Debased ...

He didn’t just take my innocence, he took my hope.

When I was 8, he said to me "Girl, look how fast you're filling out", as he played with my hair, "In a couple of years you're gon be all grown child".

When I was 10, he said to me, "Everybody gives Uncle Tony a kiss before going to bed in this house", as he stroked my cheek. My mother's house.

When I was 12, on a drunken night, he broke down my room door and covered my screaming lips and held down my fighting legs and thrust himself inside me.
When I was 12, he started killing my soul. Little girls like me never grow up, they just die.

The kind of hurt that he made me feel, it doesn’t go away.

My mother walked into the room and all she saw was the mess in the room, not the whimpering child curled up in a ball in the corner , and all she said to me, as she looked at the bloody sheets around my waist was "Child, You only got your period."

And I shook my head, "He hurt me ma, he pushed, and he held me down", I said with soundless tears streaming down my face.

My mother said to me, "Hush your mouth child, you only got your period"

….and now, its been 25 years, I can hear my daughter screaming in the room next to mine, her father had a bad day. When she comes to me crying, I'll hold her, wash her up, and tell her soothingly, "Hush little baby, Daddy loves you…you only got your period".

#TurnTheLightsDownLow ....

It had rained that night.

But the rain wasn’t the only reason why she picked up her phone and called him, repeatedly, till the damn MTN woman decided to put her through instead of lying about some unreachable network.
The rain wasn’t even the reason why she put her favorite Marvin Gaye record on as she swayed around her hotel room in her monogrammed white towel tied slightly above her breast and another wrapped around her shower soaked hair.
The rain didn’t excuse the tightness in her lumbus or the gently escalating throbbing that she had been feeling in that same region for the past hour….and a half.

It had simply been a rainy night, but what does one expect in the metropolis of Lagos?
She had even been stuck in an unending traffic that night, had been shouted on by her beer-stomached boss, and she had just had a fight with her best friend who, on any other night, would have gladly come over to share gossips over the this and the that of her life.

It was one of those nights where after soaking herself in the bath tub, she still had to stand under the cascading shower, letting the water massage her back and shoulders as she turned the knob from hot, to cold, to hot, and then to cold.
But even that still did not ease the annoying teasing and taunting that she felt in her clitoris like a button had permanently been turned on in her brain and it wouldn’t go off till she could feel him inside her.
So she called him. Repeatedly.
MTN is a cock-blocking network, but she refused to be daunted!
Tonight, she wanted someone to mechanically work her body through and through with the right touches, manually manipulating her breasts and nipples till they rose as a synonymous unit to bring her pleasure, Kneading and rubbing parts of the body, and using them as weapons of sexual satisfaction.

And he came over immediately. All she had to do was whisper in her naturally husky voice filled with emotions and sexual tensions and the desire to be fucked over and over. All she had to do was breath into the phone all the things that she wanted to do to him and have him do to her, in as few words as possible. All she had to say into the phone was, "I want you!".

No questions asked, no ulterior motives implied except that tonight he would have to leave his wife of 2 years and drive across islands and mainlands' to get to her hotel room.
No answers needed because in those three words, she had loaded, heavily, the past that they had built together, the familiarity of their love lost, love found, and love lost again.
You see, it was history that was calling.
No names even required on the phone, because the honesty of the situation was that he had known when her flight landed in Lagos earlier that afternoon, known her hotel room and number just as she booked it, and the luggage man had already told him that she had come alone. The housekeeping staff had already mentioned that she had finished her late scheduled meetings for the day. The honesty of the situation was that, he already knew. He was already waiting.

So without much further ado, he had kissed his wife on the forehead, proclaimed a last minute outing with the boys as he drove out of his newly furnished house at one o'clock in the morning. He packed an overnight bag. Just in case, he said.

He knocked on the room door once, bag in one hand as he used a finger of the other to quickly push down the visible edge of the green Durex condom that he knew she favored because of its ribbed sensational feeling when he was sliding in and out of her.
She opened immediately after that single knock, almost as if she had been standing behind the door, awaiting his arrival.
He stepped through the brown glossed door and he used the back of his heel to shut it till he heard the click that signified the auto lock. He lowered the hand that held his custom made bag till the bag was flat on the blue plush rug, and in his head, if he could, he would have had her right there by the floor of the door. But he bid his time. They would have their moment.

This night had been a long time coming, through break ups and make ups and his engagement to another, and subsequent marriage to that other, they had kept coming back to each other, finding solitude and peace in each other's arms, episode after episode, no questions asked, so no answers supplied. They simply had an understanding.

And he was the only one that understood that sometimes she had to have it brutally rough in other for her to reach her climax of satisfaction. He was the only one that understood that she would rather have hours unending of foreplay, than 10 unsatisfactory minutes of some random ungentlemanly fellow plummeting into her feminine walls without a definite rhythm. He understood her.
And she understood him. In ways even his wife could not.
She knew how he liked to be ridden in regular recurrence with her body sliding up and down the length of him, tightening as she rode up, and relaxing her wells as she slid down. She had mastered him. She understood him

And so she understood when the very first thing he did was to unwrap the hem of her towel, letting it fall into a wad at her feet. He didn’t expect her to step out of it, so she didn’t.
He released the towel on her head and let her somewhat damp hair cling to her back and her shoulders and the top of her breast.
He wanted to look at her, and so he did. And in doing that he could see how tightly her aureoles had peaked into darkened rings of color, he could see the swelling between her slightly parted legs, so he placed two fingers in between her legs such that the heaviness of her clitoris rested on his immediately damp fingers, and the heat radiating from her aroused femininity made his fingers sweat.

She wanted him.......




Because of space, and well, because of continuance ...this post will be in 3 parts! I love you too :p

#TurnTheLightsDownLow .....(Dimmer)

"I want you", She repeated. In case he was too self-consumed to realize the urgency of her needs. But he understood. She had always come first with him. Always. Her pleasure, was his pleasure…her passion, was his passion.

He wanted her. She could feel him through the blackness of his tailored pants, the length of him, the thickness of him.

He stood slightly above 6ft, and she was slightly above 5ft. She was petite really, such that when he closed the distance between them, she could feel the strength of his masculinity on her toned stomach.
The heat between them could only be described under the hidden and buried pages of Jackie Collins novels or Harlequin romance.
He wanted to do explicit unsayable things to her that would make her knees buckle from too much pressure and her body quiver from too much intensity.
He wanted to fuck her, then make love to her, then hold her.

With all the hunger that could dominate his body, he pushed her naked slim figure on the wall of the hotel room, with her perky breast resting on the wall, and the curve of her ass thrusting up for access into the bodily cavity of her butt as he rammed into her with as much ferocity as he could muster. He had barely had time to let his pants drop to his ankles, he had barely had time to wrap up his member before applying the kind of internal pressure that could have caused the involuntary and sensual non-human moan to escape from her lips, and erupt from her throat.
This time was simply to acquire as much satisfaction as they could while quenching their animalistic thirsts.

He wanted her in every possible position, and in every possible flexibility. He wanted her shaking and begging and screaming and tearing at his back, and digging her fingers into his hair.
So he turned her to face him, her back against the wall as he kissed her already swollen lips deeper than he should have, with his tongue pushing, searching…he used his right hand to cup the under of her breast as he alternated between gently squeezing and then thumbing the insides of her breast to her nipple.
A soft almost inaudible moan escaped her lips as he bent his head to her bouncy bra-less breasts, sucking in on the hardness of her dark nipples, paying careful and thorough attention to the excitement that was building up in her utterances. He brought his head up to kiss her on the lips, and as she tried to push his head back, he held up both her hands on the wall above her head. She was powerless to the little pinpricks of pleasure she felt with each nibble on her neck, and on her shoulders, and on her breast. And with each kiss that he placed on her earlobes, and her navel, stomach, and every other part of her body her could get to.

With the effortlessness of an athlete, he lifted her size 6 body off the ground. He lifted her so high off the ground that her legs would wrap around neck and shoulder blades, and with an upward thrust of her lower back, his head would be buried inside her vaginal walls, and his tongue could dart in and out of her vulva, with his ready tongue wetting her clitoris as it flickered back and forth, before he settled into absorbing and soaking up her total femininity.

Without a moments hesitation he carried her sensitized body and laid her on the plush bed as he stripped himself of the rest of his clothing. Her eager hands attempted to help him but he brushed her fingers away and consumed her lips, earlobes and forehead with kisses.
With the pounding of her heart and the touching of lips, the kisses made her head useless, as if she was intoxicated by some elixir, an elixir of sensuality and passion that cannot be found in all the world. His smoldering seduction made it almost impossible for her to avoid the state of dissociation that she was reveling in. She'd never been so desired, so consumed by a man…this man.

Fingers traced her chin, her mouth. His breath on her neck, in her ear. Heat lay against her face. Teeth delicately held her lip, and then a sting, just the smallest one that left a longing for a deeper cut. The temptation of delicious wickedness. They played with each other and ran fingers over skin, as if they could only think, exist, if in contact with each other.

All unspoken requests were immediately answered, but there was no urgency this time, only the patience of timely exploration of bodies that had been robbed of their familiarity. He wanted to get to know her again, and he did.

FreeWill....or Not Freewill

My life is not in my hands. They say we have freewill as a result of the fact that they want us to have a freedom of choice, but it is my strong opinion, due to recent and aggravating occurrences that I have finally concluded that that my life is not in my hands. I do not have true freewill. A choice was made for me!

Before I go any further, I must express that I do not mean any harm with this; I do not mean to cause blasphemy, because in this write-up I am going to question things that people would probably shy away from, the reason for this is that I am tired, and I need a reason to hold on.

For years in education we have been given the book "The gods are not to blame" to read, and through it we are obviously being asked if the gods are to blame for the fate that befell Odewale (please refer to the play for the full story)
I partly mean this in the aspect of religion, where we say that God is the creator of everything, hence he is the one who has picked out our destiny, and freewill has then been given unto us to help us shape our lives towards our destiny right?
I think not.
I think that if we really were to have been given freewill, we should have been given the choice to choose freewill in the first place!
They say that God is Omni-potent; he sees all. God is Omni-science; he knows all.
He therefore knows that some people in this life will, no matter how hard they try, find it impossible to choose the right path of life. It is in his knowledge that people will fall, and fall and fall, no matter how many times we hear about heaven and hell, eternal doom and eternal glory. It is therefore in his infinite knowledge that he knows who will still be sent/doomed to eternal damnation no matter how hard they try, because he would know that some people, even when given a thousand freewill moments to correct their ways, will subsequently fall back to the way of the world. Does this mean then that he already knows the end of everyone?

I think that if we really were to have been given freewill, we should have been given the choice to choose freewill in the first place!

You see, we are surrounded by a world where peer pressure makes it almost impossible not to sin, even the littlest sin, and then sebi the Bible now says that there is no such thing as a little sin or a big sin. In James 2:9 we are made to understand that even if you break part of a rule/law/commandment but follow the rest, it will be assumed that you have broken the whole law….at least that is my understanding of it. So now you don’t even have to commit murder, adultery or idolatry to be a sinner. You could simply lie, steal, or be covetous about your friends new pair of Louis Vuitton Shoes.
*sigh*
I'm not seeking to offend anybody because I know that religion is a very sensitive issue, but I'm doing this because, honestly, honestly honestly, my faith was recently shaken. And maybe I'm not the only one, maybe there is someone who can make things clear to me. They say that we have freewill in everything because God is a merciful God, and he has given us the grace to choose what we want in life, to make decisions.

All I want is for all this to have been explained to me before coming to this world. In simple English. All I want is for someone to have given me the choice between freewill on earth or total controlled submission to God on earth. I don’t know what I am saying right now, and therefore should probably not say anything at all….but what we have isn't absolute freewill, because we weren't told beforehand. Because the choice was made for us to come to earth to be watched as we made mistakes over.
Frankly its like an experiment where we have been put in a maze, with two outlets, Heaven and Hell. To get to any of the outlets they have dropped temptations every 2 minutes in the form of shiny gold objects that seem to be calling your name, and they expect you not to stop. Even though there will be castigations, and chastisement and contempt and disdain, and people will constantly turn up their noses at you when you try to do the right thing. They expect you not to budge.
Pastors and Men of God make it seem so easy, because their journey to God wasn’t majorly in the 21st century with an immoral world. I wish they could be young again, be in my world for a day.

Honestly, I am tired because 2010/2011 was kinda tough, spiritually. Its difficult not to question and wonder. And the only thing that is constantly on my mind is that why wasn’t I forced to love him completely, with the love that Job had…why wasn’t I compelled to praise him continually, in the way that David did…Why wasn’t I made to trust him totally, with the purity of Abraham's heart. Because that is what I want…that would have been my choice, and with that I would have been dead-sure that I will constantly do the right thing and flee temptations.

*sigh*
We should have been given a choice between freewill on earth, and total control of servitude to God. That choice right there, if it had been given to us, would be the true meaning of freewill. What we have isn't.

#ThatIsAll

Nigeria Immigration Service (The System)

Nigeria is a country that seems to survive purely on the "Who you knows" and "What you haves" and "Who you ares'" rather that on the system. And to be honest, before this, I had been selfishly okay with that, but on this particular day that I had to hustle and queue, watching people who had come after me waltz in, get their documents checked and then foxtrot back to their cars, this system didn’t work for me. I was angry!

Before you go any further, you should know that this is not an aimless venom being spewed on the government, of that I can assure you (See Green, White, Green for that ) and this is not even an article that aims at the Nigerian populace (See Dear Readers for that ). This is simply coming as a result of my 5-hour sojourn at the Nigeria Immigration Service(NIS) center today with my 9-month old brother on a quest to get his first Nigerian Passport.

I am not even angry for myself. I am angered for my 9-month old brother who has not yet developed a resounding voice with which he can speak of the disdain he feels towards the government of this so-called developing nation. What exactly are we developing if we have adamantly resisted any atom of positive growth in the areas that count?

Don't get me wrong, I do not even blame the immigration officers who are understaffed and are expected to work in these poor environments and conditions of no fan, no ventilation, no clean or even attractive uniforms. I see people walking round me in their dirty brown-colored immigration uniforms, proudly carrying around the stale stench of sweat with the marks visible around their armpits, some even have it on their buttocks, and I feel sorry for them.
Therefore I do not fully blame them, for they are as angry as I am.

I do not even fully blame the people who are using their own connects to get ahead and cut corners. It is the way they are used to. This has become the Nigerian system. I blame the system. But more than that, I blame myself for still believing and holding out a candle of hope for a country that has remained rigid, I blame only my optimistic and expectant mind that still sees a change in the future of Nigeria.

We had arrived at their office because the man who was to help us had said to come by 8 o'clock in the morning, but my mother being the person that she is, we got there by 9:30am. Fair enough.
My unknowing mother had packed only one bottle for the baby because according to her, she thought it was going to be a "breeze in, and breeze out" scenario.
Our car was even the first to get there, and we were in high spirits, ready to just collect his passport and go.

Alas! The system had other plans for us.

I must have stood in front of that Acquisition room for hours, since it did not even occur to our able government workers to provide sitting arrangements in the waiting area.
I was waiting for my name to be called as I silently observed the mannerism of the workers of this highly placed government system.
I was trying to explain to that grumpy young man that even in the developed and first world countries that we try so much to emulate, preference is given to the elderly, the pregnant, and to children/babies.
I was frantically trying to explain to him that we didn’t even bring a change of diapers, and my brother had already taken the only bottle we brought to feed him with around 11am, and that he was missing his 10 to 12 am nap and that is why he had been screaming the building down.
I was begging this man to understand that my baby brother who is on the heavy side had to be carried rotationally by my mother and I, but even at that, it was tiring.
I wanted him to get that my 9-month old brother was coughing and hiccupping at the same time, running a temperature even.
My guy didn’t budge.

The system.

Needless to say I was answered around 2pm, and as they were thumb-printing my brother, one of the officers who had been in a private air-conditioned office while we had stood in the bronzing sun opened his foul breathed mouth to ask me, "Is this the boy that you went to put inside AC car? Why I go answer him now?".
Only an alcoholic who has been sober for like a maximum of 2 days, and is facing the strongest smelling liquor can understand the amount of restraint it took me to stop myself from giving that man a smart-ass comeback, because the truth of the matter is that I still needed him to complete all due processes.

I must have stood in front of that Acquisition room for hours, staring blindly at the pieces of white A4 paper pasted on the grey chipping cheapened wooden door. One of the red Servicom posters even stared back at me, mocking me, with the sign saying "You have the right to be served right".

I wanted to laugh at myself for the predicament I was facing, on a day that I could have used to achieve much else, but I was too hungry, tired, irritated, and frustrated to even try. So when my name was finally called, I wasn’t even as much relieved as I was fed-up, I just wanted to carry my agitated baby brother and go home so that I could take a long well-deserving nap myself.

There I was, thinking I was immune to the system, because of the connects I thought we had, the connects that somehow decided to fail; thinking I was above the system because of the breakable rules that surround the system, but all in all, today, the 18th of February, 2011, all I can say is that the system fucked me,simply because of my lack of connects, the system screwed me!

Labels.

This is actually an old article that i just found so I thought to put it up before I'd lose it again, plus someone recently made me re-think my view on labels, so I'd probably write a follow up soon...look out for that, but for now this is simply an article I wrote about two years back ithink...and I did not want to touch it up, so allow me even though it might seem a bit rough! :)

Labels.....

http://www.facebook.com/note.php?note_id=57602281556


I once heard that labeling spoils the uniqueness of a product, and now I agree.
 
Why do we feel the need to brand people-even ourselves? We often fail to see that putting a name on a product turns the product into that name- thin rice isn’t thin rice anymore, its Uncle Ben’s rice; cereal isn’t cereal anymore, its corn flakes. Similarly, we label and brand ourselves so much that we lose the vitality and beauty that warranted such a label.

I want to talk about people, because in the end that’s what we all are, people. Men, women, black , white, stupid, smart, husband, best friend, bitch, lesbian- in the end all these labels replace who we really are, so much so that we start to forget who we were before we became who we are. The love dies in a marriage because the husband and wife forget the friendship and love that brought them together and start to act in completely different patterns just to fulfill the expectations of their label. He's a bossy husband, she’s an argumentative wife, and soon enough they are completely different people.

Basically, I’m just trying to understand why a boy you’ve liked for so long, and wanted for so long suddenly becomes less interesting once he asks you to wear the brand of his girlfriend. He fails to see that without asking you, you both have everything, friendship, love, companionship, and trust. But once he labels you, jealousy sets in, mistrust over little issues and squabbles that could have been avoided.

It’s all so simple but people don’t see. Why can’t we all just be who we are- humans? Let go of labels that put people in tight situations and categorize us. We are not what people say we are-we are who we choose to be. You don’t have to be dependent on a man just because you are a woman, you don’t have to be less of a friend because you have been called a girlfriend, and you don’t have to be more dominating because you are now a husband. It’s all very simple but people don’t see- you are not who they label you to be. Indie Arie sang a song saying “I am not my hair, I am not this skin, I am not your expectation…” similarly, we are not who we are branded to be. Boys, girls, cheerleaders, jocks, husband, clerks, boyfriends, musicians… In the end, when it comes down to the very end, we are all just people.

We are all human beings.

How To Know You Like Him.....

Having thought for about week on how to go about this without being too mushy, love-struck/infatuated, I simply decided to put together some of the things that made me know that I like him, and apparently I really do otherwise I wouldn’t be doing this! And from henceforth I shall name him "My stop nao boy", and he's waaaaay cooler than "My 5-naira boy"……..(Yes, you are *tongue out*, whatever!)

How To Know When You Like Him….

You know you like him when you talk about him incessantly to your friends, always bringing something he said, something he did into the conversations that you have with other people, until they know almost as much about him as you do;

You know you have begun to like him when you see him from a distance and your heart skips a beat, a smile shapes your lips, or even the faintest sweat breaks out on your forehead, because the anticipation of talking to him builds momentum each day;

You know you can no longer deny liking him when sappy love songs like J-holiday's suffocate begins to remind you of him, and old songs like Bow Wow's Like you, with Ciara starts to come back to your head on the randomest day;

You know that you like him when you are trying to make a plan with your friends and you need his opinion to move forward, and you need his own plans so you can work around them, and you don’t even want to be somewhere he wouldn’t approve of;

You know you like him when you have an exam by a lecturer that is literally a brain drainer, a lecturer who seems to specialize in making examinations a living hell, but you are up really late, still talking to him on the phone, BBM, or even YIM;

You know you definitely like him when you start to download the music he likes, look for authors he favors, begin to use his phrases in your daily conversation unconsciously, and even have a prejudice against things he doesn’t like;

Your head should let you know you like him when you look out for him in crowded places, speak to him in hushed whispers, want to be with him always, #nothingsexual :)

You know you like him when you think about him at random times, because something equally as random, like a smell, walk, memory, daydream, laugh, and outfit has made him become alive in your head;

You know you like him when you have had a bad paper, or you think you are about to have a bad paper - panicking, and you are wishing he was there to hug you, hold you, and tell you he believes in you;

You know you like him when you believe Bruno Mars and his many many exaggerated love songs-you know catching a grenade is unlikely, jumping in front of a train would probably not happen, and dragging a piano over highs and lows and lengths and breadths of Lagos would not be possible,- but yet you understand the idea behind it;

You know you like him when he does the littlest things, but it invariably makes your whole day, and you have crammed him just like a difficult 400level Eco formula to the extent that in your head you know what he is about to say, how he'll say it, and with what expression;

You know you like him when nearly everything he says makes you want to write about him, blog about him…

Yes, this is a subliminal blog, but *in his voice* who sai? I have to express myself frequently otherwise I am going to go insane with all the non-verbalized emotions, I am not only human, but a chronic love-hunting human at that! #Shrug

I guess what I am trying to say is that once again I have fallen victim to being in the exact same position I always, always try to run away from. I am back where I was with all my unwanted shakara, and yet again, I am taking a leap of faith…..My only hope is that it would not be another "Ill-fated leap of fate" http://cremekidd.blogspot.com/2010/07/my-ill-fated-leap-of-faith.html

Because I really do like this one, but I cannot take anymore heartache, this time I want it all…..All or Nothing!