The slight chill of the late evening bit into Nadia’s soft silky skin and she found herself clasping her feet together, burrowing deeper into the sheets and hugging tightly onto her pillows like it was a matter of life and death.
The room was silent. The others had left. They had gone to enjoy the moment. She felt robbed.
She had always been the queen of such moments. She was the one who usually held the aces; the one who exuded the charm that ruled those moments; the one who called the shots, who settled the fights, who represented royalty among the dregs of the campus; the one who made the sons of adam engage their bladders in a wet fest as their lusts raged out of control.
She was the gifted numero uno of desire; the unbroken focus of the wanton naira-flashing ‘aristos’ on Campus.
And here she was, in bed, heavily troubled by a perceived looming disaster disguised in the intimidating robes of academia, while at the same time heavily troubled by thundering abdominal booms; the result of her passionate and secret romance last night with a plate of beans. Here she was, robbed of the precious moment of stealing the show for that night.
She raised her head and glanced out through her bedside window. The evening sky spread out in a hue of orange and grey as the sun broadcast its final view across the campus landscape.
The evening smelled of opportunities; dark ones that offered crisp and freshly minted currency which would be doled out after moments of intense orgies and alcohol.
The evening smelled of opportunities, but she was getting none of it because she had been robbed of it…
By a Lecturer.
He had refused it.
And she just couldn’t fathom why.
What every other lecturer relished, this stubborn professor refused. She needed to pass badly. Her GPA had suffered due to her negligence and she never bothered about it. It could always be mended whenever she wanted like she had done since her 1st and 2nd year on campus. All it took was a night out with the lecturers in question. She had made sure she chose courses that had male lecturers and avoided the ones that were spear headed by females.
She was now in her third year, the GPA was crumbling and her ‘efforts’ to revive it had met a brick wall. This was heavy unit course; compulsory and undebateable. And this lecturer had refused.
She jumped out of the bed. The anger that had manifested after that experience reared its ugly head from the depths of her subconscious and stormed her entire body in a trembling fit. She felt her flesh tightening as blood rushed through her veins in response to the fury building within her. Her breathing quickened, her heavily endowed chest moving to the rhythm of her mounting rage.
She walked to the full length mirror that had been nailed to the wall and stood defiantly before it. She pulled off the gown she was wearing, exposing her complete nakedness before the full glare of the mirror.
Her eyes traveled round her reflected figure, taking in all the details that had made her the envy of fellow females and the desire of every ‘dog’ in male skin. The curves, the smoothness, the protrudrances and the sultry bounces…they were all there. How come this particular ‘dog’ didn’t answer to the call of her rich endowments?
Her stomach rumbled again. It was the call of beans; her edible passion. She loved it and always found solace and ultimate pleasure in the legume that many, including herself, denied ever liking. She never ate it in the open, only in the comforting confines of her room. Her passion for beans was her curse, her secret.
A knock on the door. The least wanted of all things – a blasted knock on the door at a time when she was totally submerged in the gentle waters of sensual meditation.
‘Come in’, she said, not taking her eyes off the mirror, not even bothering to cover her ever-desirable birthday suit.
The door opened and a well dressed young man walked in. He stopped in his tracks; frozen, shocked, dazed and confused.
‘S…sorry. I w…was looking…I thought…Oh shit! ’ he rambled and cursed incoherently searching his brain for the right words to apply to the awkward situation.
‘If you’re looking for any of the girls, they’ve all gone out. Now would you mind shutting the door on your way out?’ She answered curtly without taking her eyes off the mirror.
‘You sure?’ His voice seemed to have changed. His hand which rested on the doorknob seemed eager to shut door – but with him inside and not outside the room.
Nadia sighed, a wry smile played at the edge of her lips. She knew his type. He was the opportunist; the one that desperately scratched every forsaken surface and corner for the slightest moment to jump the bones of anything that had the female anatomy; the type that had ‘Pervert’ written all over him.
The building rage in her intensified. It became a lethal combination of that against the Prof. that called her bluff and the hungry ‘dog’ of a dude leering lustfully at her nakedness. She ignored a sudden rumble in her stomach and starred hard at his reflection in the mirror, her face wore a cold and deadly look.
‘Of course I’m cock sure! Unless you want to receive ‘maximum shishi’ from all the chicks in this hall for attempting to rape a harmless girl?’ Her harsh rasping voice seemed to work like magic as she watched his reflection become first flushed with fear then transit into that of embarrassment. Hastily he opened the door and bolted out murmuring a barely audible ‘sorry’.
Maximum Shi shi.
Every student dreaded that word. It was the insane jungle justice meted out by irate students against any offender that posed a threat to the ‘sanity’ of life and politics on campus. Those who had received this treatment bore scars that testified of their ordeal, scars that made intending ‘enfant terribles’ to rethink their brat status.
She walked to the door, bolted it and made for the wardrobe. Minutes later she walked out of the room, sporting a pair of blue three-quarter jeans laced at the bottom with a red jumper T-shirt which apart from sparingly bearing some cleavage, showcased her well-toned belly plus a cutely curved navel. Except for a bright red lipstick, she wore no other make-up. She didn’t need to. She knew quite well that even if she woke up early in the morning with dried up spittle caking on both sides of her cheeks and her hair all standing up like an electrocution victim, she’d still look drop dead gorgeous.
She cat-walked scandalously, drawing eyes of lust from every male and pangs of jealousy from every female that caught sight of her. Despite looking like a beauty that needed all the randy knights in rusted amour to do her bidding, she also had a dark side which had been nurtured from her heydays as a tomboy.
To be concluded…