He held his lower lip with his teeth as his hand found rest on the door knob.
Turn it, now!
A part of him, in short order, assumed the role of an opposition—Efosa, please, walk away. The latter voice: gentle, but weak. He sighed, also realising that his teeth had left marks on his lip. Still his hand remained on the knob. He shut his eyes, pained, almost certain he would come back again, even if for the moment he yielded to the call of the more amiable voice. His thoughts, like a bat out of hell, took center stage, offering him images: those breasts! Images he beheld as he, without knocking, entered her room earlier that evening. He pushed aside a voice—the gentle one—as it tried to dull the images. He turned the knob, slowly, a bit undecided. He pushed the door open, closing it again, once he was fully in. The room was dark—as expected—but he found his way.
He lumbered to her bed.
Patience, you know, is not a virtue you can boast of. But for her, you have been patient—for twelve years!
He touched the bed. Then he felt the sheets, then her leg. Then her thighs. At that moment, more than ever, he wished he could stop: gain control of himself—his lust, his hands moving up her thighs—and walk away. He wished she did not remain still, and silent. Her silence urged him on. He edged closer: a new position, by her side.
“Jesus!” she screamed, and tried to struggle.
“Afoke! Afoke! Keep still.”
“Afoke! Its me.”
“I won’t hurt you. I . . . I promise.”
He tried to be gentle with his thrusts, but he stayed true to his resolve only for a moment.
“Don’t fight. It’s not what you think—please.”
He held onto her lithe frame as his thrusts became more forceful—that moment, if you know it, when a man has lost control of his thrusts. He wanted to pull back, to wet the sheets instead. But, he did not—could not! His lust kept him in place. Moreover, withdrawing, when it mattered, was not a method he was used to.
He pulled from her. He tried to wipe her tears, but she pushed him away.
“Afoke! I’m your daddy, I won’t lie to you. It’s not what you think!” He wasn’t entirely wrong in his claim—it was wrong, but clearly not incest.
“Leave me alone!”
No one was at home. No one would hear her, except the neighbours, if she screamed.
She screamed. “Go away. Go!”
“Ok. I’ll go.”
He was sure she would remain silent—about the act, forever! His wife, the one whom Afoke called mummy, rarely had time for the girl. He was the one she loved; the one who really cared for her. He was the one who chose her among the lot at the orphanage home twelve years ago, then she was just a little two year old.
Efosa loved Afoke, just like a father would love his own daughter. But, his personal demons were always at hand to remind him that it had been lust at first sight: it was lust, and an erect penis, that made him point at the little girl, twelve years ago.
My first kiss, episode 11: www.naijastories.com/2015/10/first-kiss-episode-11/