Sexual Healing

Sexual Healing

I was seventeen, and he was seventeen too.

He joined my school in secondary school 2. Then, I was the only girl who still had no boyfriend in SS2, the only girl who loved books more than the mirror and makeup. While most of the other girls went into boys back in JSS3, I remained virgin. I was more interested in unraveling the mysteries surrounding life. I wished to become one of the greats. I wasn’t in a haste to know boys; I waited for the day the love of my life would sweep me off my feet, like my heroes in my Mills and Boons collections.

Raymond was from St. Louis, one of the top academic schools in our time.  I was drawn to him, to his brooding personality. He was so handsome, tall, dark, hunky, and with flashing white teeth. His eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled. He didn’t know how mouthwateringly handsome he was, and that was the charming thing about him, the icing on the cake.

It was the first time I would see a boy not wanting anything to do with the girls, especially the dull-brained girls that sat with the stupid boys at the back seats in our class. Yes, I was drawn by these all, but what really made me gasp was the level of his intelligence. He was the best at maths, geography and every other course. Before he came, I was the one who always came first, who scored the highest in our tests. He beat me and took that position, and I was challenged. I loved being challenged, and I loved solving puzzles. I wished to know why he beat me so easily from the position I held since JSS1. I wanted to know why he was always quiet, why he always hid his handsomely cut hair in his books. He puzzled me.

While I read for tests and studied for exams, I had another job to do – to unravel Raymond. And so, for the first time in my life, I used the flirting trick. I went after him and lured him into my world. I made him my friend. I made him see that I loved books. He became interested in me because I talked about nothing else but books. I switched seat with bored girl next to him and permanently fixed my place beside him. And gradually, we became the best of friends.

We solved maths. We solved geography. Chemistry. Physics. And every other course. He began to let down his guard, smoothen his bristly edge. At first in our relationship, he was a little hesitant, hesitant that he cringed when I rubbed his palms when taking a pen from him. But in time, he stopped cringing. He smiled when I gave him side hugs, and when I shook his hand. He smiled when I sat close to him, so close that I could feel the rustle of the hairs on his hand, so close that my breathe would fan his neck when he turned sideways.

He stopped brooding totally, and began to ‘get’ into me. Soon, I was like his air; he was always unsettled, pacing nervously when I wasn’t around. I would watch him from the window as he asked classmates if they saw me, as he searched for me. I deliberately made him want more, search more. I left him breathless. He would chase me down the school block during breaks when I tried to evade him after a prank. And when he caught me, he crushed me against him. I rubbed my hips against his body, so smoothly that our bodies melded.

Raymond became different… free, so free that his mum visited school one day, to see me.

I was scared at the sight of the tall woman who had the body of a model and the eyes of a hawk. She stared at me, without condescension or likeness. Her eyes were totally blank when I sat opposite her in our empty school canteen. Raymond sat beside me, holding my hand as if to strengthen in the tsunami about to come. I felt bolstered. But I withered when she briskly said, “Honey, please excuse us. This is girl talk”

Reluctantly, my Raymond left me there. He looked unsure as he stepped out, and I held his eyes, a tad longer, hoping to get all the strength I would need in the storm. I wished to yelp, but I sat their opposite her, while she searched for something in my face.

“You are a very beautiful girl, Nneka,” she started, she pronounced ‘Nneka’ as “Ne Ka”, like one of those ‘janded’ women. It occurred to me that she might be ‘janded’, that Raymond might also be ‘janded’. It was then it occurred to me that Raymond had never told me anything about his history. I felt stupid.

I watched as his mother dug into her bag, brandished and flipped open a cigarette pack. I sat there, bewildered and scared, that our principal would barge in and I would be in trouble for sitting close to a cigarette smoker in a cigarette-banned school.

“Raymond has been…” she waved her hand, searching for the word, “free…lately.”

I nodded.

She nodded too, and her jaw tightened. She took a long whiff, her throat elongated like that of a swan. Then she puffed right into my face, and said, “He no longer broods or concentrates. He talks about you,” she said and stared in my eyes, “A lot.”

I struggled from sputtering in coughs as the pungent smoke enveloped my face. I opened my mouth, to respond, and the fading smoke traveled down my lungs. I started coughing. Wild sputtering that shook my body. I wheezed as tears ran down my eyes. My inhaler was in my bag at the class, and I begged her to help me. She didn’t come to hold me as mother does whenever my asthma upsurges. She sat calmly on her chair, and watched me with the mien of a scientist observing the reactions of her lab rat to a new experiment.

I coughed, wheezed, cried, and she started saying words I couldn’t make meaning out of. Words like, America, deportation, girls, and hurt. Then her eyes flashed, while I struggled to breathe, while I begged for my Bentolin. I slumped to the floor and snaked through the chairs, to drag at her legs and cry for help. She quietly stood up, got out a perfumed spray which she flitted the air with. Then she patted down her mini dress, and left me there on the floor. Seconds later, Raymond dashed into the class as I hovered between wakefulness and oblivion. He was screaming for help, his voice from a very distant land, before I slipped into quiet.

 

******

 

Weekes later, Raymond still asked what happened to me. I only smiled and waved his questions with a “It’s one of those things, baby. It was the asthma again.”

Did the experience faze me? Hell, no! I was fired up, and seriously, I didn’t know what made me want more. I felt it was a battle for his heart. I wanted to have him to myself. I wanted him to be free from the clutches of a mother controlled his life with her remote.

In weeks, we became so inseparable that Raymond wished to go home with me. I made my mole on him. I kissed him first, deeply, letting my tongue into his mouth, running it round his mouth and then sucking his lips. Raymond became fevered. He became addicted to our kisses. We did this, always, behind the big church in our missionary school. I made sure to bribe the church gateman after I convinced him that we wished to study privately for the upcoming exams.

And privately, we studied. I took our relationship to the next level. I let him hold my breasts. Men are always babies when it comes to those particular appendages, and since I was very well endowed in that area, Raymond wished for nothing else than holding them after he unhooked my bra. He moaned like someone in pain, and kneaded it, armful. His eyes darkened, as if a veil was drawn over them.

“I love you, baby, please don’t hurt me,” he begged, almost crying. His voice shook and his hands, unsteady.

“I won’t, baby,” I always promised.

I didn’t bother to know why he always begged me not to hurt him, to reason why he always said that. Perhaps, it was my wanting to care for him, to make him mine, that diffused the sense of reasoning. I stuck with him, and he was unnaturally loyal and faithful. He became overly addicted to me, to my company that I waved away my initial resolution on sex after marriage. I wanted him to be my first.

WAEC loomed, and I prepared to give him the ‘gift’ after our graduation party. He seemed to know this, though he had never wanted more other than holding my upper body.

On graduation day after the senior examination, he became withdrawn. I tried to cheer him up. I brought him to the dance floor and shimmied around him, in a sexy dance. He followed, but a bit…a bit.. scared. It was then I saw fear boldly written on his face. I wasn’t fazed. I was happy that such a boy had fear for me, for my body.

After the party, at about 7:00pm, I took him to the room up in the hotel were we held the party, to give him my gift of love.

He was quiet as we climbed the stairs, and as we walked to the room. He was quiet as I unlocked the door and as I shut the door. I slotted in the pornographic movie I bought the previous day, and soon, his gloominess evaporated. He was frenzied as we watched the white girls doing it. Then I was fired up, and was allover him, tearing at his cloths as the girls did, and rubbing, and tugging. He was fevered up too, but with fear and same muttering of “please don’t hurt me.” He voice sounded so small, like a child’s. I tore at his shirt and stripped down his trousers. His heart thudded so loud he breathing became unevenly paced. I slithered away from my dress and pounced on him again. He lay on the bed, flat back, and watched my eyes intently when I pulled away his boxers.

At first, I was shocked, and nearly yelped at the sight. But I stopped and the real meaning of “please don’t hurt me” finally sank in.

He stood before me, an erected member not even bigger than my thumb. I looked into his eyes and we locked eyes for seconds, or minutes. Then his face contorted in pain, tears began to fall, and he went limp. My mind did ingenious calculations and I found the implications to any actions or inactions I would take.

“I will never hurt you, honey,” I whispered. I found that I was crying. The salty wetness trickled down in rivulets, and unto his laps. He started crying, so deeply my heart broke for him. I dressed him up again, and held him so tightly against him as his shoulders shook. I cooed and comforted him.

“Baby, will you leave me?” he asked me, his eyes red-rimmed and pleading, and his voice shaking in fear.

“No, baby, I will never leave you.” I looked into his eyes, making sure he found that I truly love him, that I wouldn’t leave him. Then he melted into me, holding me tight and shivering. We lay on the bed, his head pillowed on my chest, while I thought of how to help him, without hurting him.

 

******

 

Three years later, I was still a virgin standing beside his grave. His mother was no longer the bitch. Her eyes were red from crying. She looked so small when she begged me not to leave soon. My Raymond died in the 9/11 attack on the America. He had gone to finally make peace with his father, a father who left them to marry a rich white woman. I made him go on that journey even when he wanted to be in Nigeria with me. I knew he would never really be happy if he didn’t make peace with his father.

He had told me about his history after that graduation night. He poured out his heart, and told me the story of a father who emasculated him because of the size of his sex organ, and how his father’s girlfriends made fun of him after his parents were separated.

Though I wished to consummate our relationship (if that was possible), to prove that I wouldn’t leave, he wanted us to wait till our wedding night. I didn’t hate his mother anymore. She was only protecting her son.

Days later after he met and made peace with his father, he called to tell that his father found him a temporary job at the world trade centre where his father worked. He also wanted me to come over.

Two weeks later, I got my visa. I was surprised it came out that fast.

On the day I was supposed to take my flight out, the States was attacked. I listened on the phone as my Richard cried that his father was instantly killed when the first aeroplane smashed the 100th floor. I listened until his screams deafened my ears. And then there was complete silence.

His mother and I travelled together, to bury what remains of his son; a locket with my picture which I gave him on his nineteenth birthday. Then, she went on to mourn him forever.

Till today, I still can’t tell how I felt when I heard the news of his death. I still can’t tell if I was relived or heartbroken. He had become a slight burden, and annoyingly jealous and insecure too. He wanted me to smile only for him, he was scared whenever I talked to any other boy.

I still think about him sometimes, I still search the face of any man I see, searching for any semblance with my Raymond.

I still search for him.



55 thoughts on “Sexual Healing” by Ukamaka Olisakwe (@ukamaka)

  1. This has the makings of a nice story but it felt a bit disjointed in some parts for me..And somewhere at the end of the story Raymond became Richard. A great attempt still, with better structuring and a lot of editing it will be really nice.

    1. Thanks, Mercy. This is my first attempt at this genre…With careful editing and restructuring, i will get it just right. For the ‘Ray, Rich’ error, i didnt even realize it…Thanks again, dear

  2. I ditto Mercy wholly, proper structuring and intense editing will greatly expose the beauty of this attempt.

    1. Thanks, Scope. I learn everyday…

  3. Very nice story,ukamaka. I luvd the idea. And i also think that-
    1. The editing should have been better. Not just the typos which surfaced often but also the structure and continuity eg. I thot ray attended anoda scl st. Louis. It was later i undastud wat u meant by ‘4rm st.louis’,also the ray and richard cnfusion at the end.
    2. I see u tried to do a lot which is gud,ambitious but hard. Eg. You moved 4rm the very studious to the almost total care-free, from naija to america,from today to 3yrs later,u brought in love,emasculation,terrorism,sex,porn,family pain and forgiveness all at once etc. You managed to pull it off,but only just
    3. Finally some of the occurences were stranger than fiction at certain parts eg. Did ray’s mum want to kill her,how cld she be so totally emotionless even when the girl went down in pain, did ray have no plans of furthering his education,he seemed to accept the job too soon etc.

    Don’t mind me oh.
    Well dne again.

    1. Thanks, Stan. I appreciate this so much. For the trasition from studious to carefree of my characters, it is real. It is one of those youthful exuberance that propels or crashes a young boy/girl. It is a how twisted life can be…Thanks, dear, again

  4. Well, @Ukamaka, the errors in this short story were quite minimal in nature and the transition of events, still focused on the two main characters, is quite commendable.

    “While most of the other girls went into boys back in JSS3, I remained [a] virgin.”

    “Yes, I was drawn by [all these], but what really made me gasp was the level of his intelligence.”

    “His eyes [crinkled?] at the corner when he smiled.” That word sounded a bit strange to me, even though it is a correct word in English anyway. I just wondered what it meant, and it IS a very strange things for eyes to ‘crinkle’.

    “I [wished to yelp], but I sat their [there] opposite her, while she searched for something in my face.” I would have suggested something else here – “I almost yelped” or “I had the desire to yell”

    It was when @Efearue and @Stan even mentioned that you probably mistyped Richard for Raymond, that I even noticed it, but I think it just appeared once in this story. I can ditto @Stan at the last part of his commentary, and I can say here that there is a great level of maturing in your storytelling, @Ukamaka, especially when making your audience view the POV of the girl.

    Overall, I said to myself: This could be true love, no? The girl having asthma and the boy having an under-grown private part… Good idea! Your storytelling potential’s good, on the way to being impressive. You know you will do better. Amen.

    1. At last! EMMANUELLA commented! I feel like dancing….Thanks, dear….I am smilling…

      1. There’s something I forgot to add here: The title. You see, the thing that made me read this was Marvin Gaye’s SEXUAL HEALING. Even if I saw that the girl eventually catches that handsome shy boy and her feelings towards him, all so lovey-dovey and all that, which is quite rare in reality, I was actually looking forward to reading real ‘sexual healing’ in the story according to that ever-legendary singer Marvin Gaye… Geez, do you blame me, dear? You remember that soul R&B music, don’t ya, hm? ;) I suggest you think of another title to this story of yours if you intend to re-look it [not RE-WRITE o! I dread ‘re-writing’ a lot]. Biko! Whenever you think up this title again, I expect some ‘nasty’, ‘naughty’ narration from you, @Ukamaka, ‘wicked’ witticism, ‘sensual’ storytelling… You ‘get’ me, don’t ya? ;)

  5. I get it, dear *laughs out loud*. I choose that name after the story sef! I wanted a sexy name and had to flip thru’ my cd plates…Thanks dear, again

  6. Mazi Nwonwu (@Fredrick-chiagozie-Nwonwu)

    I echo Emmanuella on the title, that sexual healing was really missing in the story, I was expecting some raunchy sex scene within an erotic story. Well, won’t say the story was that “bad” but the expectation not being met was a let down. As for errors, dem don tuk am finish. You know you are good, abi?

    1. @Fred. Sexual healing mustnt end with copulation. What i had in mind was a story of a healing of the mind, just as Raymond got…For the raunchy angle, i never gather enough liver. I no get that kind liver..

  7. U for tell me say U like me naaa….Heheehehehehe…..I echo the previous sentiments. My Triangular Madam, U good jorr!!!

    1. Ah!Ah! No be only you dey answer that name oo…I look like i like you?? Mba nu!

      1. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! Omo, see denial naa….LMAO!!!!!

        1. See me se wahala! I no gree like you oo…I no gree oo

  8. De description fit the Raymond wey I sabi for NS… Lol. All has been said about your writing… The improved version would certainly be a bomb. I did enjoy the story anyway…

    1. And i am going to do a lot of editing again. Thanks for reading..

  9. They’ve said so much already.One thing I’ll tell u is this:u’re a star in the making.In spite of your typos and whatever,I can relate well with your story.It’s a perfect replica of a sec sch girl walking the aisle of self destruction. Once again,ur work isn’t bad at least for a first try.

  10. I would echo some of the commenters here as per credility, continuity and typos. While I love reading your work – (“The drunken prophet” – your vote chronicles comp entry was fantasitc), I found some parts of this story a tad unrealistic. The woman not responding to the asthmatic attack – might have worked better if she was slow to respond as opposed to not responding at all. The bit about dad and girlfriends making fun of his member – how would they know about this without it being some kind of child abuse? Also children do grow as do their members…so I’m thinking you could have approached the subject of his small member from a different angle, perhaps.

    On the plus side, your storytelling skills shine even in your weaker pieces like this one. I still enjoyed reading and you held my attention to the end. Work on typos, continuity and structure – and the sky would be your limit.

    1. And NS is really grooming to become that writer i want to be. You are my family, and thanks for loving my Drunken Prophet…Thanks, Adura!

  11. ‘Credibility’ (typo – ‘missing key’ syndrome – lol)

    1. Hahahaha…Welcome to the club!!

  12. Everything seems to have been said here. The title, yeah a bit naughty and misleading, lol. The names, typos, etc. For me what was more lacking were the transitions, from each part to the next, especially the last. I wanted to feel their relationship more at this point, the real healing, and was diappointed to learn he died already.

    Well done, and keep writing.

    1. I am really learning, Myne. It is your job to guide me, *winks*, and you wonderfully doing that here in NS. Thanks again, my Myne!!

  13. I actually loved the narrative, apart from the spelling errors and inconsistencies in some details that’s been highlighted by previous commentators, I think you have a good story in there.

    I loved the idea of an innocent love in its purest form shared by the two, it’s what many of us relentlessly search for. Good job!

  14. won’t say anything now…..

  15. Girl,you’ve got a great deal of potential…for a first attempt this is really good..personally,i loved reading this story.It reminded me of my first crush when i was in secondary school..I personally don’t see any flaws apart from the switch in names towards the end of the story…
    can’t wait to read your next attempt..

    1. Thanks so much dear. I finally found someone who really ‘get’ it. Thanks, Estrella!

  16. And I take another peep into the room again. In addition to what they’ve said, I want to say I love the way U started the story. The first line was a great hook.

    U really are a good writer…

  17. Thanks, dear….The first line took much time than the story itself. Thanks again!

  18. This story began so non-fictionally that I felt it must be 60% real. (Though I doubt if the NS-Raymond’s sugarcane is that tiny. He he he…) Seriously shaa, I always enjoy themes on teenage romance; they awaken sweet memories in most readers. Besides, I especially like this modern trend of girls approaching guys. It’s good for women empowerment. *winks* And using the Twin Towers scene was clever but you kinda fast-forwarded to it too quickly. Thus stripping the end of your signature power-packed climaxes (as in that your other fiction about a banker, her crippled husband &her lesbian friend). *winks* Nonetheless my miraculous prophetess, you must keep writing sweetie. (Our project still dey my mind o! Shhh…) *winks*

    1. King, King! I was wondering where come dey. Well, sha, dis na my first try for dis type. I no go disappoint you the second time….I still dey wait for the project.

  19. Amaka, you have convinced me again. I’ll have to ditto Myne sha, as per the transitions. Somewhere in my mind, I think you rushed this a bit. I believe the story could still have unfolded beautifully more than this, but maybe its just me. Nothing can detract from the effort you put into this one.

    Well done!!!

    1. Thanks, dear….I will do do better in my next piece. I promise!

  20. Nice one, i liked what you did with the story, the title na wa o! But all in all it worked, i didnt like the fact that hr died though. Thumbs up!

  21. cool stuff. just one question: na you be the girl?

    1. Hmm.. Tough question. But, we are our characters, since they were created from our imaginations, thinking, and reasoning. Wha’dya think? I believe you have your answer now. Cheers…

  22. all that needs to be said,have been said.well done.@ koboko pls leave raymond ns’ sugarcane out of this o.#laughing at ur comment in allusion to our own raymond on ns#

    1. My brother, I wither oh!!!!! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  23. @ukamaka, all the comments made above have covered the minuses in the story and they have also commended you enough…all i want to say.

    just know that with each post you have here you climb up one notch in my reckoning…well done!!!

    1. Thanks, Xikay. I intend to make you proud *winks*

  24. Good story, I have nothing else to say; all has been said. Keep it up baby!

  25. Thanks, dear…I will keep them coming.

  26. A few things:
    – It would have been better if you made it clearer at the beginning that Raymond was aloof and brooding. Yes, you do mention it, but you also say “His eyes crinkled at the corner when he smiled”, giving the impression that he did smile. I think it’s important to emphasise this, because you want to show what an effect the MC had in helping to change his personality.

    – I didn’t get the scene with the mother – I also felt it was a bit unrealistic for her not to do anything while the MC was having an asthma attack.

    – I think the story would have been more dramatic if you had told about the events leading up to the death of Raymond in a chronological manner – knowing immediately that she was standing by his grave took away a lot of the suspense.

    But a good first effort, and well done.

  27. Sweetheart, this was good. With this, I am sure now that we can do the duo. Little errors did not take away from the magnificent golden dream I see in this story. A show of romantic power. A show of daring tendencies, yet controlled in bearing. Good one….

  28. It is now evident I have been missing all the good things on NS. Thank goodness I am digging into the archives, capturing them old and making more friends.
    Talk about High School loves (somehow for romance, secondary school never really gets to me forgetting I went to a kpako one ;0)… we all seem to have our stories. My own fit full bucket!! Mine was far different but that na another post in imself!! I agree with @julemyles that the tale does bring @raymond to mind…hee hee hee…I no fit talk for @koboko! Kai…I told @afronuts that the joy of my unique name is that you don’t get to be ‘mistakenly’ or ‘coincidentally’ mentioned. @Emmanuella, nice points. I learnt from it too. Hmm, me I got popcorn to listen to a narrative rendering of Marvin Gaye…hmm…
    I don’t know if the work has been edited but let me give my full thoughts:
    Well, I must say that this story is captivating – it holds you on, and you just hold on to it till the very last second. You have a way with narration and rendition that is simply lovely. Much has been said already but Tola’s words seem to really capture it. I believe and emphasise that a chronological rendering at the end would have slashed the work finally and given it a sublime finish. IN essence, the grave and then other revelations next (though good) would have been better if we found him in the grave last.
    I noticed some inconsistencies, at some point Raymond becomes Richard. O! It seems the others have spoken on it.
    ‘His mother and I travelled together, to bury what remains of his son’ Okay, that should have been ‘her son’, abi?
    Back to the beginning…at the point where there is a discussion between the narrator and the mother, we read that it was in ‘the empty canteen’ … later, we discover that the last thing she remembers is ‘class’? Haba! Again, that part wasn’t realistic – they go tok say na unrealistic, ko? Tola was on point there. I would suggest that if you decide to rework this, you take that part into consideration and see if you can make Ray’s mom do something to help or show confusion or just do anything at all… The effect would still be there and you would have a more realistic picture. This is also considering that you haven’t made it known earlier that Ray’s mom had knowledge of our narrator’s asthma or that she intended to kill the girl.
    A few other little issues…
    I don’t think this line did much good for the story: ‘Till today, I still can’t tell how I felt when I heard the news of his death. I still can’t tell if I was relived or heartbroken. He had become a slight burden, and annoyingly jealous and insecure too. He wanted me to smile only for him, he was scared whenever I talked to any other boy.’
    It is almost as if you wanted to demonise Raymond by all means. Sure, you can do that but to me, I think it is not really needed. I would suggest that you take this line out. The story still flows (and to me, excellently well) without it…But if you insist to have it, I would suggest you show how he changed before you bring in the aspect of his death. You can push that for effect. Say that he became jealous and all…she started having second thoughts about him. Then, he went to America and she got her visa. On the day, as she is still wondering whether to go to America, continue with him or not, she gets the call. [Maybe infuse direct dialogue there] His father has just been killed on the 100th floor and ‘Ahhhh!!’ You know, something like that. My thoughts…
    On the whole, this is really lovely.
    When would NS get to see your posts again? Strikes have finished, leave FB (enjoyed your posts there sha) and let’s get busy again. We await.

    1. I’m just seeing this, Sueddie! ha! hehehehe…

  29. @ukamaka I really love the flow of the story… amazingly interesting…

  30. So sad that am reading this beautiful story this lately. But at the same, happy some how, that I have read it. This is so so nice.

  31. Just saw this today. All I can say is thumbs up. But I no see no sexual healing.

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