THE DIARY OF A PERVERTED CELIBATE

THE DIARY OF A PERVERTED CELIBATE (CHAPTER 2) By Japheth J. Omojuwa

When you have been involved with something for more than a decade, something that had turned out to be a part of who you are, it will take more than an intention to take a new turn. That was the case with me and sex. A few things happened before I finally put a stop to a game that had brought me so much notoriety, influence and fun. Unlike sportsmen though, it did not bring about wealth while it had its toll on my health.

The first wind of change blew me when I met Mariah. Mariah was introduced to me by her friend during a phone conversation after a forced holiday from school. When I spoke with her she sounded really cool but I was not going to fool myself into thinking that a cool voice would translate to a noiseless face. While money had its influence in my success with the opposite sex, my strongest and most persuasive factors were my looks and most crucially my eloquence. I can speak a dead wood to life. I used the latter to full effect in my phone conversations with Mariah. For the first two days, I made the calls and I spent unusually long minutes with her. I said a couple of things that made her request to talk to me on MTN’s xtracool. She said she wanted to hear how I sounded in the dead of the night. I told her my voice would bring life to any dead night. For me the arrangement was more than extra cool, more like super sweet. After a 3 hour marathon of fun, laughter and sexy talk, she had lost every form of defence and all she wanted in her entire life was to see me and that she did that morning. Five  hours after we spoke, Mariah was standing in front of her house, resplendent in a  free-flowing gown that did everything to show the shades of her undergarments and little to show her curves. If I was a sane mind, I wouldn’t have noticed the fact that the gown she was wearing was a touch transparent but sanity is the farthest word from describing  me especially when beholding a lady that had invited me to her house smiling with all the allure of her beauty and I couldn’t help but reciprocate the smile with the regality of my own smile. When we spoke that morning, Mariah had expressed her desperation to see me and did not show any feminine decorum in making that request. In replying ,I told her coming to her house would be a risk as the sweetness of her voice alone would be enough for me to want do stuffs to her. She said that’d never happen and in her dad’s house that would be an attempt at achieving the impossible in a world of impossibility. When I stepped out from my car and saw Mariah in front of me, the aura of her presence engulfed me and something  inside of me  stood with a strength and turgidity that’d dwarf the Zuma rock in Abuja. I knew one thing without a doubt, I’d sport with this lady today, here and soon. Today na today. After the usual girlie ‘‘I thought you said you were a short dude,’’ ‘‘is this really you?,’’ and all of those tua tua that make you wonder if  they just intentionally decide to stop the use of their brains when greeting. ‘‘ Is captain at home?,’’ I asked, referring to her dad who serves in the Nigerian navy. ‘‘Yeah, he is with mumsie upstairs. They are yet to recover from their jet lag.’’ Her parents only returned from Canada a few hours before I came. There was a question I needed to ask but I wanted the answer to come in the midst of our conversation. ‘‘Someone told me every rich man  in Ikoyi has a gun, does that include banana island ?’’. ‘‘Mario, I am sure you don’t believe the ‘every’ part but you’d expect a high ranking naval officer to have one, don’t you?’’. I laughed, assuming that to mean her dad had a gun. Baaaaad news men. That was not in anyway pleasing or encouraging but with the massive increase in the danger of what I was planning to do, came the conviction that I had to do it. For me this was more than a quest for sex. Though it feels puerile now, it was a quest for bragging rights. This was all a game and the more the danger, difficulty and risk, the sweeter and better.

Mariah would not take me to her room though as she said guys were not allowed beyond the sitting room. My quest was getting clearer and more difficult by the minute : I will have sex with Mariah on our first date, in her territory, her dad’s house, in his sitting room with the convenience of  knowing the man is upstairs and with atleast a pistol as you would expect a captain in the Nigerian navy, especially one in the security team of the president of Nigeria.

The stakes even got higher. This seized to be a game the moment I caught a glimpse of Mariah’s cursory glance. It said either of two things

(a) I can’t stop you  or

(b) You can’t do it.

Whatever that glance meant, the colour of the game had just moved several notches from ‘‘win or lose’’ to ‘‘do or die’’. This had become a matter of life and death. Fate would choose for me either life or death, but as for whether or not to do some sex stuff with Mariah , that had long become a dead question. Sex is all I got on my mind and I just signed my death warrant. I closed the distance between us just when she asked me to repeat something I had intentionally not said out loud enough. Will I truly risk it all on a moment of sweet sensation (hey no pun intended with the eatery so named). The first move was made when I crossed that massive gate into Mariah’s house. Now that I am in these babies house, we had better start the process of production. On this count there is  no going back…

 

PS: to the uninitiated, tua tua means yarning dust. Yarning dust means talking gibberish, talking gibberish means……..

 

Remember :This is a work of fiction. Any individual with a semblance of the names or actions depicted in this piece should understand it is a coincidence.

 

Japheth J Omojuwa ©

 

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