FICTION

A night stand on the ninth planet written by Lanre Olagunju.

My invitation as a guest speaker at the 5th annual national undergraduate summit in Abuja took away sleep and tranquility away from me for days like it would to any speaker. In time past, my interest and social comments on issues like etiquette, morality, politics, economics and nation building has always been the basis for my speaking invitations and engagements. At a time like this, I’ve got no idea, or where on earth my host got the slightest hint that I could handle topics on sex and relationship. But since I know deeply that practice, practice and more practice is the bed rock for great speeches I dashed into my study with my creative hat on in tedious preparation to do perfect justice to the great task ahead.

With experience and flexibility, alongside my personal experience and research, I was able to deliver my speech with so much ease and expertise such that stimulated my audience to think that I must be a major or a sort of super male lead on issues such as sex, relationship and dating. Though, heaven knows that am yet to graduate from the school of hard knocks, which in my opinion is the best school to learn, especially where there is no teacher.

My experience with Omolara was quite unusual. And till date, I dreadfully prize what fuels her nerve to drop her telephone number in my breast pocket in such a harmless manner after leaving the lectern. Initially, I felt it was a burning question she wanted me to do private justice to, since we couldn’t take all questions during the sessions “but when did telephone numbers become question”?, I asked.

Mere looking at this good looking undergrad with such an innocent and graceful charisma, you don’t want to liken her to a Jezebel, even a vicar doesn’t want to think twice at the sight of her gorgeous, sweet and ravishing looks especially when considering the goodness of her hips and the grandeur of her brown eyes. In fact, the devil himself can’t but be tempted.

After the heat and fever of the event, I failed repeatedly at each attempt to cool from the euphoria and ecstasy that comes with achieving a task that has been responsible for sleep and appetite loss. I completely forgot about Omolara and her brave and smart advances as I relax in my hotel room to catch my undiluted rest. But to my utmost surprise my executive toy jingled. You want to hazard a guess? It was Omolara’s call. It’s nothing but crying over spilled milk if I respond to the nudge to ask where on earth she got my number from.

Despite being tired like a recently knocked out Samuel peters I got her message clearly despite that her moaning and rhythmic voice was a major distraction during our phonversation which revealed that she’s a student of business administration in one of the cracked up Nigerian institution of learning, whose name was rechristened years back to sound like one of the very ancient schools in south west Nigeria, with adequately proud students, despite that the citadel of learning is neither premier nor among the first, Great, top 6000 universities in the world.

Being in her penultimate year, and the sight of her structural endowment that I saw in the conference room, you can’t but agree with me that the issue of being unripe or under-age is out of it. So I wasn’t in the dark, not even in a world like ours where we suffer from grand morality melt down considering the fact that even sex has lost its virginity.

The only door with which I should flee from this unannounced invitation produced a sound as a result of Omolara’s knock. I was all alone in my hotel room and my body gave all the seemingly valid reasons why I should grab this once in a life time opportunity with both hands and feet as if I will be castrated thereafter. As the silent but well understood knock continued repeatedly, I could hear myself reproaching some folks during my undergraduate days in such a priest like manner saying to some during periods of sound, heart to heart intellectual recharge. “How did you fall for such, why did you yield to that…”? All because I have managed to maintain a less busy sexual log-book compared to folks who are great, retired generals already at 19. I doubt if I can ever catch up with the mind-blowing records of some. Over and over again, I dear not trust some folks with my toothless grand ma who says church as “shush” let alone my untutored maid who can’t even successfully count her fingers without foreign aid. And here am I battling with a mere invitation to dine from the forbidden cake.

All of a sudden, I became lost in thoughts, and my flesh wasn’t just willing it was ready. I didn’t just sense that I was as weak as a worn out “apere ajase”(a hand woven basket), I could practically feel me coming out of me. “Am in trouble”- so I murmured as I put myself together a little so I could dash for the door.

Her response was “larigold, permit me to reveal how much am obsessed by your articulate prowess and charming personality” in such a voice that even my ears couldn’t take note. I have followed some of your writings on the net and others on some national dallies and have always longed for the singular opportunity to be with you so I can intimate you about myself. The excellence of your address during the sessions made me desire you the more than I desire the air that powers my heart. All I wish is nothing but your warm masculine hug; beyond that honey, I want you as a package”.

At this point, all the scriptures in my big head were experiencing a traffic jam like the constant one you can’t but experience on Lagos roads-anyway that’s what makes Lagos. All of the Sunday school drugs, words of pastor wale and all the character series I heard recurrently from pastor Sam which on every occasion I hold in high esteem didn’t mean much to me anymore. I was congest with shock to realize that even the word of honor I took on the 15th of September under the teaching of Fela Durotoye in the rocky but dirty brown roofed city of Abeokuta couldn’t call me to order like it has always done. I just wanted to spit out my white seeds and I wanted to do it right away. It was as if my whole life was dependent on it.

I wasn’t thinking with my brain anymore, I was thinking with the stretch of my genitals.

And the best my church mind could do was to bring this very old but absolutely inappropriate song to my memory. Believe me, this is a song I haven’t placed my mind on in 7 years, but on a day like this it became my watch word “move on, move on, don’t be tired the savior understands… all shall be well” goes the old song. Some modern psychedelic Christians might not know such a song, so trying to remember it could just be as difficult as searching for a dinosaur in the newly equipped University of Ibadan’s zoo or wanting to study banking and finance in my Alma-Mata.

At the sight of ‘Lara’s super transparent gown which shelled her absolute nakedness I became fearfully contented. I was consumed by the cuteness of her chest organ as an identical whole. Through her hips I could intelligently and logically explain the unknown mystery of how water got into the coconut. I was practically on a planet science is yet to discover. She stylishly loosen the only piece of clothing on her, and that single handedly made the independent brain in my length subdue my ever intelligent mind. At this point we were both looking beautifully dressed in our birthday suits with my stretch searching northward as if something was out rightly missing. Now that Omolara’s eyes were closed from their sockets I stretched into her being in charge of the event. We went into each other in such a rush that made it look as if we were timed. Any way, It happened. And to worsen the case, we were in each other without any Elegance for her, or the Ethiopian coffee scent latex for me. I mean how can two educated adult do such without a Durian latex or even the cheap Gold circle? Well, what on earth will a certified monk be doing with a contraceptive in the first place? That I wasn’t protected didn’t matter to me, neither did the methodically placed incisions on her chest nor the ones round her waste scare me to sanity. My whole world has been simplified and all I could clearly think of is to fill up her vacuum to overflowing. After a hot non-romantic session of intense encounter, I was looking like an over detained bottle of coca- cola in the freezer.

We both lost our animalistic instinct in ten minutes, after an encounter that was hard, subtle and warlike all at the same time. But besides loosing the animalistic instinct I know so well that had lost the respect and gracefulness of a brilliant mentor, so called moralist who also doubles as a youth advocate.

All of a sudden, the fear that this young chap is suppose to be a mentee and that I’m to practice all that I preach and say fell on me like fire fell on the Pentecost Christian. I wasn’t the same guy who thought morality like say “I holy pass” anymore, neither was I the eloquent public speaker who flows like the pen of the ready writer. I was just lying on my bed like a helpless casualty who needs urgent attention.

I couldn’t but keep slapping myself repeatedly as if that was the medication to my self-cause distress

As I hit my body over and over again, I suddenly slapped myself back to life.

OMG! It’s all a dream and a wet one for that matter!!!

About the author

Omojuwa

In the beginning...Let there be Light http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Japheth_J._Omojuwa

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