We were going to marry.
She had a kid. He was eighteen months old at the time.
Now, I don’t mean to discriminate, but back then single moms were a no-no. Ordinarily there was no way my family would ever accept her.
I could see it in their eyes when they first met her, the condemnation. Truth be told, in their eyes I could do better. She was never going to be good enough.
Then they met little Tommy.
The child was a cherub I swear.
If Cupid was to ever have a human face, Tommy was it.
I’m a father and a husband now, trust me, you want a kid EXACTLY like little Tommy.
The kid was smart.
Too smart for his age.
Everybody loved Tommy.
He was truly a bundle of joy.
Alicia was accepted only because of Tommy.
Clearly I loved him like he was mine. I loved his mum Alicia. My family loved Tommy; and so Alicia was “permitted”.
I’m from proud, pompous and wealthy aristocracy.
Please forgive my family.
Dark, curvaceous goddess.
Sensuality and beauty marred only by her eyes.
Her eyes were full of hurt, guilt and bottled-up feelings.
But hey, I guess heartbreak with a kid as evidence of your “mistake” would do that to a person.
She was a banker. First Bank I think. Stable.
A girl to take home to mama.
Rich. And a nice person I guess. At least that’s what I’m told.
My only excess? I always like to know what I’m getting involved in.
I hate surprises.
Hey! I’m human… Forgive me.
And so wedding plans… Hurray!
Groan… Not really.
Alicia was smiling more though…
And… Then the pastor of her church swung by one evening. I was at her place. He came by to talk about the upcoming wedding.
Tommy was being well, Tommy.
He was at the phase were he was hiding keys and jewellery.
Successfully climbing the most dangerously precarious items of furniture and fittings.
He would gurgle water and spit all day. Gurgle saliva and spit when we wouldn’t give him water… All day.
Remove his nappies for reasons he could not communicate…
Tommy was being, a kid.
He waddled into his mum’s room eventually, (presumably to hide in her closet) and so we hunkered down to
A couple of minutes into our talks, Tommy saunters back lugging something behind him. Sits on the rug in our midst and with a cry of glee thrusts it at the pastor.
The man of God screamed “blood of Jesus!” As he recoiled in shock.
Alicia’s face fell in abject humiliation and despair. Her delicate hands flying towards her endowed chest as if to stop her heart from exploding.
The meeting was cut short. I could feel her eyes on me the whole time. I could not meet her eyes.
We were going to get married.
But we did not.
No one broke it off. We just did nothing.
Neither of us have spoken about the incident till this day twenty years later.
You see, we had been lovers for three years prior to that day.
At full mast I measured a paltry four inches. Width, an average adults index finger.
She always said I was “the best”.
It was about thirteen feet long.
It was a shiny black, white flaky stains here and there.
It was about the width of a can of soda.
It was one big-ass rubber dildo.
Any way you chose to interpret the dildo, it did not look good for Alicia. Present company considered.