Kola;
The most
interesting thing about Kola is that he doesn’t matter. And by the time you
realize this isn’t true, you’d be too dumbfounded to regain perspective. All he does is break laws. Wherever there is
a law and Kola comes about it, be certain he would have broken them down to
bits. He was undaunted, but yet, he said of himself ‘I’m the biggest chicken
there is.’
He ran away
from home. A 300 level student of accounting at Kogi state university, he
decided one morning he’s had enough of this systematized life that wasn’t
fulfilling. The world around him was suffocating, clutching at his throat like
boulders. The night I saw him, I was eager for a customer, any customer, so
when he came in his all black outfit that made him seem leaner and younger than
he is, I could almost feel my ovaries jumping. He was handsome, in a way every
handsome man should be; tall, basketball tall, dark but not so dark,
tiny eyes, full lips, pointed nose, and a baritone voice that sinks into the
depths of the mind leaving a persistent echo. But then, there was the elusive
attitude he bore that made me want to protect him.
‘Hi, do you
have a room; yours?’ his voiced echoed with a resonance that bore a decade of
fragmented pains and yet he managed the warmest smile.
‘Yea sure.’
He pulled
out a squeezed N500 note, reluctant to let it slip off his hand, I wanted to
tell him I wasn’t one of those cheap asses. But his next words came fluidly ‘I
hope I can stay a night in your room. It’s all I have, and I can’t afford a
hotel or sleep outside.’
In Abuja,
he was right on both premise. Abuja with all its glorified tales, broad roads,
and shitty mannerisms of obscure wealth is still as slimy as everywhere in the
country. Slimy but with hoards of horny men filled with stolen wealth who swarm
to bask in the only place worthy of common sense infrastructure, littered with
small girls having big gods; fat cockroaches and glorified beggars. I said
‘follow me.’
Zainab;
Her story
is quite a simple one, but like all simple stories it requires a thorough
understanding of it. Zainab grew up knowing she was someone’s wife, having no
option whatsoever. All her growing up was groomed to fit into the pattern of a
cordial and proper woman to satisfy a man over two decades older than her.
Penetrated
without her consent, she endured the pain that was to culminate her existence
as a mannequin. Old men had the most brutal dicks, do not be deceived by its
flaccid appearance. If only they had the willingness to sustain the tempo. They
fucked slow, having no heart to pound; she hated it, the slow movements, the
raspy breathing, the smell of decay oozing out of pores.
Zainab had
a high libido, a ravenous sexual appetite and her owner couldn’t satisfy
this hunger. In trying to please his baby, taking pills and pounding, he died
and she was very rich. Rich enough to own a garage of Rolls Royce, to live her
life on her own terms. Been here, was one of such terms. She wanted a
tutor, and had a fancy for me, letting me become her tutor, to refine her
sexual taste. But frankly, she needed no refinement.
Laying on
the sofa, her legs were spread open, like the petals of a flower under the sun
and her fingers maintained an incessant friction on the skin of her cilt;
twitching, agitated like a possessed woman undergoing exorcism. She let out a
sharp sound of relive as the marvellous pussy of hers squirted liquids like a
tap head. We waited, until she had fully convalesced. I didn’t bother to inspect
the reactions on Kola’s face.
‘Meet my
roommate’
‘Hi’ Kola
managed, obviously flummoxed.
‘This one
is charming and courteous, hope we can share him?’ Zainab replied grinning,
never taking her eyes off him. Her trademark scan.
She could
tell you what kinda fuck a man is from just looking at him. And I’ve come to
agree without question when Zainab says “he would be a boring fuck!’
‘He’s here
to stay the night, not fuck.’ I
injected, and with another of her quirks she hissed ‘Such a waste!’
Kola hadn’t
moved an inch beyond the door post, still trying to accommodate the whole scene
before him into his thoughts. One glance at him and again I find myself feeling
the urge to comfort him.
‘U can
sleep over here.’ Pointing him to the extra bed that’s been packed unused for
months. Zainab had insisted I threw it out, but I refused. How glad was I that
it could finally be used again. That bed had history, had tons of great orgasms
on it long before Zainab came with her loads of cash to pimp everything.
‘Thanks. I
could come back later when you’re done with the business of day.’
‘Fantastic!
I so wanna fuck him!’ Zainab yelled out from the bath.
‘God sakes,
can’t you stop been a whore for a second!’
‘Fuck you
bitch.’ she’s laughing.
‘I’ll be
back later.’ Kola turns out.
‘Now you’ve
chased him away, fuckin’ slut.’
The shower
stops running, she came out naked as she went in and gave me a wink, ‘You know
we could go after him right?’
‘Gosh!’
– Our
pains are revelations of who we are, the things we usually love seldom defines
us. It is those things which pains us that indicates what we are. The litmus
paper of all we are. My pains are not forthcoming, they abide with me. I’ve
conditioned myself to go through pains that are not yet existent. I’ve gone
through sleepless nights accommodating the shits and mess, the tear-soaked eyes
that could be. So when I find myself in these pains as they arrive, I’m not
struck. A dead person cannot be dead twice. Let the pains come, I live like
nothing happened. I live fully, in comfort with my pains.