The Day I Lost My P*nis
Nothing more but sex had taken me to Ten Mason Street on August twelfth. Lucy had left, not without starving me for months. The construction job had stopped also. While I walked through the gate and scanned around for Pasha, my new consolation, I lit up the only stick of cigarette I had left in my pocket. The stub was weakened from sweat. It was all I could afford. There was no money on me or anywhere else in the world in my name and I wanted sex; the antidote for a brief escape from the world of humans, of politics, of bombings, of news of stolen funds. I wanted to gain optimum sanity from the raging world of imperfect people who never saw themselves as men but demigods. I placed the lit cigarette in my mouth dragged it like the hungry man I was. I dragged again and again until I could no longer feel the presence of any mortal but smoke-beings. Before puffing the smoke I played with the inhaled for a while and let it out into the air like I was a warder letting out a caged prisoner. I had drunk some vodka.
Pasha lived on Ten Mason Street. It was a motel, a place where people made money or spent it. Pasha was my girlfriend until later that night. She had not taken my calls. She had not replied any email I sent. It had been weeks without Pasha.
I met Pasha the same night my wife left my miserable life. There was no job so she left. We could not feed. The rent could not be paid. When my wife left I sent my properties to a friend’s place and managed my life. On the night of my wife’s departure I had gone out to have a drink, to celebrate coming back to being single. After wandering through the bars in Rumuola I found a spot where I finally settled. A slender young woman, probably in her early twenties walked to my table. She asked if I was okay. My face did not look okay even in the night. I did not say much before she placed a hand on my chest and rubbed it gently. Few minutes later she asked if I had money. I nodded and she led me upstairs to a small room which had little light.
Pasha never wore a brassiere, not even if her life depended on it. In her minis she arrested my attention. Her thighs glittered like some of the women in music videos. But Pasha never gave sex until you handed her money. Her business had little emotion.
That night I walked into Ten Mason Street, the poorly lit motel kept faces unrecognisable. Staggering to keep my weight from the ground I asked a worker about Pasha but she wanted to sell her body instead. I walked upstairs to room 19. I saw her there; her back on the low mattress, legs apart, and a naked man and a penis between her legs.
I did not get upset. I had expected it. Pasha lifted her head from her moaning and saw me. The door was unlocked. No one really locked the door at the motel. It was not like a guardian would walk in on you and hand you a bible and scold you for missing a bible study. Pasha’s face was filled with sweat. She held the stranger even stronger and continued fucking him. He was a skinny man. I dragged the last of what was left of my cigarette and walked up to the man who had not noticed me. I tapped his shoulder and made my worst mistake.
“That pussy is mine, fool” I barked at the man. The man quickly turned around, his face decorated with beads of sweat; he heaved and stepped out of the bed. I had seen his hands move but that was all I saw. I did not see the fist coming directly to my face. It went straight between my eyes. There was blackout and a sudden fall. I felt my body landing on the cemented floor. My head hit against a stool and that was it.
Before Ten Mason Street I had walked around the city of Port Harcourt. I had walked the newly constructed Stadium Road; I had seen the bright street lights, powered on a government generator. The scene could pass for a Hollywood movie. Few cars plied the road that late night. There was sanity everywhere but I wanted more than that. I had trekked from all the places I usually get help, from sex to drugs. I was at the Abonnema Waterfront but no one paid attention to my needs. A good taxi driver had taken me on a free ride to the Stadium Road. Nobody does charity with sex or drugs. These are businesses, someone had adviced, and the peddlers are not necessarily inhumane but prone to business.
When nobody gave me either of my needs I went to the bus stop where I made little money. I loaded passengers unto some taxis. The pay was not much. Although it bought me a pack of cigarette it did not transport me home. After I had drank a bottle of vodka I had nothing anymore, nothing at all to take home to the landlord or Pasha. I was running from the landlord but not Pasha. I did not owe the man. He just had problems with accepting certain people. For Pasha, I saw her when I saw money.
Days earlier the landlord; a new convert of a new generation church, had thrown everything out until I pleaded for a week extension. He had warned me against Pasha. He told me he hated the sight of Pasha on minis. He said she was a walking demon who needed to be delivered. He said she was a distraction to the neighbours too. He once whispered that his veins grew larger each time she came around, even when his wife was around. Though he said we were of a feather he did not really tell if it was the hate for Pasha or a refusal to have a piece of the flesh he always admired from his window which was responsible for the throw out.
When I gained consciousness from the punch I was in Pasha’s hands, wandering how such a skinny man could have taken me out with a punch.
“You make trouble easily. I wouldn’t come to your place of work to insult anyone. You are rude and I’m sorry to say that you deserve what you got.”
Pasha squeezed the towel she was holding and dried my wet face. I could not see her clearly. “Shut the fuck up, slut. You caused it. You would not take my calls or reply my emails. You avoided me because there was no money.” I told Pasha.
Pasha groaned but my vision was blurred to see her face. Nobody was around. There was no sound of any man on any woman. I lifted my head but Pasha told me to relax. I asked her where we where and she told me to hush. Pasha planted a kiss on my lips and reached her hands to my groins.
“Sex made you come out here this late to cause a fight and insult everyone, isn’t it?” I could not understand the intent of the question. I made no comment. Pasha unbuttoned my trousers and carried the erected shame, rubbed it gently and moved her lips closer to it, and then she placed it in her mouth. I screamed to death when I discovered the demonic Pasha had bitten off half of my penis.