RIDING WITH A DOPED SEDUCTRESS

Said she liked the way I chew. I said “thank you”. Little did I know that, by that humble acknowledgment of her compliment, I was helping open a can of warm conversation. The red lip-sticked beauty seemed to have mastered the fine art of conversation. She was practically serenading me with that husky pillow-talky voice. Her voice, combined with the smoky, glazed squinting looks of her eyes, was a sexy turn-on for me. She was a soothing company, otherwise the frequency at which she mention Gala, man, and manhood should have rubbed me the other way.

It was 4:23 pm, it rained miserably on Victoria Island. We were sitting there in the half-filled LagBus for Obalende, at Eko Hotel round-about. It was way past my lunch time; I had left home that morning on empty save for the inevitable cuppa, before I dashed. The Lunch Meet with Frankie and co, I was hurrying to (jumping buses, dodging okadas, wearing out my the soles of my dress-shoes on the pavements) was over. I arrived late and missed the small chops and chapman and mineral waters. So I was just nibbling on Gala (packaged, doughy excuse for sausage roll) and that siren was watching me eat and bb. I liked the way she was looking across the seat at me. I won’t mind that nice face watch me jack-off. It is an inspiring heart-shaped face.

So we got talking, or she got talking, as I was really having a blue mood. We, rather she, talked about lotsa things. Her sentences were laced with so much innuendos, one could mistake her for a poet. Maybe she is, they way we took naturally to each other.

“Do you eat a lot ‘Gala’ sausage” she asked

“No, but when I need to grab a bite on the go, it comes handy”.

“Eating on the go-go, I prefer banana. Wow, nothing, I mean nothing in God’s good earth beats banana with lots of jeeeez. Lorda mercy, I need some right now. It’s expensive to buy on the Island. You know. Is it cheap in your end of downtown?. I feel weak with hunger, but Gala can’t do nothing for me…”

“Uh?”

“…you would think Gala, being shaped like that (pointing at the half-eaten Gala on my laps) would make a man strong. But give me banana, I will suck up to you for more.” She laughed, flashing a perfect set of white teeth, ringed by the big round “O” of her sensual red lips, her head tilting back. She has a beautiful neck from which a gold pendant hung on a thin neck-chain of gold. Her chain complemented the gold stud in her nose. I don’t know what gave me the idea, but I checked, and voila! She was wearing gold anklets too. I am sure she wore a thin gold gigida too. I was loving it more and more that time.

She bought two cans of Coca Cola and gave me one with sisterly advice to avoid artificially sweetened drinks; that it was a shame they removed the coke content from Coca Cola; to drink more Alomo Bitters- good for men, real men, works nearly as good as viagra. She never opened her own can of coke. I finished mine before we got to Obalende. It was yakety-yak all the way. But I can’t complain at all. Need I mention that she was sniffing, and dabbing at the dripping mucus from her nose all the way. The dot of drool at the corner of her mouth could have been painted there. I remember her saying she needed to smoke badly. Asked if I smoked. “Good for you. tobacco kills you for real. Smoke weed. it could save your life”. I was checking my notes- mental notes of the locations of the nearest, cheapest motel or brothel in Oshodi where I was headed, where i was sure she’ll be willing to come along.

We got to Obalende. The bus stopped to discharge all passengers. I missed my chance to get her contact. I am sure I didn’t impress her much, she would have volunteered it. It was rainy still, she dashed under a guys umbrella, and I found my head under a extra-plus-size, elderly lady’s umbrella. I should get my own umbrella next time. Because I became more miserable, being drenched in the pouring rain, hungry and horny too. Now this go-slow at Iyana- Iworo is getting on my already frayed nerves.

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