There’s this girl that lives down my street; fair, tall, and beautiful with all the right curves. That’s you, Becky. I learned from my best-friend that you moved into the neighborhood with your family some three weeks before I was forced home from school by ASUU. From afar, everything seemed to be okay with you. That thought changed the day I approached, and we got talking. I discovered all my perceptions about you weren’t right. They didn’t do you justice ‘cos you’re freaking perfect. Everything I ever wanted in a woman I perceived in you. As luck would have it, we clicked. You liked me too. Who would’ve ever thought the voluptuous, head-turner, America-returnee girl would ever be smitten by someone like me? Let’s get something right; by her standards, I know I’m ugly. There’s no need to fuss over that detail.
Our whirlwind romance blossomed over the next three weeks. Since we’re both stuck at home, thanks to the raging ASUU strike currently in its ninth week, we’ve had lots of time to spend in each other’s arms without the fore knowledge of our parents. I’d initially feared what your Army general father’s face would look like should someone like me come knocking while he’s home. Luckily for us, and thanks to ASUU for the timely provision, we’ve never had to bother about this detail ‘cos he’s never home.
With time, I’ve gotten to know you better. I appreciate the beauty of your soul, and, in turn, you’ve promised to spoil me silly with love and sex. Point blank; sex is our watchword. Even though our younger siblings hover around the apartments when we’re getting intimate, we’ve gotten better at masking the euphoria of our ecstasy by nibbling on the suppleness of our sweaty bodies under the dirty sheets. We know they can’t hear us even though they’re dying to process what we keep doing behind closed doors for long hours, everyday.
Today, even after sexting throughout the night, you said you couldn’t wait for me to visit. My ego was stroked at the thought of you wanting me even more. You said you wanted me to fill you up with my little man; and that my sauce was all you wanted for breakfast. Once you confirmed the coast was clear, I literally ran down the street to your apartment. Only to stupidly walk into the waiting arms of your father and his trap courtesy of your 10-year-old brother I’d smacked the previous day for being a peeping Tom.
You’re nowhere to be found. I want to deliberate if I should stay and defend myself or run and live to fight another day, but I believe you’ll forgive me for taking the easy way out.
As I’m typing this, I’m hiding out at a friend’s for the night, hoping and praying your father hasn’t yet set fire to my parents’ house in anger.