‘Yo Mamma’

Every time I see him, I ‘die’ inside.

On the night we met, everything was perfect.

My cousin had invited me to come hang out with her boyfriend and ‘his friend’.

I know her boyfriend, but I did not like him much. Since birds of a feather flock together, I was certain that I would not like his friend either.

I was a freshman. My last relationship had been about a year ago. That idiot was my first in every way. He obviously was a mistake.

But, my cousin never takes ‘no’ for an answer. And so we presented ourselves at her boyfriend’s place at about six pm.

I was dressed in a peach colored t-shirt. Worn over hot pink bomb shorts. I am well endowed, and I knew the effect I was creating.

Max was typical Max… Ogling me overtly. I do not like him.

He called out for his friend and then my world burst into gold flecks and rainbows…

He is tall, dark and handsome. Well built. Bald. A goatee. And then his eyes!

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

He had high cheekbones beneath the slits he called his eyes. His eye sockets were sunken. But when (and if) he focused on you, his eyes illuminated your soul. He would be inside your head, your heart… He was too much…

He walked straight to me and introduced himself in the softest and the most cultured voice I had ever heard live – in front of me.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

My body betrayed me sorely. I am still ashamed till this day. My orifice moistened of its own accord; all nubs all women possess stiffened and puckered sensually.

I was a quivering mass of desire and lust.

And he is a gentleman!

My sisters, you know that perfect male character in romance novels? That man your mummy warned you about? This man is it.

The evening was a blur. All I remember is how he makes me feel. Yes, he still makes me feel.

He is intelligent and well-read. So when he volunteered his age (33), and then asked me how old I was, I lied. I was eighteen, but I told him that I was twenty one. I had to lie! I could not risk losing this one.

He did not need to invite me back to his place. Max and Myra dropped us off at the Hilton where he was lodged and drove off. Do not forget, I was eighteen. I did not stand a chance.

He made me a complete woman that night.

All night.

Yes.

ALL NIGHT.

I wept, orgasmed countless times, squirted copiously, laughed in pleasure and self pity, and mercifully passed out.

I passed out just when the nearby mosque was calling for the first prayer of the day.

I awakened in his arms, he was kissing my forehead and running his large hand up and down my naked back.

I woke up with tears in my eyes.

I was in love.

He communicated with me.

Really talked to me.

He told me that he was leaving the country for twelve months on a scholarship.

He told me that he liked me and that he would like to date me exclusively.

He told me things that he did not like. They were just a couple. He was big on loyalty, fidelity and Jesus.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

I said yes. Yes! Yes!! Yes!!!

Then mandingo ravished me until I was a quivering mess. He barely made his flight back to Abuja.

He left the country a week later.

He called me every day. Every single day!

When I told him a few weeks later that I was pregnant, he did not miss a beat. He had his mum call me and check up on me weekly. He was there every step of the way. In every way that he could.

‘Chairman’ was born nine months later.

When we ‘Skyped’ mandingo jokingly called him ‘Mini – me’. ‘https://danochubaiye.com/2019/02/11/mini-me/

His dad was due back into the country in a couple of months. I combined education, motherhood and gym subscriptions and got excellent results in all three areas.

And why not? I was young and in love. And most importantly, I knew that my beloved loved me back.

He had done right by me. He was blameless in all honesty.

A week before his arrival, my cousin Myra came by my apartment off-campus. She was with Fatima, a mutual acquaintance of ours. Fatima swooned over my love story, we all had tears in our eyes when I was done.

I proudly showed them the e-tickets he had sent. We were going to see him in Abuja. They squealed in joy. They seemed happy for me.

Then Fatima asked me if I had ever heard of ‘Kayan Mata’ (‘Property of Women’ translated directly).

I said ‘no’.

With a twinkle in her eyes, Fatima explained that Kayan Mata was an assortment of incense, Oudh perfumes, sweets and powders. Aphrodisiacs in short. She said that these aids had been used in the north for centuries.

Her voice dropped an octave when she started to tell me about a new addition to the Kayan Mata range. A chicken prepared with natural herbs and spices that I had to eat alone. If I ate it and made love to my man, or any man for that matter they would (and could) never leave me. She said that I would have such a man loyal and committed to me for life!

Instantly I protested. It sounded like voodoo to me. And my mandingo was very clear on his disapproval on all things un-Jesus (except fornicating with me I guess, LOL).

Myra and Fatima cut me off and went on and on. Swore it was not voodoo. And said that they were only advising me as their sister. My man was now exposed to the world, and ‘hot’ as he was, I had to step up my game.

I reluctantly caved in and the Kayan Mata were delivered same week.

**************

Mandingo came back like a messiah!

I swear (down) that he was even more gorgeous.

I was glad that I had my figure back and his generosity over the year had me looking quite chic.

He was still smitten by me (thank God!) and he fell in love with his son instantly.

I have never, till this day seen a child take to his father so quickly and seamlessly.

He introduced me to his family over the next few days. It was a relief how quickly they embraced me.

His dad actually called me ‘his daughter’. The man insisted that we present him with a wedding date within a fortnight… And mandingo contritely answered, ‘yes daddy’.

Jeeeeesusss! (Forgive me Lord)

LOL…

And we were finally alone. Three days later, and we now had time as a family…

I had just exited the nursery when he lifted me up bodily. I was bereft of clothing in seconds. I swear that he ripped off some of my clothes.

I was so turned on that I began lactating, dripping… He was like an animal! The milk did not deter him…

I was flat on my back, moist, wet and ready…

He was ripping off his clothes, his tumescence larger and longer than I remembered…

His turgidity had just grazed my moistness… I was arching my hips in readiness for his initial assault when I felt…

Nothing…

In confusion I opened my eyes and saw him looking down at his flaccidity in even greater confusion…

I sat up bewildered as the problem dawned on me in earnest…

“Baby what is wrong?! You… You are…” I stammered pointing at his limpness.

Then he uttered words that have haunted me to this day…

“What have you done?”

As he looked at me, I saw tears fall down his handsome cheeks. His eyes bore into my soul and they were so intense that I had to look away.

I heard him stumble out of the room and a few minutes later out of the house. I heard his car start and he drove away.

I cried.

I wept for the entire three-odd hours he spent before he returned. He went straight into the bathroom to bathe before he came to bed. He gathered me in his arms and fell asleep.

I could smell the expensive shower gel he had used.

I could also perceive the musky smell of sex.

I wept most of that night.

I wept because I knew what I had done.

I cried because I knew that he had to go see if he was impotent… It is what he would do. That is who he is.

Over the next few months it dawned on us that he was impotent around me.

Just me.

Our son was excellent in his father’s arms. Even more than mine.

Mandingo had, did and has not changed toward me until this day.

It is just that he is impotent around me.

Just me.

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Pax Et Quietam

I am like an assassin

That is reluctant to cause hurt

I am like a dragon

Holding its own jaws shut.

×°×°

I have an inferno within

Raging, crackling tongues of fire

Your love Vesuvius, mine Krakatoa!

×°×

That is why I am silent

My words will break your spirit.

×°

I am trying not to end us.

×

Nah Woman No Cry

If you can manage it

Except when you make love to her

Do not make her cry often.

In retrospect I suffer wisdom

Because I learned the hard way

Tears make up your love in her heart.

Every time you make her cry

You deplete her love for you

Happy tears though, fill love back up.

They get ‘cried – out’ sir

Then they feel nothing

Indifference is the opposite of love.

Inevitable

There is a quota

It will be met one way or another

By you or another

This need must be met.

Said quota is a desire

Arguably a burning need

Disagree all you want

This need must be met.

It mostly sets the sexes askew

They become inept umpires

Regulating psychological needs

This need must be met.

The woman must talk

The man must have sex

Each at moments deemed ludicrous

This need must be met.

Donjuanesque

“Tan largo me lo fiáis”

(translated as “What a long term you are giving me!”)

List of Characters:-

1) Don Juan (The Black Version)

2) The Mother in law

3) The Wife

4) The Wife’s Sister

5) The Father In Law

Don Juan (The Black Version)

“Mankind is wicked; I am a man.”

The Mother In Law

Monique was not sure what it was about her son in law that she disliked. In truth, there was nothing obvious to dislike. He was wealthy. He was a good looking young man. He was charismatic and suave. His confidence oozed. He was a great speaker and was frequently on television seducing viewers with his eloquent delivery. Most importantly, he made her daughter happy.

But… There was something ‘dark’ about that boy, she thought. She did not trust him. His innocent, piercing eyes held yours always. No, this boy was ‘no good’. She could not put her finger on the issue, but her maternal instincts were never wrong.

The Wife

Celeste was in utopia! Her friends were green with envy and told her so always. She had snagged a major one. Don Juan was quite literally every woman’s dream. Tall, dark, handsome and rich. He was generous, likeable and good in bed. The sound of his voice always caused her ‘lips that could not speak’ to moisten. In urban parlance, she was dick-matized!

He was kind and gentle to her. He pretty much left her to her own devices. He always pampered and spoiled her rotten. They were so in love!

The Wife’s Sister

Uhmmm…maybe later. It’s too early in the story to feature this character. Please be patient.

The Father In Law

Derek was discombobulated. He was a rich man. A devoted father of two beautiful daughters and husband to one wife. He was a rich and powerful man. He was feared and respected. Many young men had unsuccessfully tried to marry his angels. Scallywags! Scoundrels! Gold diggers!

Not Don Juan though. The boy wanted nothing! He did not seem to want anything but to be part of his daughter’s life. He was respectful, thoughtful and handy. He always knew someone that could get anything done. Two years into the marriage with his daughter, and everything was picture – perfect. Celeste was a handful, just like him – her father. She was opinionated and stubborn. Proud and spoilt. But Don Juan was the perfect husband and son. Yes, the son he never had. The son he wished he had.

The Wife’s Sister

Oi! Again with the pressure?! We talked about this before…

Uhmmm…maybe later. It’s too early in the story to feature this character. Please be patient.

Don Juan (The Black Version)

“Whenever your woman becomes irascible. It may be seasonal or locked in her DNA. That my friend is the time to woo her, pamper her, make love to her… So she never suspects that you are banging another woman more agreeable.”

The Father In Law

Derek was paralyzed with fear. His ulcers seemed intent on killing him the next minute. His bowels were loose and he was perspiring profusely. How could this have happened? Monique, his wife had swooned again. The detectives had arrived to confirm their worst fears. His daughter, Celeste’s sister, had been kidnapped. The ransom was set at ten million dollars. The money was not the problem, but they all knew that his daughter would not return the same way again. Maimed perhaps. Raped whilst being videotaped, certainly. (for future extortion and leverage). Killed, fifty percent likely.

The country was a zoo!

Don Juan (The Black Version)

“Things happen, not always within a man’s control. What he may control is his reaction, and the inherent advantages every tragedy encapsulates.”

The Mother In Law

Monique was a nervous wreck. Her blood pressure was currently sky high. She was also currently the sole owner of the worst migraine this side of the Atlantic. She was in and out of consciousness. The sedatives the family doctor had given her were just enough to make her drowsy. Derek, her poor Derek was in and out of her bathroom so frequently that her massive bedroom now reeked of vomit and diarrhea.

Then she heard Don Juan on the phone. He was speaking in a strange patois she was vaguely familiar with. Broken English. Pidgin English. She did not know that he had it in him. His voice was now a sinister rasp. He was threatening somebody. He was giving an ultimatum. He was threatening retribution up to two generations. He was promising death. Painful death in such detail that as she listened on she broke out in vivid goosebumps. He was not Don Juan at the moment… This was a maniacal demon!

She did not think that he loved her family this much. Maybe she was wrong about him.

The Wife’s Sister

Oh for crying out loud! Is this your story?! I cannot work under these conditions! Not yet I said!

Uhmmm…maybe later. It’s too early in the story to feature this character. Please be patient.

The Wife

Celeste beamed widely at her parents as the Uber crept up the driveway of her parent’s house. There was another car driving behind the Uber. It was occupied by three men of the underworld. Her parents grinned weakly back. Their necks stretched in anticipation and apprehension at the approaching vehicles. As her sister stepped out of the car, her mother sank to her knees and wept in relief. Her father ran up and bodily lifted his lost but found daughter in a bear hug.

Celeste smiled proudly at her husband. Her man. The hero of the day. One phonecall was all it had taken. The three men had exited their vehicle too. They had spread out strategically. They were all armed with hand guns. They all wore masks that hid their faces. They were a jumpy, skitterish and shifty lot.

Her sister walked up to her and warmly embraced her. Then turned towards Don Juan and launched herself into his arms crying.

Don Juan was holding a small gym bag full of money. A token for the thugs that had delivered her sister. So he could not hold up her sister for more than a few seconds. He gently set her down but she clung to him like a USB in a manufacturers approved slot/port.

Her sister had a massive crush on her husband, it was an open secret. Most women did.

Just then, her drama queen of a mother (still on her knees) let out a blood curdling shriek. The ‘crazed’ mother snatched up a large ceramic calabash that adorned the small fountain in front of the house and arose. She charged at an unsuspecting Don Juan bringing the vessel viciously down towards his head.

The Wife’s Sister

Queen had been Don Juan’s lover for as long as he had been Celeste’s husband.

Don Juan had told her that he should have married her instead of Celeste. His wife was a misguided feminist. A rebel with no cause. A spoilt self centered brat.

Don Juan had promised to elope with her. They were in love.

His role in her rescue had caused her to abandon a bit of common sense and discretion. When she hugged him, she had naturally reached behind him to cup his taut, muscular buttocks. He responded by subtly, almost imperceptibly driving his hip into hers.

Just then her mother looked up and caught them. And then mother dearest simply ran mad.

A gunshot rang out.

The bullet went straight into her mother’s forehead killing her instantly. The perpetuators scurried into their car and zoomed off towards the gates.

And great was the pandemonium forthwith…

Don Juan (The Black Version)

“All that you know is all you have learned. All that you have learned is not all there is to know.”

THE END.

How I Met Your Wife

Hey man…

I greet you.

My efforts at surveillance show me that you have developed an affinity for my blog. So I have decided to ‘talk’ to you here.

I am not sure what you hope to achieve by stalking me in person. Yes I have seen you at least five times this week. I had to beg my friends not to break your leg.

Literally beg.

I begged on your behalf. I do not beg. Yet I begged for you because I know that you are a fool.

Let me address the tiger in the kitchen. Let me confront your problem headon…

Yes I slept with your wife.

Severally.

Are you happy now? I have given you evidence in writing. If you require pictures, please ask me nicely. I will consider your request thoughtfully.

I am not sure what you think you will achieve by following me about. I see you at my book readings. You even bought a copy of all my books. Yes we saw you. You featured prominently via CCTV footage playback. I own that hotel by the way. Your body language piqued the interest of my security outfit.

I saved your life that day too.

Since I suspect that you will soon be murdered, let me help you. Allow me attempt to dilute your foolishness with understanding as concerns your wife.

She is not worth the effort. Your wife is fundamentally disturbed from deep within. You are bereft of the competence her issues require. It is not your fault.

Your woman has the sex drive and morals of an alley cat. She will copulate with anyone. She is open to any sexual deviance, as long as she has Tramadol in her system. She is a junkie. Trust me, the revelation of her list of lovers will hasten your impending death.

Unjustifiably, your affair with her friend upset her beyond belief. She is getting back at you. I suspect that you bedded the said friend in retaliation for adultery. You both need copious amounts of Jesus. Just bask in His presence or something. You both require spiritual help.

I am prominent. I am popular. I am a celebrity. I am your preferred ‘scapegoat’. I understand your myopic reasoning.

Like others before you, mention my name and you will enjoy undivided attention. So I guess it is easy for you to latch unto my legacy and try to get some succor. You will not get an ounce of flesh off me. I am essentially a spirit. You are playing with hurt, a lot of pain, grief and eternal damnation. Your demise will physically hurt you because I will not be there to beg for your life.

My posse have no tender mercies.

Consider this your last warning.

In my world if you “do anyhow; you will see anyhow…”

Your wife was with me for two days and three nights. We met Friday night at my lounge. She left my suite on Monday morning.

She was dressed like a call girl. I hear that she lives in the same house as you. I learned that you were at home when she left to go ‘hang out’ without you or the kids that Friday. I learned all these after that weekend.

You sir, who is incapable of calling your woman to order has the temerity to stalk me?

Me?!

You could not even get junkies to sell you a gun. That aberration you call a sawed – off shotgun will kill you if you ever get to pull its trigger. It is a faulty contraption. Every dude worth his turf on our streets know that gun.

There… I just saved your life again.

Dude… Chill.

Die for a cause more worthy than that succubus you call your wife.

She hates herself.

She hates you.

She even hates the pope. And she is catholic!

She wants you dead, for no tangible reason. She told me so.

You know that I am right.

Her issues were not immediately obvious. She was high and drunk. And I was uncharacteristically immoral that weekend.

As of thirty minutes ago, she is still maintaining her lie of not being married. If you ask nicely, I may ‘munch’ that chat and send to you.

Charity begins at home. Sort it out with her.

If you are seen stalking me again…

Well…