When my father, the adroit political playmaker Tambuyi Peters called me and ordered I be back in Nigeria in a fortnight for a ‘meeting’, I knew he had made yet another power play. After that phone call, my frolics in Dubai seemed commonplace. The video vixen and reality star I had flown out from the U.S to party with us no longer seemed as distracting. It didn’t stop me from getting with them though. That was probably the only highlight of the entire trip. I was more than eager to go home. And then there was Yinks, my virgin sidepiece. We’d started talking again after I decided to take a break from her about ten months ago. I don’t know what it was with girls that give up their virginity to you but they become too clingy. It was all supposed to be harmless fun. When we met four years ago, I got with her in response to a dare from my guys because everyone in our circle knew Yinks was the hottie that did not get with anyone. She was this up and coming editor with a meteoric rise and a heavy resume. Everybody wanted her, no one was winning. So, I took up the challenge. I played my game which had never failed before and I won her. When she told me, she was a virgin; it irked me out a bit to be fair. It was just odd. Who’s still a virgin in this age? She was my rare price though and I collected. After that, probably the euphoria of being the only man to have gone there kept me interested in her, even though I wasn’t a one-woman man and that will never change. Sex with her was unique. She started out clueless and let me dominate, basically teaching her everything. I even introduced her to porn, I think. I’ve got to say, it all turned me on. She was mine to do with as I pleased, and I pleased a lot.
I got bored, as I always do with women so I had to end it with her. She didn’t take it very well. Molly, a friend of hers kept me informed on how she was. Eventually, I grew tired of the women in Lagos. I’d gone round full circle among the socialites. I didn’t fancy movie stars; too public and the female captains of industry were a tad old for me. Abuja was straight dead as far as I was concerned and it was a no go area down south, so I decided to take a vacation abroad, somewhere. I needed the space too because believe it or not, I missed my sidepiece. I don’t know, I might have fallen in love with her, you never know with these things, so I had to get out of Nigeria for a minute to recalibrate. Oshos had suggested Dubai a while back so we decided to hit the UAE.
About a month in, I missed Yinka badly. I mean, she was my Yinks. I had been casually sending her emails all this while and when she finally replied, I was super geeked. Oshos thought I was being a pussy and maybe I was but she had me hooked. We started talking again, catching up, and enjoying each other’s company like before. She had a thing for writing, so I wrote to her by hand. It was a bullshit task because I had to tell her I was at a village in Sudan with my NGO covering kids who were victims of forced migration, and then I had to re-route the letters through there to get to Nigeria or some shit like that just to give the ruse credibility. It was tiring but I wasn’t about to tell this chic I was busy getting it every other night out here in paradise. I did mean it when I wrote to her that I missed us and I wanted us back together, at least I think I did; I don’t know, man. I also had to tell her I got promoted at work and would be back home to resume soon. Truth was my dad had me quit that job ages ago, when I told him I was interested in politics. I never told Yinka that. A fortnight passed and I was on my way back to Nigeria. Oshos stayed behind. He couldn’t get enough of Arabian women. Yinka and I had gotten back together and I was going to go see her in Abuja after I met up with my family. I cussed myself out on how I was looking forward to seeing her again. Maybe I really was a pussy
When my dad introduced Tamara, his plans became clear to me. He was setting me up with one of the most powerful families in Nigeria. The Amadis held key positions in government by none more critical than those held by Tamara’s four older brothers. The patriarch of the family Ahamefula Amadi was a one-time governor in old eastern Nigeria and rubbed shoulders with past heads of state making him one of the richest men in the east. Tamara was his youngest out of 8 children and he played no games with her welfare. Both parents had come to an arrangement I wasn’t privy to but I was going to marry this girl. She wasn’t a stunner. In fact she was nowhere near Yinka but someone surrounded by such power was not to be joked with, and she was a force in her own right; Oxford graduate, worked as a partner in a law firm in the U.K. We talked, after dinner, away from the family of course. We went out, somewhere, I forget the place but it was Italian. She was tired of men intimidated by her status and family. She couldn’t stay in a stable relationship as she usually towered over her partner and this was no fault of hers. She was very warm and fun to talk with, and smart as a whip too. I could get how her pedigree would throw guys off. The class system is dead I know but sometimes it does matter. We vibed though as we shared a lot of things in common, asides a strong family name and I was excited about the prospects here, Tamara and I ended up having what was probably the most controlled sex marathon of my entire life, that girl is one hell of a control freak and For some strange reason her freakyness excited me, well I was until I remembered Yinka.
Throughout the flight to Abuja, I kept playing how all this was going to go over in my head. I wanted to marry Tamara Amadi. I’m pushing thirty and a player is expected to settle down. But I fancied Yinka, a lot. She was that ride or die, the fall back girl. I could be my real self; she believed whatever I told her. When I saw her at the terminal, my heart sank. She’d taken care of herself in my absence and looked even better. I gave her a hug and kissed her. She still felt as good as she did all that time ago. I missed my sidepiece. As we drove back to her place, I made the decision; I was going to keep them both. Yinka would understand why I have to marry Tamara. It’s just business, an investment in the future. And Tamara shuttles between Lagos and London, she’d have no business in Abuja and they would never meet. I just had to break the news gently to Yinks. We had dinner, and she slipped into lingerie, looking all shades of hot. Damn. I have to give myself a pat on the back. When I met her, shorty was bad but now, after me, she’d become evil. We cuddled up on her couch watching TV and then I stroked her hair the way I knew she liked and told her I loved her over and over again, trying more to convince myself than anything. I told her the universe was bent on keeping us and our love apart and that I had to marry someone my dad insists on. I told her it was political and that I was even going to divorce her in a year. I thought that shit would show my commitment. I really didn’t know this girl because what she did next stunned me. She asked me to leave. She’d grown more dependent since our split and I just realized that now. She said something about me causing her unending pain and all that but I was more surprised than hurt really. I figured the best way to get her to calm down was to not put up a fight and just go calmly, at least for now so I left.
I hung around in Abuja for a while after that night. I had a few distractions in the city and I had them visit me. I wasn’t about to be out about town with other women and run into Yinka, or worse her cheer team; Sadia and Molly. I called her, casually at first but I was now pissed off because she refused my calls and didn’t answer my texts. Who did she think she was? I was legit livid. This was my woman. She had no right. I had to cool off so I decided to hit the club scene. Oshos was in town so I knew it was about to be lit. We decided to hit up club 440. It was legendary for rave parties and some amazing company. It was a Friday, I had the squad with me and we were about to fuck Abuja up. Forget Yinka, Tamara, politics, heck even the playmaker Tambuyi Peters. I just wanted to chill out. It was all good for the first couple of hours. We had the bottles and the groupies. The VIP section was off limits so things got freaky quick. As I stepped out, I could hear Shayne Ward. This DJ was a mess. Who listens to shayne ward up in the club? Bruh, I saw Yinka making out with a dude, on the dance floor, to freaking Shayne Ward. I was gone…
As we drove away from 440, all I could do was punch my fists into the dash, softly at first but then harder and harder until Oshos had to smack some sense into the back of my head. It was his Range Rover after all. He had yanked me out the club through the back door when I came back into VIP and started smashing stuff. On our way out, he saw Yinka and immediately coded what was up. I knew he lifted weights but I never knew I was light as fuck. He threw me over his shoulder and made for the back exit. He later says he didn’t realize he had done that but he had to because making a scene would go viral and no politician survives scandal, especially over a woman. Back at the hotel, I was haunted by what I saw. My sidepiece was being fondled by another man who would most likely smash this night. Another man was going to come inside my house, my woman. Heck no! And then it hit me, I was being an asshole. I’ve seen more pussy since I’ve been with Yinks than I did before I met her. I was the one who made her share with other women. Why was I even mad? I had Tamara whom I sure as hell wasn’t going to leave now. This was just one girl, a girl I fancied at best. Why was I tripping? I spent the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep. I kept picturing her with Mr. Hotshot the Fondler in various positions and in different places going at it. He looked like a freak, the fucker, and she was always so eager during sex. He’d do the most and she’d like it. That was it. I couldn’t take it. Sure I was a fuck-up but all those women meant nothing to me. Yinks does. I loved her, I love her. Aww fuck. I do love her but I like to get my dick wet. Who doesn’t? That didn’t give another man the right to claim my woman. Call me chauvinist but I love her and not the others. That should count for something, right?
I made my way back to her place around 5am. I saw his car parked outside and I smashed my fists into the steering wheel. They were bruising and probably grumbling from all the assault they’d endured tonight. He was in her house, in her bed, right now. I was mad, but Oshos’ sentiments came to mind in that instant. If I went in there, I would kill that bastard, go to jail and probably die in there. I had to restrain myself, so I spent the worst two hours of my life waiting outside my girlfriend’s house while another man plowed her. At about 7am, I got out of my car and made for her front door. Fuck it; I guess I was going to jail. I felt tears streaming down my face. I knew this was real, what I feel for Yinka. I’ve never shed a tear for a woman before, not even for Grace in JS 2 who was then ‘the love of my life’ but let Akpan touch her under her desk. As I got to her door, it opened and out comes the guy. He was faceless to me, on purpose because if I made out a face, I would fuck it up. He steered clear, planted his goodbye kiss and took off. Yinka looked like a different woman. She never looked like this after sex with me. I had to cut this shit down now. It took a mix of sincerity and my A game or something in between but I felt that joy of success a few minutes later when she began to cry as I had my head down in her thighs half-feigning wails.
Can’t wait for nextweek
Thanks for viewing Mrs olanrewaju
King Makanjuola said:
Very well written miss Abenii. The tension in this chronicle is becoming palpable, looking forward to the next installment. #TeamChukwudi
Nice one. Be nice and don’t keep us hanging too long for the rest.