Wednesday, 25 July 2007

Phone Conversation

Trying not to loose the page I was reading, I stick my index finger in between the pages as I shift The Icarus Girl to my right hand, one knee on the ground, left hand on the couch, all in one motion I rise from the carpeted floor and make for the men’s room.

Heaving a huge sigh of relief as I drain my bladder into the sparkling and fresh smelling
Ariston bowl, I hear the loud and boring ring of my land phone. I was thinking to myself once again, 'how a good piss sometimes can feel a lot better than sex', as I headed back towards the living room, at the same time wondering why my father would be ringing me again, twice in one morning; eighty five percent of the calls on my NITEL phone are from my family house, no cheaper way to discuss family issues in proxy. I lift the receiver, and with my gravely morning voice I answered.

“Yes?” I said
“Chindu, Chindu!”, the caller hailed merrily
“Hellooow”, I repeat a lot slower, my right eye brow raised with my head cocked to the left side
“Ke kwanu?”, amidst the static, this distinctly silky voice of a female asks with a strong Igbo accent
“Odi nma”, I answer without even thinking, in my best mimic of the same accent
“Amara, o’ no there”, I hear her say after a small delay in Engligbo, a very innovative silver-tongued blend of the English language and the major language of the eastern Nigerian people, Igbo

The line was sounding unclear; guessing it was a network problem, I turn down the harmonious voice of
Robin Thicke, one of my new favourites, on heavy rotation on my home theatre, I catch her at the end of her question and say in a very polite tone,

“So sorry, I am not Chindu, I think you have a wrong number”
“E si? What? What did you say?” she asks politely with a lighter tint of the Eastern Nigerian tongue
“I said I think you have a wrong number, this is not Chindu, my name’s Baroque”
“Wrong number? Oh dear!” She exclaimed, “You sound like my cousin, Chindu” she continues apologetically
“Where are you calling from?” I enquired
“I can't hear you clearly!" she says, "Paris, France, but you are in Port Harcourt abi”
“Yes, I’m in Port Harcourt”
“What did you say your name is?” she asks and of course I didn’t miss the newly induced ‘britiko’ tone.

Considering that I was in no particular hurry to get back to the book about the obanje girl, I leave the arm of the only single seater in my living room and make for the ground, thinking to myself, ‘let’s see how this goes’.

“I never said. What’s yours? My name's Baroque”, I retorted in my own polite English inflection
“What? Barouge?, what kind of a name is that?”
“Baroque, with a Q not a G, its Hebrew. Yours?” I emphasise
“Its Nma”
“Nma, it’s a pleasure. Sorry you have a wrong number and I’m busy talking to you, taking your time and wasting your call units, have a swell day” I said, trying to sound regretful
“Pas de problem Baroque. Its not such of an emergency. I've got some time & you sound nice too”, I sense some patronising flattery and I’m thinking to myself, ‘this girl, take your time oh’
“Sound nice, hmmm! I try to, Nma. Thanks. Do you speak French?”, I reply smiling.

Dropping my book on the floor but not after folding the edge of the page, unsure of what I was thinking at that moment, I ask, enquiring bravely,

“Do you live in France and are you married? Forgive me, but I'm forward like that”
“It's ok mister, fresh, out of a relationship, still nursing my broken heart, and no, I don’t live here or speak French either. I’m in transit, here for four days. Should be leaving the day after tomorrow” she answers with glee
“That makes us two. I mean the relationship part. In transit to and from where?” I ask again
“Back home from Ireland" she said. "Baroque, it was really nice talking to you. Can I call you back, say in three hours, if you’re up to it. I'm sure it wont be a wrong number this time. I need to call my cousin to get him to do something for me. Hey, who knows, we could hook up when I’m back in naija” she suggests

I’m thinking; that was fast. Well it was her idea; it’ll take her up on it.

“Call me back, Nma, I’m gonna be lounging the rest of the day on this couch, it’s a weekend and it’s been raining cats and dogs here”
“I’ll call and have you tell me about your Jewish side” she says

Laughing, she says good bye and I hear the receiver drop at the French end.

“Na so trouble dey take start” I say to myself out loud.

If I know myself well enough, (sometimes, I wonder If I do), I’ll be fantasizing about her until she rings me again, now I’m praying she calls again. I must be very easy to please, only after three minutes of inconsequential jabber; I’m hoping and praying for ultimate fulfilment of this desire.

Now I need to urinate again, i bet, this one will not feel as good as the first one.

To Be Continued Shortly, Please Don’t Adjust Your TV Set

Thursday, 12 July 2007


after that very unsavoury meal of garri & afang soup right here on my office desk, I’ve decided to post this thing I wrote one boring evening, 2 weeks ago... *except the last 2 lines*

...governments have changed, step from under the diplomatic immunity umbrella and see what happens *whether GOD no go punish you for this country, thief!*
...stop reading those raunchy mags and jerking off on your brother’s couch *which kind boy you be?*
...close that door when you enter, you met it shut *everyday them go dey tell you the same thing*
...come lets see the 2:00am recap of American Idol *Simon Cowell, the greatest*
...don't go on a boat ride with your uncle’s girlfriend *the one you can’t wait to undress*
...don’t throw stones here *this is a glass house, you idiot*
...he’s here again & she’s screaming her lungs out *maybe, he’s not using protection, again*
...making my usual trips in & out of other blogs, found time & created mine *finally, some achievement huh?*
...having a bowl of fruit & fibre *not before microwaving it* right back *have got to fart this one far away from here*
...who emptied my rubbish bin on the ground *I'm surely killing my neighbours cat* know I’m trying very hard to look at your face *but your breasts cannot be real*
...can I touch you there? *your boyfriend doesn’t need to know we did* of my bosses just walked in *short man wey like to show power*
...sleep dey catch me *that garri & soup don knack me down*

Wednesday, 4 July 2007

FirstTimes... my mother would say,” there is a first time for everything…” there is, really, as I have come to find out...even when it seems like it’s something you’ve done before…these moments give our lives its uniqueness and our individualities…you might not feel excited or very special as a first timer but truth is, you are…like the foremost moment cannot be relived so have you lost your opportunity to make the first impression…some first times are magical…some disasters…some we live to regret…or forget, until you start blogging

my first job; thank GOD for my father… after 2nd year, uni…got me my very first job (intern sha) in one of his friends company…me, earn salary?...excited…well, the amount wasn’t so ‘great’… learnt a great deal about my profession there…should buy him a special gift for this reason…love my father but dunno if I can ever tell him

first real kiss; after reading a whole lot about the union of lips and the mingling of tongues…practice with my mirror…it was like heaven with my then girlfriend…coincidentally her first too…she thought I was a very good…from years of practice…now I know I’m good…from obvious years of practice & reading…I have only improved since then…truth

...first wank; end of junior secondary…even before I learnt of the word ‘masturbation’…happened by mistake…the fluid was still clear…sure it couldn’t fertilise nothing…GOSH…I’d never felt so sick in all my life…& then did it again soon after…& again

first shag; for more reasons than shall be given…at a brothel…my cousin ‘detoured’ us one night from our journey to get milk for our new puppy…well, I can now give my sex fibs some substance…won’t be so inexpert when the time for the ‘real’ one comes…prove to my cousin that I was a big boy…terrifying event…still wonder how I attained & maintained an erection…I must have been a bad boy

my first 4 times in one night; December 2004…thought I was gonna die after the 2nd one…she came twice…well I finally arrived…about 1½hrs later, BJ & another go...number 3…wild & windy…repeat broadcast…another go...number four…fleeting & to the point…passed out…barely stayed awake the next day at work

my first 4 times in 1 evening; I boast not…on second thoughts…why not…na something to boast about…anyway, I was totally drained that evening…sometime between 7pm and just before midnight…in her brothers’ room…her folks were away on a golfing cruise…no 4, I was at the door…she ripped my clothes off…GOD, GIVE ME MY LAST POWER!…she was HOTT!…no better way to commit suicide

first car shag; twice as nice…the two bouts of straff…& it wasn’t in my backseat…car neatly parked behind a dead trailer on a lonely GRA street…lived with my parents then so what did you expect…me, straddled on the reclined driver’s seat…she scraped her left knee a bit…ended on the passenger’s seat…number 2, backed up against me, standing by the open passenger’s door…she had the loveliest tits least until 3weeks ago

first time arrest; one Sunday, 8.00pmish…wasn’t a real arrest anyway…my hand inside her top…her hand on junior…both of us fully clothed…bright lights from the yellow combi bus…OMG, I don die…to the police station...after so much diplomatic ‘yarnings’ & sweet-talks… over ½ an hour later…money changed hands …discharged & acquitted…to serve & protect with integrity

my first blow job & near miss; away on holidays…teenager…woke up to a half erection… could feel the heat from ‘HIS’ breathe on my dick…WHAT D’F?!@K...pretended to be asleep…enjoyed every moment…he probably stopped when he realised he wasn’t gonna get any ‘loving’ back…in the morning, nothing happened…he was my cousin…nevermind, I don’t feel abused…not the slightest bit

my first love; 2 years older…kinda into older women…she was created for me…she liked everything I liked, especially, the music…she had all the cd’s I wanted…spoke better English…with an slight ‘britiko’ accent…denied it, said I was the one that spoke with an accent, like an ‘aje’…infrequently read the dictionary like me…lovely voice but refused to sing…very cute bum…BEST KISSER EVER…never more sensuous sex have I had…she sliced tomatoes in a funny way…but the stew always tasted good…I still use some of her phrases to date…never told her I was in love with her until she went away…I think I’ve gotten over her…not sure though...still BEST KISSER EVER

first near miss; 8.30pm ish…on the steps to the shed behind the state director’s house…NYSC camp…no lights…NEPA…her nipples in my mouth and my fingers in her core…my right ear in between her lips…muffled whimpers of pleasure…all of a sudden…footsteps, light from a hand held torch heading in our direction, from the other side of the shed…James Bond & Pussy Galore…dodging in the penumbra until outta sight…camp official walks on by…we continue...SENSELESS LOVERS… the guy returns 10mins later with company…one of us, fellow Corp member…this time directly facing us…we ran…laughing…DESPERADOS…we found a darker surer spot…that wasn’t all we found…co-offender too…corpers of the night…we all shared the darkness

my first ménage a trios; of course I wasn’t man enough, how can I be when the other jimmy was twice mine in size, I was gonna go for sloppy seconds or lousy firsts…not on your life, or mine