Secrets of a Virgin Girl (3).

See here for the previous episode.

‘m dedicating this post and the subsequent ones to Joel Jemba and my darling Zoe Du. Thank you for bringing this on. And thank you to everyone else that’s been following this story so far… you are the inspiration. I hope you enjoy this episode and leave some feedback too. 😍😘😉😊

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Retrospection: How you got there.

You have never been in a relationship. Men had come, or more precisely, boys– during your University days; but the ones you liked never liked you enough, and the ones that liked you did not come close to impressive. So, you had worked hard to make your A’s without blemishes or excuses instead. It soon became your only goal– winning. And you had won all the winnables, the Scholarships, and Awards… and even now, you’re still winning; an Assistant Professor at 25– the only single lecturer at your Institution. But it soon began to dawn on you, every moment of every day, as you stared at the sparkly plaques, and the shiny certificates, while browsing through your closet, or walking around your exquisitely furnished two-bedroom Ajah apartment in your favourite Cashmere T-shirt and woolen socks, that maybe you had spent all that time amassing volume, in place of Substance. Love is substance. Substance is Love.

You had felt even lonelier every day since you can remember now– because soon after your Doctorate degree, Mama– every time she called, would never cease to ask you about your marriage plans, while gently reminding you of someone– maybe your childhood friend, or her neighbour, or best friend’s daughter, or your cousin, or her niece, who got married a week before, or had fixed a date for Introduction two months after. You had become fed up, and in want, and in need. And you would watch those Hollywood movies like Titanic, and series like Mary Jane, or Grey’s Anatomy or Fifty Shades of Grey– and your emptiness will widen, your curiosity will stretch, your yearning will deepen.

It had been that need that drove you to the brink of desperation at the beginning of the New Year, when you created accounts on all the dating forums you ever heard of– Badoo, Twoo, Meet your Partner– every one of them. And you had put up your best photo, and promptly received lots of messages– from the raunchy, to the sane, to the profane! It had been around that time that you met Sogo, on one of the Dating Websites. You do not remember which of the Platforms exactly, but you remember it was only Four months ago. His first chat had been something like “Hello there. Can I get your number? I don’t come on here too often, but i’d like to chat with you, and keep in touch; if you don’t mind.”

There had been something about that chat. It was different from the others where people would send you their numbers and ask you to call them (what guts!), or even worse, call you something like Baby, or Sexy, or Sugar (how dare they?!). You had been too tired to think too deeply that night, so you gave him the number to your least accessible line, and that had been that. A part of you had been eager to talk to him. Another part of you liked to think you were indifferent. In the end, you had waited consciously, making sure to take your phone everywhere– even to the bathroom, lest you missed his call. You had been curious and desperate. You had almost given up on ever hearing from him, when his call came in, that evening– exactly five days after. His voice. His voice was all it took for you to fall in love with him.

You had talked again, after that day. He had promised he would call back soon. You had counted down, again because you remember he had called you another five days after. Then, you had returned his call the next five days– and it soon became a routine at the end of the First month.  Towards the middle of your Friendshipy affair in the Second month, he had asked for a Skype Call. You had been hesitant about it for a second or so because you hated Video calls, but seeing as you were eager to see what he really looked like, you agreed just as soon.

Sogo. Sogo is beautifully made. You quickly surmised after that first video call, that his pictures did him no justice. His facial features beckoned boldly through your Laptop screen; his bald shiny head, his little eyes that squeezed sweetly together at the edges when he smiled, and his full promising lips. You had talked at length, with lulls in between, after which he had told you repeatedly, how beautiful he thought you were. You had blushed that first night, as many times as he had said something nice about you. It felt good. He felt good.

So you would Skype every other day, and soon, it became every night. He would put his Laptop on the Kitchen Counter, bare-chested, with only a pair of blue Jeans swaying deliciously down his hips; as he chopped Onions, or cleansed the Stock he needed to make his soup, while he talked to you. Even though you could never perceive the aroma, or taste from what he cooked, the way he owned the kitchen space assured you he owned top notch Culinary skills too– one you couldn’t even dream of competing with. The other day, he had taught you how to prepare Oha soup, which he said he learnt during his Service years in Imo State. And the day after that, you had been the one with the Laptop on the Kitchen Counter, donning a pair of Shorts and your favourite Cashmere t-shirt, as you made the soup he taught you, while he watched with eager eyes. You could not not fall in love with him, even more.

You began to talk every day in the third month– like best friends who had known each other for ages. He works as a Lawyer in a big Law Firm at Abeokuta, so you would ask about his work, his Cases and everything in- between. He would ask about your Lectures, your students, and everything else too. He is the last of four children, from four different women, he had once told you. His father was one accomplished polygamist, he had emphasised, humorously; after mentioning that both his parents had passed on. You had told him it was just you and your brother from the same mother and father. And that really had been that.

You would watch movies together sometimes, through his Laptop or yours. On one of such days, just after you had finished watching Heartfelt, he had caught you unawares when he said “you know on some days, all I can think about is kissing you like that”, referring to the lead characters in the movie you had just seen; and you had blushed, thoroughly. That had been the first day. The first day that your body had yearned to be touched; the way it does these days. And he had looked deeply into your eyes, and you into his, through the Camera on your laptops, as if you had been sitting just in front of each other. “If you were here”, he had continued, “if you were here Lara, the things I would have done to you…” You had looked away then, biting your lower lips until they hurt. Your nipples had peaked at that point; thoroughly embarrassed, you had hoped he did not see it. You do not know if he did. Then he had finished off “… one day Omolara. One day, I promise you, if you let me, I would. And if you don’t, if you don’t, we would both wish you did.”

You do not remember much else of what had been said that night before you had both bid each other farewell; but you remember that you had stylishly reverted to Voice Calls only, with hopes to lock away the part of you he had opened up that day; but you had failed, terribly. It was as though he had suddenly made you aware of the things a man could do to a woman’s body, and not just any woman’s body, your body; and you had found yourself delving even deeper– wanting to know, and understand; seeking and exploring, testing the limits. And all the spark it took, all the motivation you ever needed, was as much as his voice; or as little as a flicking passing thought of him– bare-chested, with those jeans swaying down his hips deliciously, as he tended to his cooking, like an artist to a piece of his creation. No more. No less.

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

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A girl’s thoughts- who do I marry?

You know, I’d love to go on. I’d love to damn the consequences, and go for what my heart wants. I’d love to fight for my love, because that’s what people always do. And each time they did, they won. Yes! Those people in the mushy love movies I’ve watched, like, ‘Kuch Kuch Hota Hai’.. Where Rahul fought for Anjali at the latest hour, and still somehow won. But you know, all of a sudden, somehow, the reality dawns on me.. ‘M not Anjali, or Rahul,.. ‘M real, in the real world, no cameras, or casts.. So I must not be deceived!

I know what I need, I know what I want.. These two things stand so far apart, yet they collide. God had always known there’d be conflicts between needs and wants, that’s why he gave us the brain to act as an arbitrator, or mildly put, a mediator. But what if it doesn’t suffice? If it adds more to the turmoil, who takes it from there? I guess that’s where YOU come in.

Here’s the case.

I want Emeka, but everyone thinks I need Ifeanyi. Emeka is a short fine man. He’s the MD of his father’s brewery. At his young age, he’s got a lot of money, a helicopter, 10 jeeps, 4 limousines, 28 mansions, and yeah, estates to inherit when his father dies. He is the only son of the richest merchant in his town. So you can imagine how I’ll never have to worry, ever again in my life for nothing! Asides that, I just like him. He’s got this play- boy personality that so tickles my fancy. You know how they do!

Ifeanyi is a tall, dark, handsome, maybe-too- nice gentleman. The 5th child of comfortable parents and a graduate of Agricultural Sciences and Fishery, teaching Elementary Agric till he has enough money to start up his farm. He’s a fine man by all standards, with an amiable personality and a gentle suave smile, but on days when he takes me on a date and the sun gets so hot, neither his smile nor personality is able to keep my skin from its scorching darkening effect. And I begin to wonder, how long will this go on?

You see, some facts may appear wrongly to you, so I better clarify them now. I do not love Emeka for his money. I love him, wealth and swag rolled into a ball, and thrown into a trash can! There are things about him I can’t explain to you but I pray you’ll understand. Have you never been here before? You love the bad guys, and hate the good ones? Well, I’m here now. Watch me live my own reality.

Who am I? Pardon my manners! I am Sandra, a single 28 year old banker, from a comfortable family. I am very comfortable myself, so I won’t necessarily be needing some dude to take me to places. There’s no place I wanna be that I haven’t been to. If you find a guy who ‘d take me to heaven though, please holler!

So here’s the deal, I am not particular about marriage. Left to me, I’ll take my time to sort the shafts from the real deal if only people will leave me be. But thing is, ‘m under pressure. Mama wants to see her grand children, Dad says he loves me but can’t bear to keep bumping into me each time he’s walking down the passage way to his room. I understand, don’t I? But they don’t understand!

I have been seeing Ifeanyi and Emeka for about a year now, without them meeting each other for once, at least not in my presence. (Tufiakwa, Heaven forbid that!) I met Ifeanyi first, and introduced him to my family as a ‘friend’ before meeting Emeka, whom I instantly fell in love with at first sight; but I’m yet to introduce him to my people, even though I’ve dined and wined with his family severally. I love them both honestly, but can’t marry them both sadly. It is at points like this, that you have to give way to mentality!

I know it’s very simple, the decision I have to make. Rather, my brain thinks so. ‘Leave Emeka, marry Ifeanyi’. You’ve known him longer, plus your family thinks he’s THE ONE. Have sex, make love, and give birth to handsome and beautiful nerds with goals, and ambitions, and a little too much ‘niceties’ to their attitudes. Picnic of Pork, and Palmwine every Sunday in the Farm house. Perfect family! But is it really that easy? I know Emeka drinks and smokes, and Ifeanyi doesn’t. In fact, they’re plain opposites of each other. But truly, my heart craves for Emeka.

Okay, if I decide to follow my heart, and leave Ifeanyi, for Emeka. ‘ALERT! ALERT!’ My brain screams day and night. ‘He can’t love you like Ifeanyi would.’

You don’t understand, or do you? Ifeanyi doesn’t possess all I dreamed my man would. He possesses the dreams, passion, strife, zeal, determination, looks, but not the kind of sexuality I want in a man. He isn’t spontaneous. He hardly makes an attempt to kiss me when we go on dates, he doesn’t linger on my cleavage like Emeka does. He just makes me feel like ‘m not attractive at all. Is he sterile, Or just being a gentleman still? You see, for me, that’s some boring detail!

I want a balanced relationship. Not too much on one side, and too little on another. And really, I haven’t waited this long to settle for bullshit! Maybe I can teach Ifeanyi to love me like I want him to, but can I teach him to not be impotent if he already is; or rather, Emeka to stop drinking too much, at least not when we go out with his friends so that he doesn’t speak too much gibberish that no one even cares to listen to?

Sexuality, and Romance aside, Marriage is a life- long commitment. You should only marry someone you can always be happy with. Someone you can manage with, when there’s nothing to live on, or no one but yourselves to depend on. Wealth wouldn’t guarantee you happiness. But when poverty streaks to the bones, you forget what it means to smile, you forget love, and then its quarrels and battles, and ‘shebi I told you not to marry him’ stories… Or maybe not.

I am not in a hurry, but ‘they’ are. So who do I marry? Emeka or Ifeanyi? The one my heart is after, or the one my head screams for?!

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2014.