Mickey Jay: Memoirs Of A Lagos Playboy (XIII)

September 8th, 2012.
10: 15am.

My mind wandered back to back in the days when I had professed undying love to her. It oddly felt like yesterday. Bitter-sweet memories of before, during and after flooded my head. But here, and right now, after so many years, I felt myself go soft with desire; desire for that complete thing we never had. I was a bit ashamed of myself for being such a sucker. I knew I shouldn’t even be here with her but she still wielded a sort of influence over me. Whether she knew it and decided to take advantage of it, I didn’t know. Well, I decided to just go with the flow.

We continued to talk for hours on end. Well, actually she did most of the talking all the while, touching my hands suggestively, her eyes passing me subtle and much later, not too subtle messages which I found rather flattering. There was however, something lurking in the recesses of my mind. I couldn’t just point out what it was. She had to step out to receive a call on two occasions for close to ten minutes and each time, it was one guy or the other who was asking her out. Was she trying to make me jealous?

“So are you seeing someone?” She asked, without warning.

“Yeah.” I said, not feeling the urge to lie.

There was a bit of a frown on her face as she went silent for a minute.

“Who is she?” She asked, her tone a bit subdued. I wondered what she expected to hear.

“She’s beautiful. She’s nice…” I said casually. The light in her expression faded fast.

“…but she’s not you.” I added.

She looked into my face, searching to find a meaning. She wanted so badly to ask what I meant by that but decided against it. I heightened the effect by reaching out for her hand. She caught her breath and looked away shyly.

“Come and sit next to me.” I said, drawing back and tapping on the free space on the chair I sat. She obliged. She leaned back on the chair with me, holding my hands while I talked. She loved to hear me talk back then. She had this faraway gaze in her eyes as she hung to my every word. A gaze reminiscent of the past when I used to recite poetry to her; her favorite lullaby. She continued to massage my hands affectionately and for a minute, I was cast to the past. All was right with the world again…until that image came back.

“What’s the matter?” She asked with concern in her eyes, wondering why I’d stopped in mid sentence.

“Let’s get out of here.” I said suddenly, facing her, my eye looking deep into hers, my breathe close to hers, my lips near hers, holding her close to me. I perceived the all too familiar whiff of her scent again. Why hadn’t she changed her perfume after all these years? With each whiff came a flood of memories. Memories of when I used to hold her close and just get ‘high’ off her scent; of laying on the bed as nature would have us, her back against me while we were locked in tight embrace but never going beyond that. I felt the desire within me ignite. She was the one that got away and I had to have her.

When she opened her mouth to protest, I smothered them with kisses and she gave in quickly, her hands holding my face and more tears suddenly flowing from her eyes. When I pulled back, her eyes remained closed as she tried to choke back the sobs.

“Shhh…don’t cry.” I cooed. She had always been the very emotional type, easily moved to tears. Something that instantly activated the father-instinct in me. I don’t like to see ladies cry. She knew that too and soon, we were in each others arms. She continued to whimper as I held her close, caressing her back softly. Her phone rang. She picked it up, in front of me this time. A voice spoke to her and she replied with “I’m on my way.”

“Your car’s done?” I asked. She nodded. I signaled for the bill which was brought and cleared. We headed outside into the sun shine. My car was sparkling again. I felt a surge of joy as I sorted the bill for the wash. I had been feeling a little miffed and emasculated driving my girl’s car everyday. It was a good score for Christy. She had been nothing but perfect since we started dating and I was starting to get worried that I hadn’t seen anything about her I didn’t like. Anyway, that’s a story for another day.

We drove in silence back to the mechanic workshop but not without her hands massaging my gear-shifting hands the whole time. There was a lot a promise in the way she touched me and I smiled to myself at the thought. We got there. While she went to inspect her car, I called Christy. She picked after the second ring, sounding rather harried. She asked about the car and I told her it was ok now. We talked for a while before I hung up, promising to see her later in the evening. Juliet’s white Toyota Solara pulled up beside me as her glass rolled down.

“How’s the car now?” I asked.

“Its great now.” She said smiling. “Are you coming with me?”

“Where are we heading to?”

“Ikoyi.” She replied. The hellish friday traffic had just kick started. I did a quick mental calculation. Heading back to the mainland by this time would be a living nightmare.

“Lead the way then.” I said.

We drove to one of those very tarred, clean streets with those ultra modern, luxury high-rise buildings with serviced flats on each side after managing to avoid pockets of traffic here and there. She drove through the open gates while I opted to park outside, behind a parked silver-colored BMW X6. I met her up and we moved into the building. The porter threw up a salute and she nodded in acknowledgment as we entered the lonely elevator. She pressed the button beside number 7. No sooner had the elevator doors closed, she pulled me to herself violently and stung my mouth with kisses as we rode upstairs to her apartment. I held onto the railings to ease the shock of the initial gravitational pull as we climbed before I drew her close with one hand, while the other squeezed her huge breasts from the blouse. She moaned as I disconnected from her lips and faced her neck and ears. She strained herself against my already hardened appendage, grinding against me as I grabbed her fleshy bum. The cling of the elevator brought us back to our senses. Luckily, there was nobody about. It would been quite embarrassing shielding with my hands, the shameless bulge on my trouser. She laughed at my obvious discomfort as she pulled me to her apartment door. On it was the number “15″ printed in gold. A key card swipe and the door opened and we stepped into a magnificient and expansive room which was tastefully furnished with beautiful paintings, sculptures and ornaments. The walls were an artistic mixture of red and white. I was quite impressed with what I saw. She always had style. I was dimly aware as she flung her bag, her suit and her blouse to the highly polished tiled floor, having on just a white brassiere and her skirt. Her skin glowed like polished ivory. I reached out for her, forgetting about the aesthetics of her apartment. My hands expertly unhooked her bra as she roughly unbottoned my shirt as we kissed with urgency as if we were going to die the next minute. Her breast came free, looking rounder and fresher than I remembered. My mouth went straight for the areola, trying to take in as much as I could before focusing on her nipples. She muttered something unintelligible while she struggled to get my shirt off me. I took a break off her breasts and took off my shirt and inners while she fondled with my belt hook and trousers, exposing my bulging boxers.

A thought crossed my mind. I was actually going to have Julie after all these years. She pushed me against the wall and my thoughts came back to life as she stroked and swallowed me whole. Ah, I thought. Why did she hide this freaky side while we dated? The slurping sounds and the way she kept looking up to me, as if seeking some sort of approval made me smile. I felt the pressure building and had to take charge. She was completely uninhibited! I drew her up her roughly and leaned her against the wall. My mouth went to her breasts again, sucking, licking and biting while my hands lifted her skirt and probed her g-string. Her juices were all over her laps, I noted with delight. As my fingers invaded her, probing deeper and deeper, she held on to me moaning, tightening her grip around my throbbing member.

I turned her against the wall like a bad cop in American movies while I picked up the condom that had fallen down in all the rush. I unzipped her skirt and took it down her waist along with her panties. Her butt was fat and fleshy. I spanked it lightly and watched the tremors. She squealed with delight. I couldn’t hold myself again so I rammed into her, the traumatic picture of many years ago flashing into my head. Obscenities flew freely from her mouth. She urged me to spank and fuck her harder. I was taken aback initially, then suddenly filled with rage and I rammed into her mercilessly as she continued to urge me on. She went on and on about how she deserved to be punished. She told me to use my belt on her. I abhor any form of violence against women so I ignored her. She continued to talk dirty and I found it quite exciting. She continued to rant about wanting to feel my rage for what she did to me. She continued to rant as I pumped her as hard as I could. When I slipped out, she tried to guide me into her anus. I thought it was an honest mistake till she told me to fuck her asshole. I thought I didn’t hear right but she said it again. I felt myself go limp after she said that.

“What the fuck!” I exclaimed in disgust. I stepping back. Her back glistened with sweat as she coiled, looking at me with glazed eyes, expecting me back in. I grabbed my boxers and put them on, followed by my trouser. She seemed a little slow in figuring what has happening.

“Michael… what are you doing..?” She asked, the realization getting to her slowly. By this time, I had my shirt on. Thank God I hadn’t bothered to take off my shoes.

“I’m sorry Juliet but I just can’t do this anymore.” I said quickly, checking my pockets for my car keys. It was there. She stood rooted where I’d left her, shock on her face.

“You’re too damn freaky for me.” I said, for lack of something better to say. I stood awkwardly for a few seconds expecting anything from her before I started to move towards the door. There was a beautiful china vase on a small table by the wall where we had just been. It looked heavy but she picked it up with ease. She looked like some naked Greek goddess as she poised to throw it at me. I had already opened the door when she flung it towards me. I hurriedly rushed out and shut the door just in time to hear the vase smash against the closed door as she screamed something I couldn’t make out with the sound of the smash on the door.

I bolted into the elevator as it opened almost running down a pretty young lady who was about to step out. I muttered my apologies as she stepped out, looking at me strange while I went in and hurriedly hit the button for the ground floor. My mind was all kinds of crazy as different scenarios kept popping into my head. As the elevator opened on the ground floor, I half expected to see a naked Julie with a big knife lunging for my heart. There was nobody. I composed myself and tried to walk as calmly as I could outside the compound to where I had parked my car. Once inside, I sped off not bothering myself about the traffic I was running into. There is a saying that the devil you know is better than the angel you don’t. I was certainly wrong about knowing this devil!

Malcolm O. Ifi.

12 thoughts on “Mickey Jay: Memoirs Of A Lagos Playboy (XIII)” by Malcolm O. Ifi (@saymalcolm)

  1. Na wa oh…e quick you still chop small…i guess ur julie has be vandalized

  2. Sunshine (@nicolebassey)

    hehehe you dey fear ehn?

  3. Bros ,you did the right thing by running for your life. That jungle don really mature

    1. Lol,but true true,that jungle don over mature sef.

  4. Hahahahaha! O boy! Don’t even know what to say…

  5. Nothing worse than sexing a psyco… Nice read… keep ’em coming

  6. Engaging to the very last sentence.


  7. Daireen (@daireenonline)

    Lumped. That made reading hard and though it’s a cool piece, the paragraphs need not be so long haba. If this were a novel, a paragraph would take a whole page. Think how the reader would feel reading that.

    Please break up the sentences and don’t lump the story together.

    My 1kobo.

  8. Hmm… Nice as usual

  9. Playa like you, you fall my hand! Great writing! Almost alive!

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