Episode II: Greg, the Boyfriend

"I said remove your clothes," Cynthia reiterated, her voice shrill like a tingling bell. I was utterly confused. Remove my clothes? I only took off my clothes if I wanted to take a bath, and when I wanted to substitute them with another set of clothes. And sometimes in the dry season when the heat in Calabar became unbearable and I had to sleep stark naked on the rubber carpet in my room. Cynthia was rapidly losing patience. Furrows had lined up on her forehead. "Don't you love me, Greg?" she asked. The question rolled out of her tongue like a poisonous reptile. She looked disappointed. Wait, she had expected me to strip immediately she asked me to– her faith could move moutains. "I beg your pardon!" I sounded quite firm.

Cynthia sprang up and walked up to me. She placed her hands on my shoulders. I could feel her breasts against my chest, I could smell her. And her breath wasn't as fresh as I thought it would be. She kissed my lips, then went back to her bed. She crossed her legs and watched me. She scoffed, she was impressed– she could see my erection. "Now, take off your clothes!" My heart raced. She had triggered the button that unleashed my emotions, which shrieked like a freed dragon, spitting flames sporadically. My heart somersaulted a dozen times like an Olympic gymnast. She had activated some hormones that now possessed me.

I began to unbutton my shirt. I have come to believe that Cynthia is the most libidinous being I have ever come across. Can you believe that she began to squirm on her bed like a worm? Can you believe that she slid her fingers into her mouth? Before I could tell what I was doing, I had mounted her like a cock. Even though she was still dressed she began to make silly sounds– moaning and groaning and grumbling in quick succession – like I was actually doing something . Then I heard a car honk at the gate. Cynthia jolted. I found myself on the floor. "Hide, hide, my parents are back!" She spoke hastily, like someone was aggressively stuffing the words into her mouth. "My clothes, where are my clothes?" I whispered fiercely.

I had taken off my shirt, my singlet, my trousers, my socks and my shoes; the only piece of clothing on me was my pair of boxer shorts. Fear girdled me ; it spun around me, it spooled me until I could feel a giant lump in my neck and a vibration on my diaphragm. The car honked again. Twice. Thrice. Then either seven or eight times. I sent my eyes around the room. Maybe fear blinded me, for I couldn't see anything. "Go under the bed." Cynthia ordered, then she ran outside to open the gate. Had I been astute, I would have found my clothes, worn them, followed Cynthia out, hid behind the gate when she opened it , and stealthily winkled myself out of their compound before her parents saw me. Or I would have scaled the fence, or hidden beneath one of the cars; perhaps I might have just stood on the porch and welcomed them with a smile. But my thinking faculty was clouded with panic. My brain must have escaped the confines of my head and settled at my feet.

I heard the gate whistle and a car hum. I slid my naked self beneath the bed on my belly like a snake. I feared the bed would come crashing down on me. I was shamefully conscious of my nakedness. What had I gotten myself into? Then I heard indistinct voices approach. Gradually, the voices became clearer. They spoke loudly like they were arguing. " Do I blame them? No." A man bellowed." I blame the aviation minister." "Is that one even an Airport?" A woman yelled. " Cynthia bring me water." "Yes Madam." Cynthia replied, sounding formal and obsequious. I tried to draw inferences from what I had heard : Cynthia was a maid, a house-girl. She had invited me to her house because she thought her employers had travelled. But their flights had been either cancelled or delayed or postponed and they had returned home utterly upset. If they found me ,in their present mood, l was absolutely certain they'd fry me alive.

My body shivered. My head throbbed. I felt like screaming but it seemed I had a dozen tongues muffling my throat. My erection had shrunk into the size of my little toe. I wished I had listened to Chuks. Cynthia was a bad girl. She had cajoled me into coming to her house and I had ended up under her bed.She was a porcupine with shootable quills.

I felt like the most foolish being in the world. My hiding place gradually became hot and stuffy. I broke sweat and my body was wet and sticky against the tiled floor. Tears gathered on my eyeballs, blurring my vision– I just had to cry. I heard the door crack. I saw four feet approach. I froze. My feet trembled. I stopped breathing. My heart raced. The throbbing in my head intensified. " Cynthia what are your clothes doing on the floor?" The woman I believe was Cynthia's madam asked rather casually. "Sorry Ma!" Cynthia replied, her voice hoarse like there was phlegm hooked somewhere in her throat. The woman hissed loudly. Then I heard the bed shake slightly as she sat on it." Get to work. Make sure that food is ready in no time, " she ordered and I heard Cynthia say " Okay Ma" and leave the room. " Better wake me up when it's ready!" The woman yelled. I heard her yawn. The bed creaked slightly as she lay on it.I was afraid she might hear my heart beat. I was done for!

READ EPISODE 1 HERE

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Author: Freddie Betse, A creative guest writer on Ikpaiju's blog. He is a Mass communication student, studying at NTA Television college, Jos.. an affiliate of Ahmadu Bello University, Zaria. was done for.

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