Phone Conversation II

6:00pm three days later, the phone rings and with this feigned disinterest, I pick it up and say nothing

“Hello”, the expected almost familiar voice said, “Is that Baroque?”
“Yes oh, na me, onye na eku” I replied with a quickened vigour in playful Igbo guessing who was at the other end.
“It’s me again, Nma, are you busy”, quite forward, I thought
“Nope, just got in from work and have been actually waiting for your call” I said smiling. I was actually hoping she’d call
“You were waiting for my call, huh? Then you must have been thinking of something while you were waiting”, she says with this very jolly tone
“Well, nothing fancy; if I wanted Fruit & Fibre or Indomie for supper or Garri, and at the same time, trying to picture what the lips from whence such a voice came would look like”, I sharply rejoined
“Ok, then, if you want to knock yourself out then do Garri but first let’s hear about the lips”, she said, ending with this flirtatious tone
“Wouldn’t you rather hear about my Jewish side or have us talk about our broken hearts” I said disjointedly referring to our previous conversation
“After you tell me what you were thinking” she says

I’m getting very excited; maybe it was the promising sound of her voice or maybe my present hornyness doing the thinking for me.

“I’m not saying anything because I was thinking about a lot more than lips; believe me sweetheart, you don’t want to hear my thoughts,”
“OK oh! More than lips?” she exclaimed, “Now I want to hear it” she continued
“You dey find trouble; I’ll tell you in person, over a wholesome wrap and a cold beer” I say after a 3 seconds delay
“I take that as an invitation, but tell me what’s on your mind first” she said
“You’re already on my mind, if you want to get in any deeper, you’ll need more than a shield and buckler”. That was me flirting shamelessly, not like I cared anyway
“Eheh! you dont mean it; is there anything I should be wary of, Mr. B?”

Mr. B? We are now on the nickname levels huh! I’m thinking to myself

“What do you suspect? You don’t strike me like someone that’ll scare easily”
“Why would you think so” she asked chuckling
“You’ve not given any reasons to think otherwise” I reply, feeling very smart

After about 3 minutes of inconsequential talk, I decide to spice up a bit and introduce some impishness and push it

“Gosh, I’m so horny; which kind life be this?” my very famous line that has brought me some sunshine in the past
“WHAT! What did you say?” she enquired. I think I heard her do a half smile despite her attempt to sound shocked
“My dear, nothing oh, was just thinking out loud, been a while since I got proper loving done to me”, I lied. Well in my books two days without sex is long enough for me to get to my horniest peak.
“Proper loving done to you? What the hell are you talking about?” she asks
“You won’t understand until we meet” I say convincingly, “Oh shyeet, my light has gone, NEPA, craze people, I’m using a cordless phone so it’ll go off in a minute or two, lemme give you my mobile number” I continue

“Ok then, give it to me, I’ll call you in 2 days when I’m in Nigeria”.

She says her cousin was coming to get her from the Owerri airport and that she would be in Aba for a few days, then be in Port Harcourt by weekend, I give her my mobile number and take hers, just before the phone dies.

Now that same piss dey worry me and I’m sure I’ll enjoy this one too, off to my pour out my bladder.

Life Is Short, Make the Most of It

For goodness sake, I don’t want to enlarge my penis. Leave me alone. I might not be very satisfied with the size of it but I love its performance, and I mean, no matter the consignment I’m handling, big, short, small, tall, lekpa or orobo (no matter the volume!). It may have failed me a couple of times but most of those times were excusable.

Who the heck gave them my email address? They keep on sending me these rubbish ‘Enlarge Your Penis’ mails trying to make me buy some cheap drug, do I look like a guinea pig. What madness! Within the past half hour, I followed a link in a mail I got and I saw Before & After pictures. How crass is that? Very convincing. The annoying thing is that the members shown were not even good looking enough, weak and raggedish looking onyibo man thing.

How do they even know I’m a guy, abi na Yahoo!?

If no be ‘Enlarge Your Penis’ na “Are You Wanting a Bigger Penis’ or ‘Get More Girth’ or ‘No Pills, No Medication’ or ‘Be a More Confident Man’, the coolest though was ‘Life is Short, Make the Most of It’.

Is it all about marketing? And they do not fail to call it PENIS.

I deny not, however, that the thought to place an order has not crossed my mind before, more than once actually, but of course I don’t want a delivery tagged, ‘Enlargement Solution’ DHL'd to my house and have someone else receive it (I use my family address for deliveries because I live alone)…I might as well walk into a shop and like for a pack of condoms, ask for Penis Enlargement pills, or whatever it is they come in. shame no gree me abeg.

Back to the point! I have decided, I don’t want to enlarge my penis. I don’t need 9inches of manhood. I don’t want to be a porn star. My role model is NOT Lexington Steele, I’d rather watch not do. I don’t want to impale anybody’s daughter, although there’s this particular girl I would love to run through (she don show me pepper).

I know what my over-endowed friends suffer, there’s always a story to tell especially of how they finally didn’t go through with it. I love my sex and will do nothing to jeopardise that.

LEAVE MY DICK ALONE, YOU FRAUDSTER.

I’m Stretching...

…few days into my break…back on board trying to catch up with the latest jist on blogsville…besides pondering what the crap anonymous Jinx was dissing my dark woman Ide for (btw, i love what you've done with your blog) when Mr.Burntmelons’s lamenting about his second missing purse, and why ogbono_fishsticks hasn't got a blog...

…I’m trying to figure what you bloody Londoners call summer…thank GOD i don’t live here anymore…sun dey bright wan blind me, cold breeze dey blow wan freeze me, rain dey drizzle dey soak me…such rubbish weather...

…for the past weeks, my life had been a rollercoaster of work pressures, worries, emotions, anger, sex, bills, exam preparations, financial commitments, no blogging...

…now, I’m clubbing somewhere in Woolwich over the weekend and apart from hoping I don’t get shanked I am wondering (for whatever reason) if this guy I saw was some villager from blogsville, wondering what he was doing there…slept from 5am till 2pm on sunday...

…my people, the major agenda for the time off apart from blogging is SLEEP…considering I can’t get any of that back home…to many flying bullets…Porter d’Harcourt, Ubong Da and Jaja I hope you guys are cool, I’m sure you’ll survive the curfew, its only for a week...

…anyway, I’m back to blogsville…feeling like a very erect member that has finally found solace in a wet and juicy crevice...

…part 2 of Phone Conversation coming soon…

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

Click here for continuation

*Jibberish*

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*

...be 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*

...you 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*

...one of my bosses just walked in *short man wey like to show power*
...sleep dey catch me *that garri & soup don knack me down*