We all carry our wounds, our scars, I suppose. The important thing is not to let them keep us from finding the very best life possible. –Emmanuel Ajanah.
When a total stranger, at first meeting, sought to know our names, such do not get it most of the times. “Don’t talk to a stranger”, “Don’t answer just any personal question from a stranger”… We have taught our children even. But what are we securing? What’s in a name? A lot of us prefer nicknames; many others had nicknames given to them. I guess it carries more than we’ll ever have thought. A lot of experiences. It determines subsequent manner in the way we relate with people. But should this be? Unfortunately, yes.
I was resolute as a young person growing up then with all the frightening liberty to explore our great vastness and freedom called LIFE. I had restrictions. Rules. Chances to be a rebel. Chances to be the good boy. With time I became aware of my capabilities. Life was rich, and still is. But fear was also present. And one subject I must confess that did eventually top my areas of curiousity was sex. With cronies and lilies we did share our, (then), limited but strong perceptions of the matter. And the silences of the adult even accentuate our curiousity. All we know is the biblical injunctions: “Thou shalt not…” It was a hushed over topic. And we are the prey for it.
For reasons inexplicable to me even at that age I made up my mind that it would be a no-go area as far as I am concerned. A decision without adult’s influence, and certainly without their supervision. Too hypocritical, methinks then.
Christianity came to my abode about that time and I was a welcomed guest. And then the battle hit. “I’m chaste!” was my boast. “I’m a virgin!” was my pride. “The story of two clumsy starters at their beautiful wedding night…” was a story I wanted to tell the world. Nonetheless the peer pressure had it valves unleashed. But I was determined. So when friends congregate to tell stories of exploits I discovered I had none. But I was not disturbed. My imaginative and creative penchant came alive. I would concoct and narrate heart-rending stories. Sooner I became a consultant to the teeming ‘inexperienced’ and naïve youth coming to me for ‘tricks’ in the game called sex. I was a star. But within me is the settled knowledge of a spectator in a swimming pool who’d never swum and yet lectures its art to as many as possible. Living a lie, right? Thanks, but at least I had my physical purity intact. And that’s what I wanted. No peer pressure is going to add me to its statistics of sexually active youth. And it worked… for a while, though. The old, smart aleck suddenly got me by the balls and after a long protracted battle I caved in.
“So you think you’re a virgin, huh? You must be kidding, young man. Remember what happened when you were between five and six?” The thought was persistent. It was something that has never been in my thoughts until then. What happened at that time came pouring in droves into my young mind and were very overwhelming. I fought hard. So does it. I won’t give up the fight, but it won’t give in either. In retrospect I’d wished there was someone I’d talked to. But it was a hushed up thing and adults would rather scram you off the topic than listen and encourage your strength to hold on. It would have been easy if the memories flooding into me was simply my creation, but it wasn’t and I knew it…
Her name is Caroline. She was twenty-four then or thereabout… and a close friend of my eldest sister. Besides, we were all living in a big compound house. Only my sister had a room to herself. That afternoon she (Caroline) had called me out of play and sent me to buy some snacks and sweet things. These were later to be mine. Before I got back she was already prepared. Though I can’t remember if what she wore then was a wrapper or a skirt but it was lengthy apparel that covered her from waist down. The top was a white blouse. No button. No bra. In the course of what transpired between us that day I’d watched her slipped her brief out.
My sister had gone to work and would not be back till evening. Her room was made available to any close person to us, so it was not an issue if Caroline wanted the room. The moment I came in with the items she’d asked me to stay. Obediently I did. Initially, the door was left opened. Since the bed’s footing edge was near the door it was a matter of time before she quietly and gradually tipped the door closed. Twice two different persons, one of them my mother, had pushed the door open and peered in wondering who was inside. Initially she had me rest my head on her chest while she strokes my hair. I guess it was a warm-up style of a pedophile. By the time she instructed me to gently massage one of her breasts, which she’d brought out by raising her blouse and showing me exactly how to do so I was on my way to the experience called child abuse without knowing it. It was at this time the door was being opened by my mother, the second person to have popped in. Caroline was quick to draw her blouse down and had my head on her tummy with the quick whisper: “Sleep, sleep!” She pretended to be asleep herself and stretched presently as if disturbed by the seeming creaking door. Seeing me with Caroline together in a somewhat innocent position (with no disclosed part) couldn’t have raised any eyebrow. My mother simply greeted: “Oh, Caro, na you? You and this your pikin sef?” and she left. Almost everyone in the compound knows that Caroline did have a soft spot for me. If only they knew what that later translated to.
Ascertaining that all was quiet she then had me sucking her breast, and then quietly she nudged me down to her waistline, lifted up her dress, slightly shifted her pants (which she later removed totally), instructed me to use one of my fingers. I did not get it at first. She gently held my hand, singled out my licker and had me stroke where her she wanted. I started. I did. Exactly the way she showed me. Then I heard her utter some sounds. I’d stopped, thinking I’d hurt her. “NO, no, no, don’t stop, continue…” And I did. And she moaned more. Quietly. Next, she had me stripped off my only cloth; a pant and started fondling what seem the size of my licker, the way children fondle themselves especially when taking their bath, or when being bathed by an adult. But the day’s activity was rounded up with me ‘pricking’ into her. That was not for long as she had me back on the fingering thing. How she twirls and wriggles with pleasure. After a while, she…
This, I’ll tell you next uploading. Visit soon. For now, remember to post your comments. I want to know what you think.
