippled my soul and brought it to its knees.

The slightly browning cloud of disturbed filth advances before me like a herald. The cold numbs the stinging on my buttocks and upper thighs, the ‘not so little’ scratches; his little gift to me. I feel almost cheated, the stinging had kept me sane, kept from screaming the horror that clouded my judgement as he pushed me into the alley and put the knife to my neck. I whimpered as he groped for my lace panties, tearing them off to put his filthy fingers into me, checking if I was ready like I was some sort of oven. He took me violently on the cobbled street. He made me look at him as he used me, glorying in my filmy eyes and quivering lip as I tried my best not to cry. He didn’t bother to close his fly; just withdrew when he was done and crawled off me.
“Consider this pro-bono.” He cackled before he turned and ran away.
It wouldn’t have hurt as much if he’d buried the blade in my side. To him; I wasn’t even human, it wasn’t any different from jimmying a vending machine. He isn’t the first to dehumanise me, but he will definitely be the last.

Walking is almost torturous now. Each step drags me deeper into the mire as the added weight from the circle of weights tied to my waist causes my feet to sink deeper. Just like how each time made me lose a little more hope that I’d ever get out.
“You’re pretty as a button,” Lucinda would say, “not an old hag like me hiding behind a wall of makeup.
“All the pretty ones get out. You will too.”
But instead, each one dragged me deeper down, adding to my despair. One or two came along throwing me little buoys of niceties. A warm bed, a hot meal, intellectual discourse. And just when my fingers began to grasp, they sailed away. Lucinda’s words would haunt me,
“Paste on that smile like you’re in a pageant, treat them well; even the bastards. Someone will notice you… eventually.”

The small eddies break around my breasts. The tissue paper filling the pockets of space in my brassiere soak and float to the surface, and slowly drift away. My small breasts swim in the now empty bra and a wistful laugh gurgles out of me. What am I, if not a walking irony. A voracious reader whose reading habits started because she snuck off to libraries so she could sleep in peace and quiet. A child navigating an unforgiving world in nothing but garish makeup,oversized underwear and undersized clothes; a depressed prostitute tottering in heels, a dreamer living a nightmare.

A scream escapes as the silt gives way beneath my feet. It is quickly silenced by a mouthful of water. My legs kick involuntarily to propel me upwards, a skill drilled into me from childhood lessons at the community pool. I rise a little, then sink interminably slow. The air rushes out of my lungs in a flurry of bubbles. I gasp and water rushes in to fill the void. My arms flap wildly and my chest heaves as it tries to fight me, but neither of us are winning. I tire quickly and the involuntary flailing stop and in a moment of unprecedented clarity, I can see beyond my melancholy. The beauty of weightlessness, my body and all it’s scars, testimonies to my torment, naught but an afterthought. Is this what peace is like? Is this what I have been searching for?


This therapeutic writing was brought to you by my partner in crime, amongst other things, @edgothboy.
Show some love 🙂


For the thirteenth time, I replay the song, allowing the melody, wash over me like a refreshing shower of rain. With every high note the singer hits, my mind sways. It has to be done. Its my only way forward. My only way to break away.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody.
I’m not free.

“You’re nobody and you’re not free, to sacrifice yourself to hope, to escape…”

I’ve tried.
My life so far has been nothing but a pawn in a badly played chess game in the incompetent hands of whatever Being bored enough to play with me.
My mother died birthing me.
I had no father; at least that was what my birth certificate said.
I was called Chioma. By whom, I have no idea.
Good God.
Was He? Was He really?
The only family I knew were other children, lost as I was in a world we had no business being in. Victims of circumstances. At least I was not abandoned in a bin. This I told myself, nights after the older children bullied me. I had someone. She only died. Ah. I was young then. I had nothing. She would have thrown me away like other young mothers, given the chance. I didn’t have a father after all. Who wants a child with no father in this society?
I was the quiet one. The weak one. The one that cried at every little thing. The ugly one. The slow one. The dumb one.  Our minders said it was a harsh world out there. It was hard to imagine then, considering the fact that life in the orphanage was terrible.
Harsh world out there. I had been thrown into that harsh world. I turned eighteen and was therefore an adult.
I cannot escape it.
Other younger ones envied me.
You’d be free.
No I wouldn’t.
I’m nobody.
I have no voice.
I’m a stranger in my own land.

“Nobody is your name, in an eternal search of a meaning that would fade soon…”

Have you any ambitions? What do you have in mind?
I stared at the Matron.
Yes, yes I do. I want to be a scholar. I want to get a degree. I want to be a historian. I want to be everything I read in books and see in the occasional movies.
Of course  I did not say it aloud.
I’d have been laughed at.
You barely passed JSCE. You have no WAEC result to speak of. A scholar? Pah! You’re not smart. An apprenticeship is what you should aim for.
I knew I wasn’t smart but she asked what I had in mind didn’t she?

“In a weird slavery, with a book in your hands and a lot of ideas in your head that you can shout in the wind but you’re Nobody and nobody will hear you…”

An apprentice at a hairdressing salon is what I’ve become. You’re lucky to be here. This is just a favour to your Matron. Watch and learn the trade, my Madam told me. I watch people with lives come in. They nag about jobs, school, husbands. I watch in my little corner,  in my old okirika clothes, hanging off my thin frame. No one pays me any attention. I’m not taught anything. The others are. I have no natural abilities like they do. Their hands can move at unnatural speeds while my hand works are sloppy at best. Nobody wants me near them. You smell.  They’d turn their nose up at me. I’m That girl. I have no name. I’m nobody.

“You’re nobody and you’ll be alone till your future won’t be written ’cause you smell of stranger in your own land”

It’s a Sunday and my Madam and her children are gone to church. I stumbled upon her son’s listening device. I press a random button and the song comes on.
I’ve been sitting here for a long while, on the floor of his dirty bedroom, listening to the woman speak to me.
I have done nothing today.
My madam would be vexed.
It wouldn’t matter anyway.
Slowly, I get up, shaking off the cramps in my legs.
She’s partly right.
I’m nobody but I will be free.


Madam came home to meet their house help, Chioma, hanging from a badly tied noose in the living room. She let out a surprised yelp, quickly shepherding her children out of the house before they saw her. “Call the driver” she instructed her eldest son, going back to the living room.

She looked at the tongue protruding from an ugly face she had always tolerated barely. She sighed in revulsion

“Stupid girl”



Phantom: I had not planned on writing anything new for a while but this song (Nobody-Ravenscry) was driving me insane. I feared I’d do something stupid if I didn’t write something down. Pardon me if it is less than satisfactory. Therapeutic writing I’m afraid.

A Letter to my Unborn Child

I’ve seen a lot of people write theirs and i really couldn’t be bothered to try. Blog’s been quiet for a while so decided to prod my backside and add my own Epistle to the mix!


(Hope you come out looking this cute! It’s an order-_-)

Dear Child,

This is your mother and she loves you.

Life is shit. Yes, i swore (but if you do, i’d maim you :|) Life is pointless really. It has always been. It will always be. It is up to you to make the most out of it. Nothing remains constant, nothing is permanent. Remember this when you’re going through difficult situations. Nothing is constant…except God. Yes, Him. Find Him Love Him, and He will love you.

Learn to love my child. Do not be like your mother. I pray I’d be there to teach you how to. Maybe by teaching you how to, I’d learn myself. Laugh with gusto; head thrown back, eyes closed, mouth wide open. Laugh! Smile all the time; even though you want to break down and scream or cry. Smile. Make friends. Do not be a recluse. I hope you do not inherit your mother’s agoraphobia. She cringes at the thought of getting to know people. Meet people! Shake hands! Hug! Talk! Laugh! There would always be that someone who you cannot help but dislike. When you meet such a person, be kind. Pay evil with good. Pay harsh words with politeness. Pay crass behaviours with manners. It would piss them off, and it would make you laugh. (if you have your mother’s sense of humour!) Learn how to cry, my love. Yes, cry! Do not keep things in for too long. Depression isn’t a happy place even though your mother enjoys wallowing there. Cry with gusto. Let your tears fall. Scream if you want to. Just cry and feel better, then move on.

Dream, mon cher. Think big. Dream big. Nothing is impossible until it has been tried. Do not let anyone tell you, you cannot do certain things. Mama would always be there to support you. Explore your talents. Try music. Be a dramatist. Run like a sportsman. Stick your head into a book like a Nerd. Mother would always be there to watch you sing, run, perform, debate. Keep your eyes on the stands! Mama is there watching her baby make her proud!

Do not be afraid of standing out or being different! (Sha don’t be gay! Your grandmother would just exorcise you and I’d be too busy laughing at you to help!) Be unique, but with purpose. A bent fork is unique, but useless. Remember that!

Money is just a means to an end. It is not the beginning and the end. Wealth is fickle; comes today, goes tomorrow. Do not depend on it. Be thrifty. You might end up a little stingy. (Your mother is part-Nnewi so…) Save for a rainy day. Do not put all your eggs in one basket! Let the book of Proverbs guide you my little one, and you will not be misguided.

Life is too short.

Always remember that.

Carpe diem.

Mama is no good at pouring out her heart so this is all she can manage without barfing in disgust.

She has a cruel sense of humour so you might have a  weird name. Just remember she chose it with love; whether you end up as Orochimaru or Draiman. You’d be that kid in class with the coolest name. Trust your Ma. 🙂

And with this, she says ” See you  9 after conception! And please don’t inherit your mother’s big head! She’s too lazy to push!”

Je t’aime

A huru m gi n’anya.



And there you have it! 😀

First Time

Dionysus: Ok, taking a slight break from the usual darkness in my writings. This is my first attempt at comedy. Enjoy!

*Doorbell Rings*

He dropped his Xbox 360 console pad, and spoke into the intercom by his bedside.
“Who’s there ?”
“I’m looking for Johnny”, the person outside replied.
Butterflies in the stomach.
“OMG, she’s here! She’s here!” He picked up some clothes scattered on the bedroom floor, ran to check himself in the mirror adjusting the large frames on his face.
“Hello! Is Johnny there??”
“Yes, Coming!”
He descended the stairs and opened the door.
Johnny tried to reply but couldn’t, his mind racing.
“H.. Ha..Hi”.
His trouser started rising up so he stood at the back of the door trying to hide his reflex boner. Johnny was a Geek. He was the kid in school the jocks made fun of when they got bored, laughing as they came up with insults. He had just finished high school and was about turning 18. One of his nerdy friends told him about an online hookup site, ‘’. You search for a girl in their directory and if she’s near your location, you call for a shag as long as you agree with the terms & conditions. Johnny’s choice was a girl named Jenny. He was surprised; she was even hotter in real life than she looked online.

“Co.. Come in” He said adjusting the glasses on his face. She entered and perched herself on the couch in the living room.
“Are you gonna leave that door and get me a drink?” Johnny’s face turned deep red from the uncontrollable blushing.
“Just a minute”.
She sighed. “Listen, I know you’re hard, it’s nothing to be ashamed about. You said this is gonna be your first time right?”
“Yes” he whispered, still standing by the door.
“Ok, maybe this would make you feel better” She took her top off exposing a red silk bra and deep cleavage. Johnny’s eyes widened like a character in an anime. Sure, he had watched a lot of porn but he had never seen real tits before. His dick got harder leaving him feeling very embarrassed at this point. Jenny stood up and walked up to him, he, avoiding her gaze as she came closer.
“It’s ok Johnny, I’m gonna make you feel good. You have my money right?”

“Ye.. Yeah” he dipped his hands into his trouser pockets and gave her a wad of cash in a hurry like she was about to mug him. She carelessly dropped the money into the sling bag she was carrying. Holding his hand, she made him lead her to his bedroom. Video game posters decorated the walls, also, a pic of Giselle Bundchen in a white bikini on the beach.
“Take off your clothes.”
He hesitated. She took off her bra, her perfect dark pink nipples staring him in the eye. He was about to cum just for the sheer beauty before him.
“Just lay back”. She knelt down in front of him and pulled his pants down, exposing his erection. “Hmmmm, not bad” she muttered to herself. As soon as she started fondling him, she heard ‘Auuuugh!.. Auuugh!.. Auuuugh!’ semen spilling on her hand. She laughed uncontrollably.
“Whada fuck! I haven’t even done anything Johnny and you came!” She put on her bra and was getting ready to leave.

“Bu.. But, we haven’t done anything” Johnny said.
“Didn’t you read the terms dude? As soon as you cum, it’s over!”
“But… But… But.. But.. ”
“No buts sweet cheeks! Before you call me next time, make sure you jerk off the day before so you don’t come so quickly aite?” She counted her money, smiling. Satisfied, she left him without a good bye. He heard the door bang shut a minute later.

Johnny lay on his bed staring at the ceiling.


Phantom: For some reason best known to me, I totally found the stereotyping in this story hilarious! 😀 Drop comments thanks 🙂

Guilty Pleasures

Phantom P: Since my mind is closed for repairs, i wont be able to write much for now! That being said, my ever ready co-writers would be filling in for me with their pieces. From the mind that brought you ‘Swan Song’ and ‘Black Maiden’, Ladies and Gents, Bamidele Newton!

Newton: I wanted to write this as a poem but couldn’t get my head around the lines.



So I write it the way I feel and right now all I really need is a priest to confess to, but unfortunately I’m no catholic. I was brought up believing that only God can forgive sins, but it so scary that He is so big and far off, the idea of an anonymous person seems so real and better; so let me do it the proper way.

“Father I have sinned”

Then I can get to tell him all I had done. And he tells me to do penance for my sins and literally my burdens are lifted from my shoulders and I am free. After I’m gone, the priest sits down and recounts my story he is bound by confidentiality not to tell. But how can he keep such story in his head and not go insane? Even he could not believe the story even though it dripped with sincerity and truth. To avoid losing his mind over this he wrote my story in his journal. Later that year, by mistake, that journal got into the hands of someone who told someone who later told another someone the things I did that night and since it has become public knowledge I want to sue the church and the priest for breach of confidentiality.
Now I stand in the witness-box in court, having just been examined by my counsel. I am being cross-examined by their lawyer and he asks me one question “What happened before the confession?” My counsel shouts “Objection my Lord “On what ground?” asks the judge “This is not in issue my lord” and their counsel says“My lord but it is relevant”
“Objection overruled, witness you have to answer that question”
Then and there I Knew my life would never remain the same.
“Let me start from the very beginning” I say.

Monday 24th, January 2008
On this day I was still married and I can still tell that, I was happy with my marriage. The only problem was that I got married to a “stiff board”. Nothing I did on our matrimonial bed ignited any fire within her; it was like making love to the bed. Correction, even the bed would have groaned. Not my wife. In this age of sexual orientation and experimentation, all we did was the archaic and forgotten missionary style. That is what you get for marrying a virgin, but since I got satisfied. I didn’t think of it; she was the money bag in the house after all. She gets a fat cheque eery month and to her credit. she is a very good and loving wife.
My life changed, when on this day I got to work and I found out that the management had deemed it fit to change  my secretary who was over 50 years of age and who reminds me constantly of my wife with someone named Susan who I believed would be as inefficient as the common name she bore. The first sight I had of her was my doom because she was bent over on my desk with her behind facing the door, and by jove, she was wearing the most flesh hugging skirt I had ever seen! With a dangerous slit going up to her thighs, Jove that was the longest, freshest piece of leg I had seen and all I could think of was taking her there and then. Maybe I had groaned or made a noise because she turned around and I was assaulted with the sight of heaven and my heart stopped beating in my chest.
“I am Susan” she said, “Can I get your suit or would you prefer coffee first?”
And since then I had to walk around the office with a bag in front of me to cover my constant disturbance. She psychologically assaulted me in every way you can imagine until all I could think of was having sex with her. All that was keeping me was the opportunity; either fate wanted to take a shit on me or just wanted to fuck me, it presented me with a bizarre opportunity.

3rd of May, 2008.
Because we had to work late into the night, we were the last in the office building. By then, she was just like the girl of your fantasy you would not meet. We were in the elevator about to leave when there was a power outage; convenient. The last thing I rationally remembered was she holding my hands in fear of the dark and I held her close to soothe her fears. The things she did to me that night are things I can’t say in public because it would offend public morality. After that day nothing mattered anymore, we did it anywhere and everywhere. It didn’t matter as long as the opportunity presented itself. Sometimes I had to take official matters out of the state and I would make sure she went along so she could please me in ways I had never imagined possible. I couldn’t get enough of her! She called me sometimes in the middle of the night, asking me to come over to her house. It was dangerous and risky but it excited me like crazy. She called my phone when she knew my wife would be in earshot and told me dirty things she was doing to herself. It was like introduction to heroine and I just got hooked on it. She was all that mattered and I was ready to give up all for her sake. I changed my will and most of my personal things were put in her name I was not in love people, I was way past love. I worshipped the ground she walked on. Things were fine until she got pregnant and wanted to move into my matrimonial home with me. All these while, my wife and I had been cohabitating under the same roof with no intimate moments between us. I knew bringing in Susan into the house would  be asking for trouble and I tried talking her out of it but she would not listen. Then I thought and weighed it, sex and a good life with my wife, and even though the former was more tempting, I picked the latter and broke everything with Susan going back to my boring prude of a wife.

24th of December, 2008.
I was with my wife having dinner when the door bell rang. I got the door and without a thought, opened up. The next thing I knew, I was shoved into my house and there i was, staring into the empty eyes of a double-barreled gun. The holder was one tall brutish looking man; three other men strode in and last to come in was my worst nightmare and by jove, was she sexy! To cut the long story short my wife was raped brutally and killed in my presence. “You left me for your wife. Now that she is dead, would you marry me?”
“Father I have sinned. I married the woman who killed my wife.”

The court was stunned into silence.


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