Miss Sociology

Miss Sociology

She sat still in the atmosphere of a cemetery. Lolade looked grim at the barren lines of her paper. Others with swollen pupil having held sleep hostage filled the gaps. She was at a loss of what to pen. The pen looked too heavy to engrave any meaningful writing on paper. She kept flipping the pages straightening the neat edges. She took a long look at the perfect squares of absetos ceiling wishing someone encrypted the answers there.  How could a brain be so blank as if it was stuffed with toilet tissues?

“Five minutes more” Dr Olufemi said with sarcastic excitement.

He had a smiling face. He was happy that the lazy students have rightly murdered themselves on examination slab. Their rain of shame was hidden in the clouds  of misty sky. Those who toiled all night submitted carrying the smiling faces of a lottery winner.

This is another carryover. She would sit in this dreary hall next year except Dr Peter helped him out. Peter would only help out after slitting his rigid fleshy pole into her pore.

“ How many course will I carry over” she keeps asking herself.

She knew exit was imminent that is why the sexual advances of Dr Peter were the  thin cord that held her stay in the university.

Lola’s woes began on the gleaming night. With a pure chastity of a catholic nun, she arrived the University ready to breathe. Lola was just a fresher eager for an academic adventure. She had been regaled with tales of the air of freedom in the ivory tower. No one not her nagging mother would grumble that her skirt was too short or the jeans too tight. She can now ache the eyes of guys flaunting the deep ridges between her twin towers.

She knew she was beautiful but with the matured figures developing rightly, she stuns every passing male. Boys of the October season have started doing their crude arithmetic. How do they unravel her skirt and scribble her on the tainted list?

The application for the most promising fresher was out and Lola knew she had no match.  He never allowed guys to stutter those three words carelessly .

“I love you”

“How does that affect me” she answers in brazen anger.

Their leprous hands could defile her beauty. The way she shook her ‘behind’ in the university campus asked a million questions. It was a mockery of the efficacy of the manhood.

Lola applied for the beauty pageant of the department. It was a night beauty was hawked on the stage. The buyers of these luscious goods stood backstage bargaining their costs. She creditably performed well causing tongue to spill saliva in torrents.

“ And the winner is Omolola Omosebi”

Lola who had been anonymous in the university campus suddenly took leap to stardom. She began to attract attention controlling visions of many. She moved around  as if she immune from thrust of magical rod. The butterflies hung by the sidewalk inching to suck on her sweet nectar.

“Good Afternoon”

“Good Afternoon  and where did you get my number?” she answered quickly

Bobo knew the antics of such ladies. They spoke to guys as if love was a terminal disease. He understood that when burning lust of the bedroom detains them, freedom from the soft moans becomes elusive.

Bobo made her phone restless. It   beeped nearly every second. He sent multiple text messages and calls. He would stand and stare her tempting body from a distance. They finally agreed for a showdown at the lecture hall basement.

In a cluttered room with wooden chairs arranged in a semicircle, they met.

“Why have you been disturbing me? ”

“Don’t you have better things to do “ she continued

Bobo was not new to such anger. He knew how to cuddle the weak joints until he flipped over the hem of the skirt.

Bobo wasa tall handsome guy with wispy beard . He dressed in a denim jeans and red jersey matched with white sneakers.   He began his sermons of love spoke rendering it  in a broken tone.  He explained how love has gripped his heart.

“I just can’t help it anymore” he with a dying in a spirit

“Lets be friends first, I promise” Bobo continued

“ I will prove to you and the world what love could mean”

Lola just walked away. Lola`s bountiful love was his saving grace.  He was relentless until she spared him a thought. Lola lent him an inch of friendship but Bobo took a mile. It started with endless chatter in posh gardens, exquisite joints and expensive boutique in the city metropolis. Bobo believed girls were wares of shelf. With the right price and charming attitude, he got them.

Gradually on a windy afternoon, she lost it to him. The bloody thin membrane – the symbol of her chastity – was  wrapped on the cap of his manhood. She was overexcited as she finally allowed the split of the legs .

After three erotic scenes, she became a nuisance to him. No smiles, free chocolates, no hang, late night calls or soft tender, she was now a numbskull. It was a straight face he now carried.  It was full of dread and bore misplaced conscience.

Lola gave it up. She was sobbing all night. She now understands the brimming energy of boys lies in the hunger between their legs. After trips of fantasy, their promises of yore were empty mumblings.

After left starved and bare, she could not just stop craving for those sensual scenes. She wanted  it badly. Gradually she started falling into cheap antics. The ugly ones who couldn’t piece words to a sentence became the barons of her body. Whenever she walks by, she steals imagination looking behind the zips. I searched for the stiff rod ripened for action. One, two three , four they left no mark. There was no counting meter hung close fleshy pore as she began to lose the tally of mounts. Dismal grades showed up with lengthy list of carryovers on the results page. Dr Peter did his bit. He traded the meagre marks for the sensual piece.

****************

The stage was set again. Objects of beauty bestrode the stage flaunting their wares.  They catwalked around the circular podium in a dim-lit hall. The boys of yore who ripped apart the thighs of Lola stood behind the hall. They were taking summaries of their flings and dates.

“ Whose left, whose Next” they all gave a weak chuckle.

“And the winner is Ada Adekambi”. The next victim.

Lola was supposed to be here carrying gleaming crown adorned with beads on the new Miss Sociology. She was in her hostel  room taking  drugs. Her footprints inched to the exterior of the university gate everyday. Legions of unsuccessful University applicants howled  from outside begging her to join their movement.  The carryover courses were multiplying and Dr Peter  has done all he could. The University senate meets tomorrow to decide destinies. A new twist got added to her tale as she suspended her head for eventuality.  Bodily lumps grew in her belly and who owned the budding foetus, Lola couldn’t  tell.



8 thoughts on “Miss Sociology” by daveblog (@daveblog)

  1. Nice work daveblog; still there is a lot of work here.
    1) For starters, you need to be mindful of your tenses.
    2) I couldn’t help but feel the above is the account of Bobo, trying so hard to embellish his part. It shows in your continous reference of Lola as him & her.
    3) Also, do Lolade & Omolola refer to the same person as inferred?
    4) I believe poetry is your turf; you proved that here.
    Well done all the same: any attempt at art generally is to applauded.

  2. what i like most about this are your expressions, they seem to slightly allude to facts but give the reader the chance to decipher what they mean.

    you write, no doubt.

  3. The subject matter is an interesting one, but this story suffers very badly from unwieldy expressions. For example:

    “The pen looked too heavy to engrave any meaningful writing on paper.”

    When I think of engraving, I think of something that is written in a precise, meticulous and decorative way. There’s no reason to suggest that the answers to the exam needed to be written in this way.

    Or this:

    “Whenever she walks by, she steals imagination looking behind the zips.”

    I’m guessing this means that men ogle her, but I shouldn’t have to guess.

    I would suggest keeping it simple – clarity is preferable to style.

  4. I will say you made a good attempt top tell the story but you need to be mindful of the way you use metaphors. Sometimes you use metaphors that don’t seem to work well for your scene, then in some cases you over-use them when they are not really necessary.

    Another issue is the fact that your tenses seem disjointed and at times one gets lost and falls into a volley of confusion reading your story.

    Then again, where is the story coming from and where is it going? It started in an exam hall and then goes into a flashback but it never goes back to the exam hall, instead it ends up with another subject matter. This brings the danger of losing your readers interest halfway.

    Maybe this story is still a first draft. You might want to read it through again and make changes and get it properly edited.

  5. I will say you made a good attempt to tell the story but you need to be mindful of the way you use metaphors. Sometimes you use metaphors that don’t seem to work well for your scene, then in some cases you over-use them when they are not really necessary.

    Another issue is the fact that your tenses seem disjointed and at times one gets lost and falls into a volley of confusion reading your story.

    Then again, where is the story coming from and where is it going? It started in an exam hall and then goes into a flashback but it never goes back to the exam hall, instead it ends up with another subject matter. This brings the danger of losing your readers interest halfway.

    Maybe this story is still a first draft. You might want to read it through again and make changes and get it properly edited.

  6. a tale of one of the many ills that has befallen our nations higher institutions.
    nicely written.
    this is surely an eye opener for some.

  7. Nothing much to add. Just keep in mind all that the other readers have said. With some sprucing up, this piece would be much better.

    I do like that you showed us the next Miss Sociology, like saying the cycle continues, only the victims change.

  8. whattttttttttttt
    nice one,poor lola

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