EROTICA

12 MONTHS A CELIBATE

Power- staying power- is nothing, control is everything.

I thought to stop just before I come, but I drove past the spot. However, I still did not lose control. I was really hitting the G-spot that to stop before she comes would have been a sin. My probing shaft lost some of its stiffness at intervals, but her non-stop squirming and gyrating were giving me the impetus to go on. I kept ramming, and grinding at her till my prick become turgid and throbbing again. With regained power, the cock would be pecking and exploring her deep mine of molten gold.

slow-long-srokes, deep-driving-probes- Big Deu’s song was playing on the repeat inside the back of my head:

“I like the way you do me, girl
So nicely
I like the way you do me, girl
So nicely

Roll am
Make you roll am for me
So nicely

Shake am
Make you shake am for me
So nicely…”

She kept winding her waist, and thrusting her pubis back at me. Her pleasurable whimpering and ecstasy moan were almost making me lose the control I was maintaining.

During foreplay I slowed down when she urged me to go faster with the caressing and kissing. I go faster when she’d rather I slowed down with the licking and sucking. She could have been one big warm chocolate bar, or a huge cool candy floss, but she was melting under my touch and tongue like vanilla ice cream. Sweet heavens, her coochie could have been an over-ripe cherry, for all that nectar oozing out, and the sweetness of it.

…So nicely…

Twelve months a celibate was paying off nicely. I had this confidence that I am still the master of the art- I invented sex- hot sizzling sex.

We had it on the hard tiled floor. We went on our knees, playing doggy. I had her on the desk, with her legs on my shoulder, or held back against her bouncing breasts; her butt at the edge, and me standing erect almost on tip toe. The height of the desk was just right, we couldn’t have asked for anything higher or lower. Although, I had to go tip-toe to compensate for a few disadvantageous difference in height between the desk’s top and my waistline. The tip toe mode only added to my deeper reach because I was also leaning into her, balancing my weight with my knuckles on the desk.

WARNING: Please don’t try this at home, office like I did, or school, unless you are en-spused to your sex partner. It is too good a sex to waste on a mere fling.

When I come, I collapsed into her, drowning with her in the profusion of our sweats.
I took charge, and regained control with my hands. The right hand was strumming her nutty nipples. The middle finger of my left hand finished her off by driving into her, nudging her over the peak, and tumbling her into heaven. Then I smoldered her joyous cry of fulfillment with deep soul-reaching kisses.

To cut a sweet long story short. It was the greatest sex I never had since twelve months of abstaining. It was worth the wait.

“I like the way you do me, girl
So nicely
I like the way you do me, girl
So nicely…”

COITUS INTERRUPTUS AND A NEW DISCOVERY

I have discovered a new way to Female Sexual Climax other than Viginus Penetratus. I suggested the name Chrisus Intercoursus Discoverus for the new discovery, but this nomenclature is rather lengthy, mouthy and jaw-breaking. The clumsy nomenclature is almost taking the joy out of talking lovemaking. So I am “thinkering” with “Clitorus Stimulus”.

Like great many discoveries in history “Clitorus Stimulus” happened by sheer accident. Miss Pink Panties wouldn’t let me go another round without a condom. But she needed to make love some more like I do. Our mutual need had driven us to the new discovery. Before I had held dear the maxim that: “As in love, so in War; never engage in battle without a full clip”, but I fell short of my own dictum when I locked limbs with Miss Pink Panties, I came with the only two condoms I could find, and they were soon exhausted before we were fully gratified: I came too quickly the first round, and the condom burst in the second just when the first tide of climax hit me, and she self-consciously retreated. She demanded I wear another condom but I carried no spare. Out of annoyance, she’d slipped on one of her inexhaustible supplies of pink panties and turned away to sleep. The show was ended, but I wasn’t done.

I resorted to pecking and fondling, and caressing- I am a master at this pattern of non-penetral lovemaking. It was a matter of seconds before my exploring hand slipped in her panties- laying siege to her apple-orchard- diplomatically circling the Little Hill therein. She was loving it, she urged me on with her bucking and thrashing hips. I was still not penetrating with my fingers, the caress of her clit was obviously rocking her world, and I was pleased that she was pleased. There is this thing about a man’s ego to see a woman respond passionately to his sexual overtures. She was one heaven of a gusher.

And here is what I discovered: far from penetration, what the fingers can do, the dick can do also. With the pink panties still in place, I mounted her like a missionary, pulling down the top of the pant, inserting my turgid dick from the top, rubbing it up and down against the slippeery vulva, with the waist band of the undies holding the perfectly-erect prick in place. I kept bucking my waist and she was returning the strokes. The slip-slop sound was a great turn-on for me. I was alternating between fast short-strokes, and slow long-drives. My mouth intermittently locked with hers in passionate kisses, when I am not sucking or nibbling her tits. She later confirmed to me that the move was great for sexual Stimulation, and Feminine Sexual Climax. The second time she climaxed I was with her at the peak, but I withdrew the dick so as not to soak her beautiful pink panties with my cum. But she pulled me so closed and so tight in a rib-crushing embrace, I couldn’t withdrew far enough and I unloaded my cum into her already soggy panties.

I wanted to penetrate during the next round, but no way. She won’t take no penetration- I have spoilt her with Clitorus Stimulus. We had repeated this feat again and again, far into the wee hours of morning, and after sunrise. From the pillow talk, I learnt she’d never felt so good and so alive for a long time. Me too. She had confessed that it was the greatest sex she’d had in a very long while. Me, I have had many great sex I wouldn’t know which is the greatest of them all. I did not tell her so, anyhow. She made me think she was in love with me, and my mind, then drifted far afield wondering if I wouldn’t like to make sweet love to me “happily Ever After”. I had other things in mind too, and that made my thoughts tangle. I want to test my new discovery with some (many) other volunteers and take out a patent on it before settling down. I was sorry her session came to an end- all good times eventually come to a end- but the discovery to a new approach to sex- non-penetral sex has just begun. There is another chic coming over tonight. I am not going to bother with condom, Chrisus Intercoursus Discoverus, or Clitorus Stimulus is the way to go.

THE THINGS WOMEN DO- MEA CULPA

Chinwe, I hope you get to read this, it is about you, though I am not writing it for you. I am writing this confession to make a clean breast of the atrocity you have made me commit in the name of “good neighbourliness”.

I make this confession, aware of what reaction of repulsion it may evoke in my dear friends and family who have trusted me and would have put out their necks in the defence of my uprightness. It was never my intention to the steal apples from another man’s tree, but I found myself eating stolen apple, just to show kindness to a neighbour. I wasn’t just tempted or lured to take and eat, I did what I had to. I make no excuse to say that I was deceived into the heinous crime. There was deceit, I was of sound mind when I did.

Chinwe was my new neighbour, she’d moved into one of the flats in my compound. I never knew who my new neighbour was for two whole weeks, and I didn’t care. I began to care from that Saturday. It was the last Saturday in August, and it was a day set aside for Environment Sanitation- the day enforced by the Lagos State Government for the dirty job of cleaning the gutters by residents in their neighbourhoods. Cleaning the gutters was the task I have taken upon myself, independent of the other members of my residence. Usually, before sunrise I would have fully dredged the brimming gutter and gathered the debris into heaps for evacuation or incineration. That early morning, Chinwe had joined me.

“Good mornin’ o!” I heard as I was raking rubbish into separate heaps of organic and inorganic wastes. I straightened up and turned around to see who had greeted me so familiarly. I saw her: Chinwe- a young woman in her late 20s; up to my shoulder in height; her small head was wrapped in a kerchief, her forehead bared. The forelock of her hair, which was parted in the middle, perfectly framed the prettiest heart-shaped face I ever done seen- the narrow slits of her puffy-lid eyes were graced by eyelashes that I thought were artificial. I like natural eyebrows in women, and that face had two nicely shaped natural eyebrows I was very pleased with. The protruding stub of her nose can not be missed even if you were a casual ogler, I was no casual ogler; I see things when I look, and I saw the inviting fleshy lips too. I kept staring like someone seeing an apparition- Chinwe’s face had that effect on me that instant, but I never got tired of staring at that angelic face afterwards, for the short spell of our romantic affair. Except for the sensual lips, that kind of face could only be seen on masterful paintings of the Virgin Mary.

“Hallo?” She greeted again her eyebrows flicking questioningly, and I jerked out of my reverie.

“Ow! Pardon me, Miss, I couldn’t help staring… You’re very pretty… Do you live here?”

“Yes o, I live in this yard. I yam Chinwe, we are neighbours na” she said, extending a hand to me (for a handshake I guessed)

“Um…ah… call me Christ… pleased to… uh… make your… ah… acquaintance…” I stuttered keeping my soiled hands by my sides, wiping them on the seat of my camouflage work-short shorts. I knew the stench of gutter was still on them. I thought it was not macho to shake a beautiful lady’s hand with soiled hands. So I made the excuse, and her smile broadened wanly, parting her lips to reveal a gap-tooth, and a perfect set of dentition that belong in a billboard or magazine. There was that twinkle in her eyes too. The twinkle stayed there all morning. I liked looking into her eyes , when they weren’t shut away in passionate ecstasy.

“Is ok, shebi we are doing environmenta’ togetha”.

Her Ibo accent was unmistakable. Her accent had this grating sensation in the ear, it wasn’t nice though, but I forgave her because she was beautiful. Her other aspects more than compensated for her phonetic anomaly. She didn’t look the part of one who had come out for gutter-cleaning, and she was not dressed the part at all. The white bath robe she had donned barely concealed the pink, lacey nighties underneath. The cleavage was there for sure- Nighties, always reveal cleavages. The sash of her bath robe came undone one time, and what she had beneath the see-through nightie must have been a Victoria’s Secret or nothing at all. I was to find out later that it was a Thong and She looked great in a Thong. She made me peel it off with my teeth. But before I get to peel her Thong off, she’d pulled the strings aside to let me have a go at her saucy apple pie.

Well, even if I have a sort of repulsion for Mrs(?) Chinwe now, I cannot take it away from her that she is a delectable dish. Everything about her was succulent sweetness (except for the eardrums-killing accents). She has that kind of voluptuous figure a man could find heavenly comfort in, snuggling up to. Between her balloon-like breasts and butty I couldn’t tell which was greater. The sets could have been made from the same material Money-Makers are made from. I could have robbed a bank or sold myself into slavery to put a diamond ring on all that, if Chinwe was not hitched. But she is hitched, as it tuned out, to one Fine Officer and Gentleman.

That Saturday, after the cleaning up excercise, Chinwe had invited me to her apartment where I was entertained all morning-long, the stench of gutter and dirt clinging to me and all. We were there gisting and getting to know. I was sipping on the coffee she made me from a jar of Nescafe™ instant coffee. We had also shared a bottle of, Amarula™, feeding each other some peanuts and some Pringles™and McVitties™ . I was enjoying lots of views around the place. Some adult movies and some magazine that must be kept out of the reach of children. I also saw the colour of her under things, and what the mere strings attempt forlornly to cover.

She made me believe she was an independent woman. I guessed that explained why she could entertain a bachelor in her apartment, half naked and all. I respected that, and did not ask for too much. I never did, but she offered a lot. I took everything she offered, like a good neighbour, giving back in all the ways I could. She showed me her bedroom too, and how the four-poster bed works. I am not a stupid man, I know what a woman wants when she start to be too nice to you- giving and showing you things- pushing you down unto her bed, straddling you- undoing the fly of your shorts and expertly using her mouth to relieve you of the erection that threatens to bust you apart- allowing you to push her to the carpet and releasing a second cumming into her honey pot, after she’d kindly swallowed the first ejaculate- I am not so dumb not to know that her back has to bend downward to give her a great doggy- or to prop her backside with a pile of pillows for a good missionary- I also know enough to kiss like it was the last thing I will ever do before the rapture. I am not so stuck-up to pretend I know how sex in the bath is sweet and not willing to learn more- I learnt and I learnt good.

I am not a stupid man to run after other men’s women if they were married. But I am not a saint who is above temptation. I am culpable. And Chinwe exploited my culpability. She lured me with all the things she knew I cannot resist- a pretty face, a great figure, alcohol and droughts of steaming coffee in the morning and an opportunity to explore and learn. How she knew my weaknesses, I don’t know.

Chinwe had hustled me out of her flat at the stroke of 1300hrs, through a back exit in the kitchen. She explained that her Soldier-Hubby was coming over for the weekend, and will be there any minute and she had to clean up the mess we’d made. She’d said to me “I will come to ya flat laita” And shoved me off through the doorway, out of her flat as her doorbell rang.

LOVE IN TIME OF GONORHOEA

I like to fondle and caress, and kiss a lot, and sometimes lick thoroughly before mounting. I like to work my fingers in into the cookie jar, and get them smeared with jam real good. But she had resisted my fingers going in and dipping in her honey pot. I knew she was all ready: stark nude and spread out before me, her firm small breasts jutting upward like twin hills. My tongue had explored the nutty crests of those breasts, and the crater of her belly button. The little hill further south, had also been fully explored, and nothing anymore was hidden from me. There was practically no inch of her smooth fair skin over which my mopping tongue and caressing fingers had not raced each other. Then I mounted, but she turned me over so expertly like a Greco-Roman wrestler. That little wild cat, Nneka.

I like a woman on top. Woman on top is a most libidinal and comfy position for me, next to doggy. I waited for Nneka to get hold of my shaft and shove it into her oozy coochy, but no, there was a heedless delay. I took charge of the turgid and throbbing cock to give it the headway it was crying for, but Nneka rolled off me and onto her stomach. I rolled onto her back, smouldering her with my weight, she remained still. I ran my tongue several times up and down her spine- from the nape of her neck to the cleavage of her rounded buttocks, sending shock-waves that vibrated her entire body again and again and again. I shoved my hands under her body, found her breasts and started to gently and nicely squeeze the hardened nipples, my passion-heated and pulsating dick pressed hard and grinding against the cleavage of her buttocks. I was liking it, and she was too- I could tell from her moans. I almost couldn’t hold back my cum as the sweetness of her was killing me nicely. She was gloriously wet, and my pre-cum was smearing her bums, making the entire region very slippery. A still small voice admonished me to slot my dick in the arse hole, but I shunned that voice for I wouldn’t know if Nneka was cool with anal sex, since it was the first time we would be making love. Alternatively, I considered her already wet pussy- to take it from behind. My knees were pressing into the hard mattress at both sides of the two meaty mounds of her cute arse. I was in position, a good position.

I was just beginning to wet the tip of my dick in the fluid from her core when she sudden rose, and turned to face me. A stern look on her face.

“Uh?” I asked in my confusion. “…what is it my love? What is the matter with you…?” I probed gently, in a tremulous voice I hardly recognise as my own. But she placed a hand on my heaving chest as if to keep me calm and at arm’s length, looked me straight in the eye and said

“Christ, there’s something I want to ask you…”

I held my breath, waiting for her to come out with her request, but she was taking forever to do so. I didn’t have forever in my eagerness to get laid. She turned her eyes away as if she was embarrassed at what she was going to request from me. A little birdie whispered in my ears that “what else, in the world, would a little spoilt brat be wanting from a lover at such crucial moment but money?” But I perished that thought. Nneka: yes, was a brat, but she had never asked me for a Dime for the more than one year we’ve been seeing each other. When she wouldn’t come up with her request, I surmised that she wanted me to use condom. “Oh. Good Old condom! every players companion. Stupid Christ me, I should have figured it out that Nneka wanted safe sex”. I thought to myself. I was glad then, that condom was never lacking in my room. In those days, I had them everywhere- Under the mattress, in my wardrobe, in my desk’s drawers, in my wallet, in the inner pockets of my favourite jeans. They were never far away. They were very cheap too, but I hardly buy them. Who would waste money on condom?

As the realisation that safe sex was what the Little Vixen wanted dawned on me, Something under my chest gave and dropped into my stomach that moment. The “The Little Slut” story her friend, Pat, had regaled me with about The Prettier Nneka, came back flooding my mind. Pat was Nneka’s best friend and more mature, but I had ignored her advance to fuck me again after we had it. She was more than 2 years older than Nneka, and very, very, very experienced in matters that will shock the Pope into a seizure or heart attack. She had told me to stop dating the bitch, that Nneka was always like a bitch on heat, running after boys, and opening her legs for every John, Thomas, and Dick. And that she’s had contracted an incurable Gonorrhoea. That if I had any self respect, I would steer clear of the Little Slut. I thought Pat liked me and wanted me all to herself, but when she spurned my overture to take her to bed (the first time) I began to take her words seriously. I actually observed that Nneka had far too many male friends, and that she was too popular among boys. Some of my hostel mates actually bragged to me that they have had series of hot sex romps with The Little Slut. All that story, had actually fired my imagination to fuck Nneka, but she was so vulnerable-looking and I concluded that men had taken undue advantages of her innocence, and I wasn’t gone and do that.

I became more friendly with Nneka. She followed my advice and reduced the number of her male friends, and I forgot what Pat said about Nneka’s infestation with an Incurable Gonorrhoea. I had made a mental note to never fuck her without condoms, when I would make up my mind to forget her age and take my share of the apple, though rotten it may be.

“Christ, do you care for me?” Nneka asked, startling me out of my reverie. Then I got frantic, and cast about for a condom “Yes, baby, I care a lot about you. And you know it… You know it baby, don’t you?” I replied without thinking and without looking at her. I was off the bed, ransacking the wardrobe for my stash of Gold Circle™. I found a opened pack still containing three condoms attached together in the pocket of a old suit. (I remember this pack- it has a memory that will fill pages of a great story) I was aware that those rubber-tubey-thingys had expiry dates, but little did I care in my haste to get the armour and finish my conquest.

Nneka watched me tear away the polymer covering wraps of the branded Condoms. She observed as I expertly held my stiff prick in one hand, place the flying-saucer-shaped rolled latex rubber disc on the “helmet” and roll them down to the thick hairy base one after the other. I observed her nod grimly and said further.

“there’s something I want to let you know about me, Christ”.

In my mind, I was ready for whatever she was going to say next, but what she hit me with shook me to the foundation of my being. Why my flagpole of a penis didn’t wilt that instant, still surprises me as I am telling you this factual story.

“I have never done it in my life” said Nneka.

“What?” I asked before I could articulate my scattered thoughts.

“Wha… Wha… What did you say… Nneka?”

“I have never had sex before” she reiterated.

“Oh, ah… Like… Uh… You mean… Like… You are… virgin?” I asked blurting out the almost incoherent words.

“Yes Christ, I am still a virgin” she stated shyly, but with conviction that shattered my doubts.

“But… Uh… Uh… Uh Pat… Well never mind” I blurted further.

Though my flagpole was still up, I had lost interest in sex. I didn’t want to fuck Nneka anymore. I couldn’t come to terms with what “The Little Slut” meant by she was a virgin. Virgins don’t exist, anymore more than fairies do. These days girls are born in disvirgined states. I knew because I had seen many girls. And I know what my eyes have seen. Then I asked her if there is any veneral disease she was living with. To my mind, she was shading me away from contracting her purported gonorrhoea. She said ‘yes’ that she had a disease she contracted at age 13 or 12, from the pit latrine they used in their former residence, before her father built their house and had water closet fitted, and that she had been completely cured of the disease by the herbal medications her parents had procured for her. I found it all hard to get my head around the whole story too, like you reader must be finding this story now.

I was confused and I was scratching my head. I was beginning to lose my erection. When she laid back on the bed, drew up her knees to her chest. Her vagina became very conspicuous as she spread the labia majora with her hands. Nnka showed me something she said was called “hymen”. She said the name of the thing in three other languages, but “hymen”, and “maiden head” were the only two nomenclatures that stuck in my perforated brains that time. I looked but didn’t see a thing- there was no hole in there beneath the Labias of her genitalia either. She lectured me that the presence of hymen was the evidence of virginity. But I knew, the sign and proof of virginity was a girl’s bleeding and staining the sheets with the flower of her first sexual intercourse. She guided my probing fingers around her vagina, soon I had found a hole that swallowed my forefinger halfway. She said her flower was mine for the plucking; that she loved me, and was giving her self to me.

She had started wriggling her hips as my thumb was intently rubbing her pronounced clit, as the forefinger kept poking, and deepening the little hole I had made in her honey pot. She was whimpering, moaning like some beasts in dying throes. Many times our limbs would get entangled in passionate embraces; our lips would be locked in the most sensual kisses- deep and soul-sucking kisses. I have never had such intense passionate moment with any other woman till date.

Nneka gave up her virginity to me as a birthday present on her own birthday- her 16 birthday. I had scratched my head some, and had said no, that only her true love, being her future husband, deserved such treasure . I assured her of my committed friendship, and of my willingness to help her treasure her virginity. That we shouldn’t be having penetrating sex but to be making love in this fresh new sensually-gratifying way we have discovered together. She disagreed, and challenge me to accept her flower and make her a woman. And so I did. She bled from her vagina when I forced my way past her hymen into her feminine core, ripping her maidenhead in that passage. I actually felt the rip, and the warmth of her fresh blood on my penis. She screamed out briefly in epiphany of pain at the moment of entry. A light also lit up in my own head, that must have shown as a visible halo around me. Soon she was giving me a run for it, bucking faster and faster, gyrating and wriggling her waist rhythmically to the music of my love.

After series of climaxes, Nneka laid and cried to sleep on my chest, my arms wrapped protectively around her. Her tears (joyful tears) were mingling with our profusion of musky sweats was washing my shoulders and chest and soaking the mattress beneath me. We were happy, satiated and content. She looked more beautiful than she’d ever seemed to me, and I wanted us to be like that forever. It was a profound experience for me. Taking Nneka’s virginity was a sacred obligation foisted on me. With God helping me, I had performed my duty with the sacerdotal punctiliousness it required. Nneka was not a slut. And she was not diseased. She bled a little more the next day when we made love again. She just turned 16 that first day, and we made love often until she was well over 17 when she gained admission to a faraway private university leaving me behind.

LESBIANS AND VIRGINS

Lust, just like Love, will make you do crazy things- things you will never want your mama to hear about. I did such crazy thing with Nneka. Nneka was only Fifteen when we met, and I did it on her sixteen birthday. She told me, and showed it too, that I had given her the greatest gift of her life. It wasn’t the first for me, but for Nneka it was. I have this little confession to make that for me, and it was Lust that drove me to love in the time of gonorrhoea. A risk well worth it.

As more and more Lagos Brothas are becoming gay, more and more Sistahs are going virgin. I use to belong to the misguided school of thought that Naija Girls are born in disvirgined state. My perception of Lagos girls’ virtue changed when I met Miss @A-Very_Bad_naija_Gurl- I never get to know her real name, if she has one. She is a self-acclaimed Naija’s Baddest Gurl, a real bitch and a virgin to boot, and now my best friend on Social Media.

It was a rare privilege granted me, when The Baddest Gurl invited over to her FESTAC town residence. I have been following her on Twitter and she was gracious enough to be following me back. I was attracted to Her when Karen, a female Nigerian celebrity I have been following on twitter, had Retweeted one of The Bitch’s thousands of self-shot hardcore erotica photos. I thought it might have been Karen’s naughty handle, but nay, it was another Bad Gurl’s account

The first night I stumbled on The Baddest Gurl’s timeline, I had jacked off nearly all night. The nude photos were so stylish, so hot, so sexy, so rivetting that Playboy actually seemed childish. Those were very hardcore. I started replying her lewd tweets (trust me, I can tweet real lewd) we became very familiar; so familiar I could relate with her like she was my sistah.

One of her hardcores had so shocked me I lost part of my erection in an instant- it was #PussySaturday and she had this unopened can of Power Horse™ stuck in her pussy with the top of it showing. I disagreed that the photo was not a photoshop trick. The photos of her three-some with some girlfriends were incredible enough to me- in one of those incredible three-somes a fat-ass was astride her face, her lips were closed tightly around the cunt of the fat-ass; another chic was on her knees in front of her, face in The Baddest Gurl’s pubis, the third chic was sucking on one her gigantic breasts and caressing the other. I really liked that picture, and there were other fabulous photos like that. But the most artistic photo was one particular nude one she took off the bathroom mirror. Da Vinci in all his ingenuity could never have created such a masterpiece. There was one too, where she had a dildo stuck halfway up her anus- I didn’t like that one.

The Baddest Gurl asked if I was resident in Lagos, I replied “yes, I live in Badagry. So whaddup babe?” She DMed me an address and a BBpin, invited me to “come over” to see how real those photos were. She said I may get to drink the very same Power Horse™ in the photo if I could come over sooner, I replied that I was coming over that morning. It was Sunday, but I was skipping church. She replied that she will skip church too to entertain me. She even offered to invite her gurlfriends over for a show, but I turned that down the offer of her friends after some deep thinking. A still small voice was warning me that I might get gang-raped. Not that I minded though, but I am always obedient to that Voice. It is the voice of my guardian Angel. But I reconsidered the offer and said ok!

I embarked on the fact finding mission, and I came away with a revelation that got me born again from the sceptic I was about The Virginity of Lagos Girls. The address she’d given me turned out to be KFC at 4th Avenue in FESTAC Town. Dressed like she was going to church after our meeting. We placed our orders: she had French Fries, Sauce and Kentucky Fried Chicken and Coke; I had Jollof Rice Sauce, Kentucky Fried Chicken and Coke. We were eating drinking and familiarising. She had this habit of frequently stroking her thighs- not nice- I’m sure Oprah wouldn’t do that. I was frequently grabbing my own crouch myself- brothas do all the time; crouch-grabbing ain’t no bad habit- I’m sure brotha Barack does it too.

The ass-freezing chill of the Airconditioner and the drone of her voice above the surrounding buzz of the other dinners were doing dangerous things to my hormones. The Baddest Gurl In Naija had a sex-dripping, deep, husky voice that sounded eloquent and informed. Me, I guess I had my mind on dirty things, because the few words I managed to garble out were as far-flung and disjointed as those kinda things you find in dump sites. I couldn’t wait to verify the Power Horse™ Can Act.

She commented that I was the quiet type- her favourite type of men. She said she hated talkativeness in guys, and love it in gurls. It felt like we were old-timers for the liberty at which we gisted- talking and laughing about sundry subjects- Social Media, aphrodisiac, and Private Jets. Our yarn revolved around everything but sex. We exchanged views and opinions on the trending topics on Twitter, about Linda Ikeji, about Tiwa Savage, Viagra™, Alomo Bitters™, Power Horse™, Brurantashi, Virgin Atlantic, everything but the sin of Adam and Eve. We even gossipped The Kardashian. I regretably don’t know much about Kardashian and I changed the topic pronto. We left KFC for her place on 22 Road, after about 2 hours of Foods, Drinks, Gist and Ogling, and Erections.

It was a whole set of new topic we dealt with at her place- they were practical mostly things. I learnt she was never into men. She’d never had sex with a man- and that it was a problem, because she loathed men. And there were great many like her in Lagos. It had started in her puberty when her “School Mother” broke her in with a candle stick. And at her current age of 26, she was yet to experience mating. She made me understand, authoritatively, that 2 of every 3 girls you see on the streets of Lagos are lesbians, and every 1 in 2 Lagos Lesbians may never know how a man’s cock feel inside the pussy. That is If they stayed safe away from predating male stalkers and rapists.

I was wowed by the authority with which she lectured. My heart went out to her and all the sweet innocent sistah’s out there who may never know the sweetness of organic sausage made by a good God for man. She had offered to introduce me to her closest friends- Funmi, Uche, Caro, Karen and Kemi. She told me that she found me delightful company, and we should all get together that day and have a ball.
And the best part of my outting that day was the ball we had- the strip tease, the Power Horse™ Can Act verification. I said unless I dropped the can in her cunt box with my own hand, I would never believe what I saw on Twitter. She obliged with a smirk on her her face. And a visual lecture of how dildos and vibrators work. I made a mental note to open a shop for vibrator installation, sales and repair.

The Gurls all showed up at about 1400hrs GMT, when good christian folks were getting back home from church that Sunday. She told me that she and her gurl friends were making very good money as strippers in Night Clubs around Lagos. There was Funmi: Marketer, Uche: business moguls, Caro and Kemi singers, and Karen: socialite- all hustlers. And there were still virgins. I got to recognise that in Lagos 50% of young upward mobile women have never, and may never sleep with a man in their entire life. That was shocking.