Waiting for thought-registering sex
Opula rented a sizeable two bedroom with a bath and shower. However, she knew she was rushed into paying for a house with a Pentecostal church as its only neighbor. The moment she stepped into the compound and saw the mini hall with an inscription across a placard; Jehovah Can Do Ministry, she knew she would have to reshape her mind to cope with the consistent rowdy vigils. The other houses she saw looked dilapidated, with an overpowering reek from their gutters that dated as ancient as the creation of Lagos. This very one looked spacious, with a fresh coat of painted walls, as well as electric fittings in the kitchen, toilets and rooms still in shape. The sofas and foam escaped the rejigging of bed bugs and healthy looking Lagos rats. Whenever she walked across the tiled floor, the chills running into her heels seemed preferable to the scented air pumped out by the walled air-conditioner. Outside existed fresh with blossoming flowers that assembled to form a garden in its greenness. The Landlady had told her she would only make provisions for her own cooking utensils, except the gas cooker. She held her chest and smiled into the mirror. Her instinct told her Nku would fancy it and would not continue squatting with a God-knows-who at Lekki. She had gone out of her way to secure a befitting house for the reuniting of their love. Unlike in Enugu where they existed like grasshoppers, leaping from toilet to bushes, combing around for the hidden, quiet hole to bite out kisses and caress their youthful bodies.
They had been in love since nineteen and as she rubbed her palms and looked into the mirror smouldering smiles came on her face; she could recall how a soldier caught them in the bush kissing and fingering their body in one of those unfavorable days and how they nakedly cut grasses and positioned their meaty buttocks for a soldier-spank. Nku defended their love by volunteering to take her spank. She had winced as Nku collected six spanks and endured home with reddened buttocks. They had grown so fast with time and Nku taught her all she knew about cooking while she paid for his bills and that of his widowed mother. The mirror on the wall helped to expose the impatient woman in her; those bulging cheeks that had swallowed her dimples, thick shoulders and arms, broad hips, big firm buttocks, meaty thighs and breath of passion for Nku. Nku made her to know that every woman’s virginity was a sexual account that should be opened by the right man. She had waited for this moment and Festac was the fortunate place. It would not escape tonight, when Jehovah Can Do Ministry would not be hosting a vigil. It would be at the hush hour of the night when untrained crickets would be chirping, vigilant frogs would be croaking and then the vibrant penis of Nku would collapse her virginity; Jericho wall; that would be his crown for making her an adult virgin. She smacked her lips and rubbed her body; the uninvited sweetness was already on her lips like a mountain of sugar. The other time in Enugu she overheard an American scientist saying virginity consumed at adulthood could make couple live longer than their expected age. As she smiled her dimples struggled to deepen; she would love to grow old with Nku so she could remind him how he held her shoulders and youthfully pounded his penis into her tight vagina until her Jericho wall collapsed to the level of the roads in New York.
Right in the kitchen, the piston pounded the yam into the mortar and every quietness within gave way. She eagerly looked forward to preparing bitter leaf soup and pounded yam. It was strenuous but anything for Nku. He taught her how to prepare the food very well as it was his favorite. She smiled with every affordable effort; knowing that looking stunning in an Ankara wrapper and cooking for Nku was one of her Lagos dreams.
“Today will mark the end of Nku squatting with someone,” she said within herself and stamped it with a sigh and a smile. She inwardly agreed to make babies for Nku even before marriage. She moved her netted Brazilian hair, counting one or two friends that did it; “Ogechi and Ifeoma did it,” she affirmed to herself. “Even they weren’t virgins. They said it was a tricky way of keeping a man whose nice looks pulled the girls and, fortunately that of Nku dragged and caged the girls. “Hmm…” she mumbled as she allowed thought of Nku’s red water melon lips, dash-sleepy eyes and mango-yellow skin to distract her cooking by making her vagina wet already. She could feel her vagina soaking her inner thighs with wetness and then she rushed to the bathroom to wash up.
Lunch was ready and she dished it out, impatiently having a taste in her palms. “Oh!” she exclaimed “Bitter leaf soup is quite a staple food every virgin girl must cook for her man,” she said to herself, glancing at her watch, seeing it was getting late. Her frowns were held and stark thought of Nku’s delay troubled her. She served lunch with two chilled bottles of malt. She quickly sat down with folded chubby arms and impatiently shook her legs. She told him the address and he said he knew the place, that Jehovah Can Do Ministry was famous for its hilarious name around that axis. She quickly went in the shower and washed up again and wore back her make-up which kitchen heat scrubbed off. Whenever she heard a shuffle outside she would strain her ears to check if he was the one so she could rush out and jump on his body. She wore only her netted lingerie which flashed her well shaven vagina, and bra that was weighed down by heavy big breasts. She sat waiting for the arrival of her man.
She couldn’t wait to be taken away by hot thought-registering sex…