This work is inspired by events untrue. Certain characters, names, incidents have not been fictionalized for writing purposes. However, this work of fiction is X-rated; not suitable for readers who aren’t eligible to drink beer.
[PS: It’s criminal to use this piece as a substitute for wanking material].
By a show of honest hands, gentlemen, how many of you have received nudes from a girl? Anyone? I had my first nude picture delivered to me on the night of the day I left my uncle’s house. Didi, a girl I met there and presumed to be one of the girls my uncle philanders with, sent me a gift. She sent me a DM of her Hennessey-brown body clad in nothing save a string of rope wounding round her waistline. Breasts bare as unwrapped fufu sat fallowed on her chest, waiting to be ministered on. A rose patterned bedcover made for the photo’s canvas. She lay on the bed like one spent from climaxing, like the earth waiting to receive seeds but there was some touch of professionalism to the photo with light fading into darkness around the edges of the picture. This photo of her could pass as a wallpaper for some dumb love quotes, the one’s often seen on some girls WhatsApp status. My head took a swelling as I admired my prize in amusement and excitement, concomitantly another swelling grips the thing around my crotch. That night I retorted to my boyhood practices, watching clips of Roxy Reynolds, Lisa Ann, Alexis Texas, Aleana Trump, Mia Khalifa and other up and coming porn stars to help myself from busting a vein.
It was my idea that we fuck. But the first seed was planted when she sent that raunchy photo of herself. Dear ladies, have you ever gone from what’s your name to having a guy in your bed or in his bed or in whatever place you find yourself? That was what happened between me and Didi, just an exchange of names and gentle pleasantry, nothing else. We were basically strangers until I found out…let’s not run faster than our buttocks here, we will get there soon.
There is a certain joy plastered on guys faces when they narrate to their homies how they scored some girl. That happy moment when your guy, Ashraph, flings his eyes wide open and tells you with all seriousness, I don fuck am! That was the feeling I felt when Didi ushered me into her room, a room I’ve slept countless time before her arrival in solitude, a room I slept countless time after her disappearance with beautiful maidens. I’ll regale you in details about those beautiful maidens if someone sponsors me a couple of beer.
Life is too short to be narrating lengthy tales so I’ll tell you what transpired in that room quicker than Victor Daniel’s hasty rounds. If you don’t know Victor, Google him. Vanguard Allure was on the well laid bed when I walked in at sundown. It was open at the centre revealing bikini-clad girls in some beach runway, the other page had an article advertising different make-up foundations that could help one cover their sins, I’m sure we’d be needing that one moments later because I came ready to sin. We where supposed to be sinning at the time of my entrance if any of her messages the previous night held an ounce of truth. After getting tired of small talks and avoiding each others eyes my lips went for hers, her head spurned sideways to avoid them. I had summoned courage from each of ancestors to throw in that kiss — what should have been my first ever kiss — and she had played tricks on my ancestors. My pride became wounded and in anger I swore never to attempt it again. In her eyes I could still see a longing, a craving to be satisfied. Maybe, she wanted to play a game, a game of the tamer and the tamed but I wasn’t ready to take such leaps of faith, it could have been a ploy to refuse me again. Beside, I was naive. After several minutes, perhaps tired of solely playing the game of the tamer and the tamed she reached a hand underneath my head and pulled in ferociously for a kiss. Alhamdulilah! I ate her lips like I was chewing bubble gum. My happiness returned only for a short while because I became scared, scared of losing myself to someone possibly well versed in the art of love making. By all indications she didn’t come to play.
That moment a girl tells of all the things she’d try on you, how she’d let you nut in her mouth and all other giddy talks. Suddenly, when her pants are down and her tits glowing in the dark she takes to a new preaching; telling you how she doesn’t want to cheat on her boyfriend, how her actions will lead to the death of fleeing immigrants in Aleppo or how her mother wouldn’t approve of what she is about to do. This was what happened but it was slightly scripted differently by nature’s movie director. We had been kissing and touching body parts for what seemed like hours of nonstop WWE action. My lips were already chaffed, hers too.. It was then I decided to put into practice what television and films had been feeding me. My hands meander down her curves to untold places. The vagrancy of my hands were unending, like a tunnel with no light. They marched on like an army of banjoist strumming without purpose, touching this spot and fingering that spot. Ready to dance to the music playing inside of her; on her own accord she peeled the clothes off her skin. There was joy unspeakable in my heart, secretly I even said a prayer of thanks to nature, the devil or whoever created this opportunity to let me fornicate freely.
Like every good TV programme there’d always be a break in transmission to create suspense. Suspense is the spice of life, we all can at least agree on that. Just imagine this world without suspense; imagine USA without a tweeting Trump — no spice — or boring Ghana without having Jollof rice wars with their neighbors on Twitter — unthinkable. Imagine Nigeria without the daily doses of drama — depressing. Imagine Russia without Putin or North Korea without nukes for play things — too perfect. Suspense is the heartbeat of life. But on the bed when you and your partner are stripped to the bare and one tells the other they aren’t interested anymore in sexual commerce that is not a case of suspense. It’s wickedness. How can the other ‘unhorny’ their self after going through the motions? Is it possible they carry on the sex without you? Like a movie with an implausible plot Didi began to speak softly, in a manner you advice a child to shun cultism. “We kissing is already worth the damage we’d do making love. Personally as cousins I do not want us to get involved. I won’t be letting you touch me,” she said with such defiance and picked up her cloths. I jumped up from the bed as though bitten by red soldier ants, my mouth couldn’t convey my thought process. “So you’re…” she nodded before I finished what I was trying to say. This should be the climax of the whole story, the part where if it was my roomie Kenneth due to his Catholic upbringing he would hastily put on his clothes. Crossing himself he’ll ask God for forgiveness. Even Ádìó, an agnostic, would retort back to the days of salaaming his head on the ground, asking for Allah’s mercy. But this is Mo! Hold on to your beverages, incline your hearts, hearken your ears, for you haven’t heard anything yet.
What Didi had done in putting a leash on the sex between us was not a girl who wanted to halt things. Even the blind could read her body language and tell it was yearning to be touched, to be fed. There’s something hypnotic and irresistible about sex that erases every molecule of reasoning you’ve got. It calls out to you like a mother calls her child, you answer the call first and reason later. I can testify on my balls that I wasn’t aware that I stopped her from putting on her denim jeans. It wasn’t really me, that whispered the words into her ears, “we are too far down the line to stop this now.” But that’s the end of my testimony though, because if I’m forced to swear before any oracle I cannot deny I didn’t graze at her earlobes or slither a hand to find room between her thighs. In my defence, she pretty much wanted to be touched if not how else would one explain how she clasped my hand in between her thighs or the bear-hug she gave me when letting out a moan. If we can dismiss these acts as not wanting to get laid why then did she ask me to first go bolt the gate? In hindsight I dismissed that request because I was pumped and primed. What would the neighbors think if they saw a barefooted young man naked with a swelling member, run to lock the gate of Mr. Whyte’s flat with his daughter inside? I wouldn’t want to imagine it. Neither should you.
Before we proceed further to the things Didi and I did and didn’t do, I’d like to say a few things. First, this is the story of a young boy trying to have sex for the first time and about getting it. I’ve been told that sex was sweeter than Banga soup and starch and had been dreaming of this moment happening since my formative days, well not really, but you get what I mean, sex was a big deal to me because I had never experienced the ecstasy that comes with it—excluding the times I ‘hand jobbed’ myself using Kim K like nude pictures and other wanking materials on Pornhub. I’m sure you lots think highly of me but I assure you my reasoning then was narrower than the eye of a needle. Secondly, this plea goes to the ladies especially. Ladies, this means a lot to me so I’d love to say from this point henceforth you massage my fragile ego a little when I describe something that tingles your ovaries. Nod your head and throw in some ‘awwwns’, ‘you’re so sweet’, ‘that’s so kinky Mo, you’re a natural’. Go ahead and say it. It doesn’t matter if it’s fakery, many of you’ve been faking orgasms all these years by the way.
Alright. Let’s get back to our story. Shall we?
As a young teen I was always fascinated about breasts. I still am. It baffles me when I hear people compare boobs and ass in the manner they debate Messi and Ronaldo. Such travesty! Such disregard to what gives milk, what gives life! I’m not going to prove an obvious point that mammary glands beats butt cheeks everyday of the year. Didi’s boobs were the first thing I grabbed, it’s the first thing any sensible man or child would go for. I grabbed them the way Nigerian politicians grab power, the way Arsenal fans grabs the Uefa Champions League trophy in their dreams. It was joy for her as well for me. How do I know this? Her breath quickens, her heart pounds like hooves doing a Zanku dance. She began to quaver with that ‘na enjoyment go kill’ vibe as my hands found her areolas. The thing about hands is that they’re naturally inquisitive on their own. In many pornos, the once you and I watch but say we don’t, before there’s penetration of any kind some sort of foreplay ensues where either the guy or the girl, sometimes both, go down on each other. I was taking this to be a real life manifestation of Pornhub so I went that route.
Please, I know you’d love it but for the sake of not inducing coma and or paralysis do not try this to anyone at home, in school, at the backseat of a parked car, nowhere at all! This was what transpired next: My tongue slithered down the valley of her swelled out breasts, beyond her navel, while my busy hands yanks her pants off, gently massaging her giggling thighs afterwards. Her eyes nearly popping out from their sockets and her hips wriggled into the sofa, sinking faster than a non swimmer in a four feet pool. I caught her licking her lower lip or was it that she was biting them? At this juncture some thought crept in my head and I was poised to see it to fruition. “Give me two songs you love to listen to often times.” She obliged me with Fun’s ‘We Are Young’ and Adele’s ‘Set Fire To The Rain’. But I replaced Fun’s with Sia and David Guetta’s “Titanium.” because of the bass and metallic feel. Now here’s the ordeal, I reached for my headphones and plugged them to her ears. I said nothing to her in the process despite her eye protests. “I won’t let you blindfold me.” But I kissed her into submission and loosely wrapped a scarf around hr eyes. I motioned for her to lie on her back and she did, splaying her hands in the manner of the crucifix. Then I set to increase the volume of the headphone to the very highest and sent my tongue on a mission again. She trembled when it travelled to the inner of her thighs down to her joint. Didi couldn’t contain her scream as with deliberation it traced the folds of her labia and ploughed inwards and outwards. She was trembling all over, and I wasn’t ready to stop her from experiencing this feeling just yet. My mind told me that her nectar wouldn’t taste like strawberry nor vanilla or other fruit flavours as books suggests but I couldn’t listen because sex makes one not to think clearly. On the plus side tasting her made her whimper, so I continued in the act, slapping and slurping my tongue any way I could, earning my first stripes. She couldn’t keep still, wanting to break free from my grasp but I wasn’t letting none of this even as she sobbed and jerked about the bed. I could here Adele’s voice faintly traveling to me from the headphones as she tightened and relaxed her muscles around my lips rhythmically. She was moving and heaving wildly at the same time, crying in a high pitched inaudible voice, I was beyond hearing at the time. Stubbornly, I held on until she flooded to a release. What happened afterwards I cannot explain, I remember taking off the headphones and loosening the blindfolds off a visible shaken Didi lying on her sides. I joined to lie on the bed with her, she willed me closer to her and snuggled into my chicken arms, still trembling like one who has been beaten by August rain. I tried to comfort her but she resisted my attempts in doing so, then she prop herself up on her right elbow and moved to stroke my member into rising.
Where my head can go, my little man can follow but due to fear and embarrassment that this was my first time, there was little urgency to begin penetration. “No condoms?” She asked when the realization that I had none hit her. Not that I didn’t carry a condom alongside but I’ve never experimented with one before, it could turn out a little awkward and possibly blow my cover as a first timer. I calmed her fears and waved the subject off.
Because I am a child of God and a devotee church going, tongues tearing and seed sowing Christian. Minus the porn and alcohol and the weed — how can I forget the weed — I eased into her folds in the mighty name of Jesus! Actually I didn’t just slot in, I miserably probed around searching for an opening, any opening, until a hand guided me to the entrance. Calamity averted and pleasure ensued. She let out a sigh when her hips left the bed and fell back; from pain, pleasure or panache, I couldn’t tell. My thrust matches her cadence, synchronizing her movements we rose and fell like tides.
You don’t know pleasure until you board the thighs of a lady and she begins to moans underneath. It’s magical! Brothers, here is a thing I didn’t know that you should henceforth note. When a girl starts to moan at the top of her voice it prompts you to be lavish with your strokes, the effect it creates begins to reverberate through your body. If you don’t put a leash to your self control at this point that’s the end of it all. Possibly the end of the session between you and her forever, especially if you’re the 911 type. There was no heed for me to pay, so in ignorance I thrust in and out. Moans escaped into the warm air and the bed creaked noisily, the matrass bouncy and buoyant jumps happily, her fingers and feet dug and clenched into the sheet. Untold pleasures rippled to my head, numbing my senses until she began to contract around me. Ladies and gentlemen that was all it took to loosen my grip. I was in that state, you all know that moment, when a man loses control of his thrusts, when he starts groaning like a broken record and slams himself in and out frantically. That peculiar moment he is at the verge of orgasm where everything else matters not. I pumped my seed into her, flooding her in the process. She wasn’t angry I emptied into her but you could feel her voice tremble with a mixture of fear and excitement as she talked about it.
I laid beside her, spent but satisfied as her hand glide across my flat chest. Her head rested on the crook of my chicken arm. It was a perfect lovers mood, only lacking the “baby, do you love me”, “so what are we now”, questions. The encroaching night provided us with sufficient light for a second round after a brief time out. Lying on our sides we curl into a ball and I could smell the scent of her cornrows as we cuddle naked under the dim dusty brown light, like a motion picture set in the 80’s. We were about spooning when I feel her hips again, oh my God! Pouring hips that could rival the length of an 18 inches LED TV, soft as a baby’s giggle, crumbled under my pampering touch. I saw a reason why some persons root for hips. Still on the side ofboobs though. Priye
The time of the day is unclear, her leg hangs and dangles in the air as I struggled in trying to get my angles. The silence is punctuated by beating thighs, by cars honking on the motorway and her moaning. The door flung open, our bodies stiffen to a pause. In the darkness a figure of a man, the size of a tree trunk formed.
Anyone of you having the Game Of Thrones theme song can start playing it now.