Our compound has gone lonely. It is always like this every Christmas, or its Muslim equivalent, when neighbours travelled with everything living they own, leaving everywhere empty and quiet.
But this Christmas I didn’t travel with my parents on the 24th as usual. I had to stay back and wait for Uncle Ejike. He will arrive from Cotonou on the 27th and we will both be coming on the 28th.
I hated this arrangement but there was nothing I could do. I am the oldest kid – my kid bro, though quite taller than me, is only 17, six years younger (the type we call Agric) and couldn’t be left home alone yet.
But, in fact, staying alone hadn’t turned out too bad. Not as bad as I’d expected. At one time I even wished something happened and Uncle Ejike delayed coming in on the 27th again.
When I came out on Christmas morning to buy egg for my noodles (like every 20-something-year-old who hates to cook, I love noodles)— guess who I saw. Bimbo.
She hadn’t travelled too.
She normally travelled to Ibadan with her sister at the slightest mentioning of a holiday—even on some weekends too.
‘Ekene, what are you doing here? You didn’t travel with your people yesterday?’ she asked me.
I told her why and she said ‘Oh ok.’
‘What about you?’ I asked.
She smiled that her smile that caused her dimples to appear so that she would look even more beautiful. She is a pretty girl, only short. ‘Actually, I just didn’t want to travel. But had I known that it was going to be like this, I would have listened to my sister.’
‘Had I known,’ I said.
‘Not this one, Ma.’ She was talking to the store-owner. ‘Give me the big one.’
‘The big one is one-twenty o,’ Iya Ayo said.
She put back the soap on the shelf and picked a larger one.
‘You, what do you want?’ Iya Ayo asked me as she extended the soap to Bimbo.
‘Egg,’ I said.
The good thing about this Christmas is that it appeared Jesus had come down from heaven himself to talk to NEPA not to fuck his birthday up with darkness.
I was glued to Channel O when a knock came on the door. DJ Exclusive was killing me with old classics.
I walked to the door and opened it. It was Bimbo. She was wearing a casual T-shirt and yellow shorts.
I let her in.
She asked what I was doing and I told her I was just listening to music.
She sat down beside me on the couch and tried to watch. Michael Jackson’s songs obviously didn’t appeal to her very much because she took the remote and asked if it was okay she changed to something else.
It wasn’t okay, not entirely, but I had nodded.
She left it on Africa Magic. I hated those kind of Nigerian films where everything is shown and everything is said, like a documentary.
But I kept calm and watched it with her. Pretended to.
Once in a while she laughed at what Patience Ozokwo said or did. The times she laughed she unconsciously dropped her hand on my thigh.
She would laugh and then look at me and I would show her some teeth.
I liked that she was having fun though.
Bimbo forgot her hand on my thigh, her mouth hanging open as the screen took away all her attention.
It was during that period that my mind plunged into a sensual depth. I imagined if Bimbo’s hand on my thigh got a bit closer, to my groin, then a further bit closer and she was holding my organ. And then the size of it would snatch her attention from the screen and she would quickly turn to me. She would smile in admiration and then pull down my shorts so as to release the big black organ. And then she would give me that smile that said only one thing – ‘Wow!’ Or three things – ‘You are blessed!’
I was so buried in these thoughts that I did not realize when I grew hard on the outside.
And then I came back to life only to find Bimbo’s eyes on me, with just that smile!
‘I’m sorry, did I turn you on?’ she asked.
I looked down on my erect self and felt very embarrassed. But Bimbo did not appear to mind.
She did the most unexpected thing instead. She held my hardened organ, and then, slowly, she pulled it out.
At that moment I felt not only my d*ck hardening but my entire self.
Bimbo bent over and took the entire length into her mouth. I stilled with pleasure.
It had been strange, how all my earlier imagination was playing out now in reality.
Bimbo sucked on me for quite a time. The times she made deep slurping sounds—like a young girl sucking on her favourite lollipop—got me out of the world.
When she stopped and relaxed back into the couch, I knew it was now my turn.
She is a gentle girl and I knew I have to handle her gently.
When I took off her shirt and her breasts came into view, a pound hit my chest. She wasn’t wearing a bra.
There was something about her breasts, something fresh, and young. They were round and bouncy, as if they were held up by an invisible bra. Her nipples were dark, two small dark nuts at the tip of the healthy breasts.
She made a strange hissing sound when I took a hardened nipple into my mouth. Strange but still very arousing.
One after the other I fed on her nipples. There were times she held my head and in the arrangement she looked like a breastfeeding mother, only this baby was quite big and seemed very hungry.
I would suck this nipple, then the other and then kiss her. She continued to hiss.
She made me stop when she’s had enough. She just stopped the tiny hissing sounds and pulled out of the chair.
‘Let’s go into the room,’ I whispered. It was hot desire that had made my voice so low.
She shook her head. ‘Let’s stay here.’
She stood and stepped out of her shorts. And then her ‘pant’ followed. Seeing her completely naked, my head filled with little sands of ice.
She lay down on the rug and I came on top of her. There was a brief repeat of the previous actions and then she whispered, ‘Do you have a condom?’
I ran naked into my room. But I couldn’t find the box of Gold Circle. I had one, I was sure I do. I was turning everything upside down.
‘Ekene!’ she called.
I grew even tenser. ‘Where is this condom na?’
‘Oh-God! Where is this condom na?’ I was now scared that she was going to start wearing back her clothes.
‘Ekene!’ I felt a hard smack on my cheek.
I opened my eyes then and realized it had been my mum calling me.
‘What is wrong with you?’ my mum asked. ‘Why are you scattering the sheets and saying condom condom?’
I quickly rose. ‘Mum, what did you say?’ I rubbed over my face. My head ached slightly.
My mum gave me a look. ‘Go to the backyard and kill the chicken. When I have time we’ll discuss about this condom issue.’
Events described in this story are entirely fictitious, just a product of the writer’s imagination.
Daniel Nkado is a Nigerian writer and the founder of DNBStories.com.
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