The stories in this blog are first draft stories with minimal editing, sort of like a practice blog.

Friday, 24 July 2020


Nearly four years ago, I posted the tenth episode of a series I was running on this blog and I haven't updated this blog since then. Hopefully, I'd be updating this blog regularly as I regain my fiction mojo.


She had forgotten how he liked to linger on each globe, carefully polishing all the angles until they shone bright with the sheen of his saliva. His tongue flicking over brown and dark-purple skin as his eyes radiated his delight with this reunion, he never needed words to show his adoration.

“…may her breasts satisfy you always, may you be intoxicated by her love.”

She groaned as the words from her uncle’s favourite Bible verse came into her head, he looked up at her face unsure if he had caused her pain. Her answering smile didn’t reach her eyes but she knew he wouldn’t even notice that detail, her left breast filled his mouth and that was all that mattered to him.

She stroked his head with her left palm, he loved it when she touched him and he arched his back a little as she stroked the soft curls of hair on his head. He had told her stories of the trouble his hair had put him into as a young boy in secondary school, he was always accused of dousing his hair in sporting waves but he had never put the stuff on his hair in his nearly forty years.

He tugged on her nipple with his lips while his open palm caressed its twin nipple, she refrained from rolling her eyes at his enthusiasm. If she hadn’t been offering him her breasts to gnaw on for nearly a decade, she would have sworn that he had never seen breasts before. It would have been the only way to explain his obsession with her breasts.

She almost shot out the bed when she felt his tongue dancing inside her belly button. Had she been so lost in thought about him and her breasts that she missed his downward slide to her navel? She pretended to moan while stifling a smile and she gripped his head to direct his tongue better. Nobody else worshipped her body with the same boyish fervor as him and that was both a blessing and a curse.

This time, she noticed his downward slide and she tilted his chin upward and touched the hand covering her right breast. After all this time, he couldn’t mistake the signal to halt on the downward mission.

Like most men, he believed that his tongue lapping her groin area was supposed to drive her wild. It didn’t. She didn’t care for it, for scraping of wet tongue in already moist places. Give her a rod to play with and to plunge into the darkness with. But like most men, he refused to understand this.

This man had a duality that amused her, his heart belonged to Jesus and he’d pledged his body too. But he refused to resist her breasts and wanted her mouth to cover the volcano on his groin until it spat molten fire. He refused to give her more, more was sin.

With her index finger, she reached for a nipple dancing on his chest and she brushed it softly and waited for the intake of breath which always accompanied the first touch of his nipple. If she had loved him, she would have worshipped the tiny nubs on his chest too but she was incapable of loving him and that was their tragedy.

She had loved him once, in the days when she was a teenager and he had been a man who talked too much. But he said a thing she still considered unforgivable and all the times she tried to guide him into plunging into the deep, he would pull up as if she was hell’s gaping hole and he would jump clumsily into his boxers.

It was hate she felt when she looked at him now. Hate and a generous measure of pity.

He smacked his lips on her left nipple as he tugged at it and she smiled at the ceiling of the dark room. Another sign that while he was in the room with her, his head was on cloud number nine. He jumped up suddenly, his hand furiously battling with the waist band of his jeans and she rolled her eyes. He would bring Vaseline and shift his waist outwards so her fingers could work their magic. It had been years since she took him in her mouth.

You could wonder why a woman lay on a bed with a man she hated and pitied, and I would tell that you have never been female or at least a female whose groin has never known action. When they tell you a woman’s legs only spread for love, tell them I said they are liars.

He went to the corner of the bed and brought out two shiny yellow packets and she sat up in shock.
“No! I don’t want!” she screamed.

He chuckled and told her it was ok; it was what he wanted too. He stopped to open a packet and unrolled the contents, then he dived to her breast and covered it with his mouth while he fiddled with the entrance to the cave he had shunned for nearly a decade.

He began to raise his waist in a weird jump in a manner reminiscent of the traditional dancers of her school days. He couldn’t even reenter properly, she had to guide him in and that was the worst thing about coitus for her – the interruption.

Does this young man think this is Atilogwu? She wondered as he jumped again. At the fifth jump, she slid off the bed.
“It’s ok biko, we can’t do this.” She said. And in her mind she muttered, you cannot kill me with your inexperience.

He went to the bathroom to wash off and she sat on the bed and wondered what it would take for them to either get it right or walk away from each other forever.

PS: While I was writing this story, I remembered a dialogue assignment I had written for the Farafina Creative Writing Workshop. Reading it now, it's interesting how much I've grown as a writer and even as a person. See it HERE


  1. I really like this. Sounds like a really complicated story. Please write some more.

  2. Thank y0u Sometee, will definitely try to.


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