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These Girls Ain’t Loyal!

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The Learning

“Dearie, it’s hard here without you, and I miss you so much. I am not at my lodge though. I went away for the weekend, I have a skill acquisition class at the capital. I can’t wait to be back in your arms. I love you lots”.


Those were the words of Valerie, a fellow corps member, as she got on the phone with her fiance. I stopped short of laughing out loud while the call lasted, but I don’t think Valerie would have wanted to read my mind at that point in time, as she would have felt the guffaws coming from my mind’s mouth. Yea, skill acquisition alright, my room being the acquisition centre and my little friend “Schaft von Straffenberg” as the learning tool. I couldn’t help but feel bad for the guy at the other end of the phone. If only he knew what his sweetheart had been choking on, or why she had sounded like she had a sore throat, or what she loved to sit on lately.

Being a side n***er or an assistant boo was by no means dignifying, I knew this, but then it would have been wrong to underestimate the power and effect of “konji” on two virile youths, especially when the prevailing weather served as a fuel for lustful flames. It would have been fruitless trying to figure out who was really to blame in situations like this, but I felt a combined surge of guilt and anger run through my veins when I realised the fact that she would return to her man after her Passing Out Parade and act like she had never been touched. No, it wasn’t about the feeling of being used merely to scratch itchy flesh, it was about the pretence and deceit. All the hours of having my back feel sore from the invasion of grateful nails, coming to nothing in the end.

I wondered if he would ever try to think about how she survived on those cold nights, those nights when she yearned for him and he was available. I wondered if he would notice an adjustment in the diameter of the fountain, or a difference in the incoherent sounds she would make when next he would visit the honey pot. I also wondered how I would feel when I eventually honors her wedding invitation. I would probably be staring at the groom with that “Ray J” look in my eyes, reminiscing moments of having my head tightly clutched while my tongue danced around pink soft walls, while she would be brimming with smiles, wearing that white gown with all relish.

I sighed inwardly as the lyrics of Chris Brown’s track “Loyal” kept playing in my head. I wondered how girls like Valerie slept peacefully at night. I came to the conclusion that even if it was possible, no man could confidently request to see a videotape recording of all that his wife-to-be had been doing in the course of their relationship. All these uncertainties put together got me more scared of marriage. That was a murky, no-go area for a man like me. There was also the small matter of whether Grace would be strong enough in the future to put down that old spiteful lady called Karma.


“Hey, are you going to mop up this floor or not?”


I looked up. It was Valerie, pointing to her lips….the one between her hips. Nothing wrong with a well-oiled snail devoid of spindly hairs, I mused. Even better, when you didn’t exactly have a moral claim to taste of it. Stolen snails tasted better.
My unnecessary sober reflection had been aided by the mental disconnection caused by the ejection of phlegm. Sure enough, there was a link between coming and regaining full control of the senses. Mr. von Straffenberg had got back up, and after helping him with another vest to negotiate through those moist dark alleys, I slid in to continue with the “skill development sessions”, slowly caressing her nipples from behind as her butt cheeks clapped around the little man and she dug her teeth into my pillow.


The phone rang again. I lunged forward, eliciting a pair of soft moans and causing her to clasp her already moistened cheeks tighter. I tugged at her hair, and she flattened her stomach further, tilting her bum further upwards, ignoring the “Shoki” ringtone which had an oblivious lover at the other end of the wire.


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