Secrets of a Virgin Girl (6).

See here for previous episode.

**

This is a long post. I am sorry I couldn’t make it shorter. I hope you grab a bottle of whatever feels good, settle into a comfortable seat, and enjoy the read. Thank you.

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Visiting for The Weekend.

You must meet Pastor Johnson, at least, hear him out; mama emphasises over the next few days, recounting how often he has been to visit her with gifts and provisions since the weekend party. Who e epp? She impresses upon you, how she is certain that he is interested in you, and would make a good and caring husband. At the same time, she bombards you with questions about “this new man” that has happened upon you like a Miracle. “Is he AS or AA?”, “What does he do for a living?”, “What tribe is he? You cannot marry Igbo or Hausa o!”, “What qualification does he have?”, “Where are his parents?”, “Is he ready for marriage?”, “Can he afford your bride price?”, “What is his religion sef?!” Many more questions like this that mama has asked you about Sogo, but you have chosen not to say any more, telling Mama she would meet him soon and find out for herself.

You visit Sogo for the weekend, a month after his visit to Lagos. You have missed him terribly. You arrive at his apartment something around 2:00pm on Saturday. He welcomes you with the cheeriest smile your eyes have ever seen, his apartment bursting with the smell of freshly made Vegetable soup, and the heady feeling of James Morrison’s “you give me something”. You melt inside a little; as you fall into his arms for a good number of seconds, allowing the ambience of everything around him abide with everything inside you. He is wearing those pair of jeans that you like like sin, but thankfully, his chest is enclosed in a blue round-neck tee shirt. He heaves your small box up, into a room beside the kitchen, and soon returns with two glasses of wine.

“How have you been my love?” he asks.

“Good; even better now that ‘m with you.” You respond, honestly. He smiles and raises his glass to cheer to that. You chuckle. “Your apartment is…” you pause, scouting for the best word your head can provide “…your apartment is beautiful.” You eventually say, settling for the most simple word.

He smiles again. “Gracias mi amor! So I have just prepared Rice and Vegetable soup. Eat first, or take a shower first?” You decide to take a shower first. He shows you to the room where he dropped your bag earlier—the spare room—and plants a kiss on your forehead before leaving you by yourself. You melt inside again.

In thirty minutes, you are all freshened up, and changed into a flared polka-dot knee-length gown. You join him in the kitchen, where he is cleaning up. You help him serve the food and take it out onto the dining table, where you eat in companionable silence. The food is exquisite, and you fall in love with him, even much deeper. When you are done, you both wash up the dishes, and move to the sitting room—your head on his lap, his hands in your hair. You tell him about Pastor Johnson, and mama’s insistence on you meeting him. You talk about mama’s concerns for marriage; and how she is infinitely eager to see if he, Sogo, really exists.

You do not mean to scare him, but these issues are weighing too heavy upon your mind, and you feel the need to let out your steam. He listens, patiently, un-disturbing-ly; and you reckon again, for the umpteenth time that that is what you love most about him. He listens, unlike Pastor Johnson, the supposed “right choice”. By the time you are done, you are seated upright facing him. You put your face in your hands and sigh heavily, apologising for talking so much, so long, so soon; then you ask him to tell you about him—his week, his toasters, and admirers. He smiles and takes your lips in response. You did not see it coming.

His kiss is gentle, assuring. You are getting more used to this, as you pull closer to him and press into his firm ribs. His hardness scrapes your thigh, as your nipples tickle his chest. You know at that moment, that the inevitable is about to happen. You stiffen a little as thoughts shuffle in your head. You do not know how to do this, but you do not think too long about it; you cannot even think. Mama’s voice floats in your head now. You know you should not be doing this. This temple, your body; do not do it. You forcefully take your mind off the voice; off everything except the heat, his heat. You stay in the moment—and watch fate unfold.

He stops then, for a heartbeat, and you wish he had not. He looks into your eyes as if asking for permission to see into your soul. Your eyes glisten with a shade of emotions even you cannot completely decipher. “I—I have not done this before” You announce, almost in a shade of whisper; as if needing to explain the undecided expression in your eyes. His eyes soften, he does not say a thing; rather he pulls you into a long tight embrace, that says so much yet so little.

“I don’t know what you’ve done to me Omolara, but whatever it is, please don’t stop.” You smile into his neck. “I love you Omolara. And I want you in every way, but this can wait… until you are ready.” You nod your response, but it is at times like this that you wish he were not that sensitive to your unspoken thoughts.

Just then, you catch a glimpse of what seems like a pack of cigarettes lying recklessly on the side stool. You stiffen and pull out of his embrace. “Is that Benson? Do you smoke?” you ask him without ceremony.

“Yes. You didn’t know?”

You are a little angry. “I didn’t know? You fucking didn’t say!”

“Omolara,” he shrugs “you didn’t ask. I had no idea that it mattered to you. Besides…”

“Don’t excuse yourself Sogo. We have been talking for months now, and you never saw it fit to tell me about it. Were you hiding it from me?”

“Hide? What? No!” he sighs. “Omolara, I am sorry. I swear it probably just skipped my mind. I have no issue telling people I smoke, I just don’t say it without being prompted. It’s a habit I have grown used to.” He tries to touch you. You flinch. You hate smokers. You cannot stand the smell of cigarette puffs. It irks you. You only know the name of the cigarette because mama used to sell it in her supermarket when you were younger. “Omolarami,” he continues “if it matters to you, I don’t do it too often, I really only smoke when I am stressed.” And then you remember that he had told you he had been working on a particularly rigorous case the past week, one he just finished and won (as usual) the previous day. You know that had been one very stressful week…

“How many packets did you have this past week?”

He clearly did not see the question coming, so he hitches.

“Don’t attempt to lie to me Sogo, or I’ll be gone for good. I cannot stand a lying smoker!”

“Two…”

“Sticks or packets?” you prompt.

“Packs” Your heart beats in blues. You do not know how much that is, but it is much!

“Two? Two packets?” You are angry. He is silent. You both seat at opposite ends of the small sofa, recoiled. You are angry because you are worried for his health; because he did not tell you about it ever- not the first day you told him to tell you everything about him, or the subsequent days when you asked him about his habits and must-dos. If you had known earlier, you would not be here playing love with him.

You break. You are breaking. Sogo is everything you should not be doing, but you love him. He lied to you! He did not lie, he just never said! Not saying is lying! But you have not told him you watch Pornography and touch yourself! I used to! You still have not told him.

“I used to watch Pornography and touch myself.” You blurt out your confession before you change your mind.

“What?!” comes his response. You are ashamed and even angrier.

“Sorry I never mentioned. I think I should get going now.” You stand up to leave, because you do not know how to look him in the eye after what just ensued. You wish he would pull you back like they do in movies, but he does not. And each second takes you farther from him and into the room; where you begin to pack up and change in tears. You are fucking angry! This is not how this was supposed to end. But maybe it is for the best. Maybe this is goodbye.

He comes in without announcing, five minutes later. You are half-dressed, half-naked.

“Shit! Get out Sogo! You could have at least knocked!”

“I still love you.” He says. Arms and legs crossed as he leans against the door in defiance of your last order. You back down on your rage and make yourself sit. He joins you and repeats himself “I still love you, habits and mistakes inclusive.” And then, he hugs you tightly. “I would not promise the smoking would go away, but I would try to work on it. At least, stay and watch me try…”

You stay.

The rest of the weekend seems to fly, and on Sunday afternoon when you are about to leave, he promises he would be in Lagos to visit your parents the next weekend if that is okay with you. You jump into his arms, and scream that it is! You return home excited. Finally! At least, maybe mama will let you rest.

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

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The Versatile Blogger Award.

The very inspiring and interesting blogger, Ebby’s Lane, whom I just connected with sometime last week nominated me for the Versatile Blogger Award. I am still in awe of how you think this much of me in so little time. Thank you so much ma’am! I will be storming your blog space every now and every then… and I hope you feel at home here too. Please don’t be a stranger, i’d always love to read from you! ❤

The Rules:
A) Thank the person that has nominated you & include a link to their blog.
B) Nominate at least 15 blogs of your choice.
C) Link your nominees and let them know of your nomination.
D) Share seven different facts about yourself.

the-versatile-blogger-award

My nominees are:
DrSwag
Yemie
Zika
Sheedart
Kiddishrebel
Amity
Zayta
Topazo
Tony
Subman
Sueddie

Karina

Temitoria

Gloverdeb

Seven facts about me.
1. I am a short black girl, but my friend, Kingsley, thinks I should add peculiar to the mix. So…

2. I feel too much, and show too little. I know, I know… all ‘m saying is never imagine I don’t appreciate you as much as you do me.

3. I love making people happy in my own little way. I know the world doesn’t revolve around me, but I like to imagine that once a while your face lights up in a smile because of me.

4. I love to invent new words or phrases. Haha. I know, I know. Quirky right? Well!

5. I am in love with my nose. People who know me know this. Oh, you didn’t? Now you know yo.

6. I love beards and dimples like cray! Don’t ask me why yo!

7. I hate stilettos, and make up… and yeah, ‘m a tad muscular. Just recently my girls asked if I work out. I be like w-what? Do I still pass to be a lady? Hopefully! Not?

Well… Thanks again Ebby! I appreciate you. And y’all have yourselves a Splufik Monday. ❤

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2016.

About Friday Night.

Hello guys! So HEADS UP, this is a very long story. But I love you guys so, that I hate to keep you in suspense over this Tuesday confession, so i’ll let you have it all at once. Be sure to thank me later, and leave some feedback. Me loves you. And many thanks to the ladies that made this piece rock! You bad! <3!

**

girlfriends

Friday’s are my favourite. There’s the let your hair down mood, and there’s the stretch of weekend ahead. Well, more than that, if i’ll totally be honest with you is the fact that i’ll yet again be spending an otherwise boring mini- holiday with Mark. The guy.

I have just finished a meeting and ‘m marching back to my office to prep for next week and chat with the love of my life when a call comes through. It’s Dolapo, one of my closest friends!

“Heyyyyy Dolls honey! How are ya?! How are the autumn days coming for ya!”

“Hello honey. Well, well. As cold as you care to think.”

“Hahah! Right. ‘m sure you’ll be fine. So tell me what brought this on? You were sipping a cup of coffee that tasted as good as I sound, or you saw some Bitch sashaying around in my Signature Armani bag?”

“Hahha! Almost a genius darling. So ‘m at the airport and yes, I did see some lady wearing your exact kind of Armani bag and oh she’s a beauty.”

I laugh. “Crazy girl! So whatchu doing up at the airport? Some official trip to Hawaii? Girl, when I grow up, lemme be like you o! Not stuck between meetings and desk-files, wearing myself off.”

“Ah! I wish. Coming to Naija! And you had better be there to pick me for say 6:00.”

“Wh– Na– oh no girl! You’re kidding right? It’s been eight fucking years, and one day, out the blues, you wake and say it’s time to come back home?”

“Hahah! Wish I was. And oh, what? Come back home? No honey, it’s called a Vacation. Just a while. It’s why I had to call you this early. Shudda called you earlier this week but I had to get through work with my eyes literally shut and my fists clenched. Was a total war! Glad I could get away. Taking about two weeks off.”

“Get out of here! That’s great news darling. I’ll be there. Don’t worry.”

“Thanks pal! And we’ll get to spend the weekend together aye?.”

“Gr– oh no! Weekend? Err…”

“Oh! Had plans? I could.. I could..”

What Harley?! So what if you can’t be at Marks’ one weekend? Where’s your self- esteem? Let him miss you this one time and come get you, if he’s manned up enough to show his face to your girls! Besides, bitches over dick!

“No darling. Weekend is fabulous! We’ll stay at mine. Have you called Babs?”

“Nah! She won’t pick. Just tell her for me darling. See you guys soon. Cheers to the freaking weekend!”

“Cheers darling.”

***

“Betsy, i’ve got ta run now, aye? Sorry I can’t wait to give you a ride, told ya ‘ve got to pick my friend up from the airport by 6:00. Mwaahs!”

“Okay darling! No worries. You take care and have yourself a wonderful weekend! Cha Cha hunnay!”

“Cha Cha!… Felix, Raymond, Nat… see y’all on Monday guys.”

“Bye Harley.” they all coo.

I leave the office by 4:00pm so I can beat the Island traffic. I make a quick call to Babs and she says she’ll meet me at the airport. I am on phone with Mark, the rest of the time. He’s keeping me company through the inevitable Third Mainland Bridge traffic. Bless his heart.

“But i’m so going to miss you, you know that? I had made plans for dinner. I was going to cook you dinner this one time. Honest.”

I laugh. “Yeah right Mark! The last time you tried to, you almost razed the house down!”

“Common girl! It’s cos you were all up in my face, distracting me… that smell of yours! Damn, I swear it drives me crazy everytime! I had you in the house, and your sexy butt was roaming everywhere… those eggs could rot on fire for all I cared! I am a man baby.”

I laugh again. I love Mark. “But don’t worry…” he continues “…next time will be different. I mean, what’ll happen when we… we get married and ‘ve got you around like every second of everyday? I’ll have to do you dinner sometime and quiet my libido … if just that one time. I care about you. Deeply.”

“I know Mark. And me, you.” I am almost close to tears. I am so wishing I could be with him tonight!

“So you’ll get to send me photos though. Of what you’d have been in tonight if you’d been here. Make my night still baby. Make my night.”

“Bad boo!” I laugh. “I’ll try. But… but you know you could always come over to mine. The girls won’t mind.”

“What? No, baby. Remember we said we’ll take this thing slowly? I don’t want your girls fussing all over about us which could really mess things up. Just you and me now baby. You. Me. No others yet… for now. Let’s work things out first, and surprise them with the rest. I promise you it’s best.”

My mood is dampened. Same story, different days, and it never makes sense to me! What do you mean by just you and me?

“Baby, no words?”

“It’s fine. Erm, I actually just made the turn into the airport road. I’ll chat with you later honey.”

“You are not happy.” he sighs, as though he’s helpless. I hate the sound of that. Makes me want to gather him in my arms and tell him i’m sorry for not understanding him. But am I?

“Okay darling. Please let me know when you get to the airport. Okay? I love you.”

“Cheers Mark.” the call is off in no time. I am sure we will fight over me not telling him ‘I LOVE YOU TOO’, but I cannot be bothered! How can you take up so much space in my heart and ask me not to share that joy of having you with friends and family? What’s the worst that could happen? A break-up, and we’ll go our separate ways! Hasta la vista! Big deal? Men and their ways though.

I Ctrl Save thoughts of my love life upon sighting Barbara. I just realise I arrived late, because she’s with Dolapo when I join them.

“Yayyyyy!” we all squeal as we exchange hugs for what seems like eternity. Afterwards, we drive through Domino’s for some Pizza, and off to my place for a girl’s night in! My place is home to them. Well, atleast to Babs who stays over very often… but for Dolapo, ‘m sure she’ll make herself comfortable! We’ve been friends for too long to bother about niceties on how to be a lovable guest. I leave the girls for a while to take a warm shower and fight with my head on whether to call Mark or not, to tell him ‘m home. I have tried so hard to stay off my phone since I last spoke to him just because I know I want him around, hook or crook, and I hate that that can’t happen. I get over myself eventually, and place a call to him after stepping out of the shower.

“Hey.”

“Hey.” there goes the anger in him, but damn him!

“I’m home. I just called to tell you.”

“Okay.”

I smirk in my head. Okay? No, I can’t deal with attitude tonight, I should be the angry one!

“Cheers.” I get off the phone, and make to my girls before I wallow in tears of self righteousness.

***

“Hey girls!” there’s so much strewn over my sitting room rug. Chocolates, make-up, clothes and some more clothes! “Baby. Just two weeks and you packed like you were coming to get married.” I poke playfully at Dolapo, while joining Babs to rape the pile because we are certain we’ll find something to steal for keeps.

“Na you sabi! Whatever you do, just don’t touch those!” she points to a shimmering dare- devil thigh-high dress. And Babs and I gasp at our friend.

“Get out of here!” I exclaim. “What’s got into our friend here? The ‘Let’s dress modestly’ campaign manager. What ch– changed?”

She smiles, shyly and sweetly. And I nod at Barbara who understands that there must be a guy involved.

“Spill!” Barbara orders.

“Well… it’s nothing really. I guess, people change, you know? I just sort of thought that there was so much in me I wanted… needed to express and set free, and I really was never myself before. Just merely a reflection of what my parents asked that I see in my eldest sister. They made me feel that to be successful, I HAD TO BE HER. Which somehow I realised was not key. I could be successful. I wanted to be successful. I thought success had a specific definition… like you had to be a particular person or thing to be successful, but I found out eventually that happiness is success! And if it makes you tremendously happy, it is your breakthrough! I mean look at me, I… I love my job, I love my body, I love art, I am freaking living, and I am happy. That is success. I miss home, but… but I am happy.”

Uh oh. No one saw that coming. We have tears in our eyes before we think to stop it. We’ve never really broached the topic of how Dolapo’s folks kicked her out of the house because she chose to be a model. They cut her off, totally, from everything… but she’s kept strong so far, and she’s had us. We close in on her for a warm hug now and cool off on the tears a bit before talking again, more in a bid to recognise and share her moment of epiphany, than the loss of words to say!

“Okay, so that was a touching story! But you missed the point. The gown, the guy. Spill babe! No 419!”

We break into a bout of laughter, and watch Dolapo’s eyes light up instantly. Oh, such a joy to see.

“Okay… err, so! You know it’s the 21st Century, and it’s the E-age, so don’t kill me before I die! I met him on Instagram. You know how it’s kind of hard to filter through perverts and fans with the kind of job I do, but this one guy… he cut across to me somehow. He’s a writer, a badass writer. So he came on my writing page first, where I don’t even post pictures of me at all, he liked my works, we did some collaborations together, and we just synced. I have never before seen such chemistry in my whole entire life!”

“Uh oh! She’s sure smitten! How can a writer use ‘whole and entire’ in one sentence if shit is not real?!” I laugh. Barbara is crazy.

“Shut up bitch, and let’s hear word!” I poke my tongue at her and blow her a kiss before turning back to Dolapo “Please continue Dolls.”

“So… we got right on. Started talking. And I added him to my modelling page. That was when SHIT got really real. He would call me everyday! Mbok, he would call my Local number everyday and skype me often for video chats! I used to think all your Naija guys be brokeass people’s until I met him.”

“No way darling. So he’s Nigerian?! How long you been on?” that’s me fetching for information. I love guys that know what they want and hustle for it however they have to!

“Yes way. Nigerian. From Oyo. Bad ass IT Tech that found his way through the doors of NNPC. We been on for about 3 months now.”

“What?! Three months and we been chatting all that time you didn’t tell us? That’s bad babe!” Barbara yells. I can’t get mad because they don’t know about Mark either. So I just keep mute.

“He said he wants us to take things slow kinda. He’s got a thing for not letting out stuff until they fully materialise. Typical Nigerian mentality. This is the 21st Century kwa! But i’m not too bothered cos of my career. You know how them bitches hustle for gossip on your love- life and what-nots.”

Something about those words about Dolapo’s friend got to me, I had to speak out. “What’s it with these guys anyway?” Barbara and Dolapo turn to me.

“What guys?” they question in unison.

“All these boyfriends and husband materials kwanu! You know Mark says the same thing to me. Every goddamn time!”

“Mark?” Barbara questions.

“What same thing?” Dolapo adds.

Only then do I realise I have spilled the bean before I meant to, and Barbara might just have my head for it too. So I tell them about Mark and how i’ve been on with him for a little over Four months as well.

“Shut the front door!” Barbara exclaims in her typical slang which she stole off “Ibukun Donald’s Style Vitae post” but won’t admit to. “Four months babe? And na this same Naija we dey so o!” I laugh, she scowls. Then I laugh some more, I can’t help myself. But Dolapo looks at me with such sympathy and understanding in her eyes. We’re wearing the same gaddamn shoes now, and it’s very ill-fitting, but we don’t know whether to pinch or scratch or just fucking pull the shoes off.

“Well,…” Barbara continues. “Guess we’re rocking the same boat hunnays. I have been seeing Mex for Two months now and I stay at his place during weekdays… I only go to my parents’ on some weekends. Never told you guys cos he said about the same thing to me the one time I asked him about telling my friends about him and stuff. Bury me now or never!”

“What?!” That’s all we can manage. Me and Dolapo. And before we know it, we are throwing pillows at Barbara for being such a bitch about our confessions even when she was just as guilty as us.

“But really, what’s wrong with these men?” Dolapo revisits my question now. I keep mum. I am clueless. I help myself to a glass of wine and reach out for my phone this one time to indulge myself a little. As expected, there’s tons of texts from Mark. From angry cussing words, to apologies, to pleas, to loving cooing words. I am amazed at how he swaps temperaments so fast. I feel like ‘m dealing with a psycho most times. I just ignore his messages all together, once I catch what the girls are discussing about.

“… so I kind of planned my vacay this early because of him. I want to meet him. We’ve got a date tomorrow night.”

“Yayy!” we squeal together like high school girls who’ve just been asked out to Prom!

“It’s been crazy doing the long- distance thing. On some days, I just want to be with him. Kissing, cuddling and stuff… but the most we get to do is phone sex. Video…”

“No way! Shut the front door!” we roll over in laughter at how almost- gross yet surprisingly sexy that sounds. “Who stole our Dolapo Anifowose?! Girl, this ain’t you!” She laughs with us, bowing her head shyly, like she’s a budding flower afraid of the morning sun.

“Way to go girl! I spend my weekends with Mark. I miss him… somehow.”

“Awwn. ‘m so lovestruck right now!” Barbara cooes. She’s a devil! We sip some more wine, and indulge in our private lives a bit, scrolling and tapping on phones and tablets, until Dolapo dares the devil. She decides to show us a picture of Mr Hot and Spicy!

“Here guys. Damn ‘taking things slow’. My bitches gotta know what’s up with me! Bitches over dick.”

“Yeah girl!” we squeal, as we gather around her to see who Mystery guy is.

“Mex?!”

“Mark?!”

This is not happening. But it appears Dolapo’s Oyo State hottie, is my Mark, and Barbara’s Mex. Someone tell me what happens next, because I think I am about to faint.

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2015.