She lay beside me on the bed and surprisingly snuggled up into my arms. I had noticed when she came in that she had on a snug long-sleeved black dress and now I could feel her body pressed against me. Unfortunately, when I got back earlier I had worn an old singlet and a pair of shorts with no boxers. To make matters even worse, she flung her arm over my chest and cuddled up to me. With her now half lying on top of me, my arm draped across her shoulders. Her head rested on my chest and she focused her attention on the movie. I took a breathfull of the scent of her hair. I absentmindedly caressed her shoulder, then ran my hand down her arm. She didn’t say anything, so I took it further by rubbing her back and down her side to her waist, and over hips to her thigh. I encountered no forms of contours and it was then I realized she wore nothing underneath her dress. That realization triggered some thoughts in my brain. I tried to will my manhood down but it seemed to have developed a mind of its own, and before I knew it I had formed a glaring bulge in my shorts.
Amaka noticed the crisis going on and her eyes grew wide in surprise. She looked up at me and I began to apologize. To my utter astonishment, she reached out to caress it. I felt the blood rush as it grew harder. I tried to tell her to stop, but she only looked at me with a mischievous smirk on her face. She pulled the band over and it popped out into view. She grabbed it and started to stroke, stating she hadn’t felt one that big before. In spite of my reservations, I reached out to cup and squeeze her breasts. She made it easier for me by pulling them out over the neckline of her dress. I bent over to kiss and squeeze them, taking a mouthful of breast and sucking hard on her nipples, and she moaned and sped up her stroking.
I soon started to feel my ejaculation building, and I moaned as the first tingles began. She smiled and told me she wanted to see me cum. I pressed my forehead against hers and my back arched as another bolt raced through me. She murmured something in Igbo under her breath, and her mind focused as her fingers deftly tugged away. I knew I wasn’t going to last much longer. By then she was making circular motions around the head, and the tingles were coming in rapid succession, a sure sign that I was going to cum any moment.
“Shoot it out,” she implored in her husky voice. My hips bucked and she pumped with renewed vigour. I groaned and grabbed her breasts and surrendered myself. Amaka gasped and squealed as a hefty burst of whitish semen erupted from me. I grunted like a pig as she carefully pumped the life-making matter out of me. She kept on stroking, carefully squeezing until I delivered every last drop. Finally, after what seemed like ages, I finished emptying myself. She assessed the vast quantity of jizz she had coaxed out of me and we laughed. She told me it was her way of saying thank you for helping her study and pass her exam. I kissed her cheek, then bent over to suck on her breasts which were still dangling in full view. She giggled, then pushed me away before moving to the bathroom to wash her hands.
We spent the rest of the afternoon watching another movie and around four o’clock her mother called her to tell her she had arrived home. Before she left she wrapped her arms around my neck and gave me a deep kiss on the lips. I hugged her body close and she whispered into my ear that next time, I was going to return the favour. I wore a sheepish smile on my face for the rest of the week.
From that day on, Amaka became my unofficial sex partner for the rest of the service year. I say sex partner because we did not define our relationship beyond that. She herself told me in clear terms that we were just “catching cruise” and we should not make it more complicated than what it was — two young people having fun. I hadn’t been intimate with any girl for a couple of years and I was more than happy to have her satiate those urges for me. Even at that, our sexual exploits drained me both physically and mentally and I was often too tired to do much afterwards. It seemed as if I had unlocked a floodgate of her sexuality and it had all come bursting out like a ruptured dam. Just shy of her twentieth birthday, she was around the same age as when I first met Yewande back in school. I could understand she was a basketful of sexual hormones and energy and would naturally need an outlet for it.
On one of such occasions late one night, as I was getting ready for bed, she snuck into my room. The whole neighbourhood had been plunged into darkness by the lack of electricity, and I was at first scared when I heard an insistent knocking on my door. Who would be banging my door at almost one in the morning? I was surprised to hear her voice when I peered through the window. I let her in and she told me she could not sleep as she was too restless and her body was “doing me somehow”. I knew what she wanted, but I had a long day the following day. I tried to dissuade her, but she quickly flung off what she had on — a small t-shirt and thin wrapper — and deposited herself on the bed. I gave her a half-hearted excuse and told her it was too dangerous, but she told me everyone had gone to sleep and no one was aware of her movements. All she wanted was for me to “scratch her down there with my big prick(dick)” a few times and she would be alright. I eventually relented. I lowered my kerosene lamp to a low flicker, disrobed and joined her on the bed. We didn’t bother with foreplay and went straight to business. Unfortunately, I did not anticipate how hemmed up she was and we ended up screwing like rabbits for the better part of the night. We finally passed out from exhaustion when the first signs of dawn began to light up the sky.
I woke up a couple of hours later. The other side of the bed where Amaka lay was empty; she must have left at some point. I padded to the bathroom to relieve my full bladder, and returned to pick up my phone to check the time. It was around nine o’clock — my maths class was not until eleven. I saw I had three missed calls from an unknown number. I redialled and fifty brownie points for whose voice came over the line.
“DJ, I know I’m the last person whose voice you want to hear, but please, don’t hang up.” she begged.
“What do you want?” I seethed.
“Please Dimeji, I just called…to apologize.”
“What exactly are you apologizing for?”
“For treating you the way I did. I now realize I should not have done all that to you.”
“I’ve heard that script before. You do not have anything to apologize to me for.”
“DJ, listen to me!!” she yelled over the phone, “I know I offended you. Big time. You would never have treated me the way he did if I chose you. Your brother took my heart, used me, and smashed it to pieces, something I know you would never have done. I know you cared a lot for me, and that is why I’m calling for your forgiveness. I would have a long time ago, but I did not have the courage. Everybody I spoke to about it told me I made the wrong decision — I chose the wrong brother. I’m sorry Dimeji…I’m so sorry…but it was partially your fault too.”
I stared at my phone for a second. “How was it partially my fault?” I asked, not believing my ears.
“You didn’t take charge…you didn’t try hard enough.”
“What the hell do you mean? What else did you want me to do? What did he do that I didn’t?”
“You treated me like I was your little sister. He treated me like…”
She paused. “Like what?” I demanded.
“Like a…lover.”
“Bullshit! Lover indeed. The only thing I did not do was to force myself onto you. Maybe that’s what you’re mistaking for “lover”.”
“Please DJ, don’t make this hard for me. I’m trying as it is without you hurting my feelings.”
“Do I sound like I give a shit about your feelings?”
“DJ don’t say that! I said I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have treated you the way I did. If there is any way I can make it up to you, you know I will not hesitate doing it.”
“it’s too late for that. I came to terms with it a long time ago. Don’t worry about making up anything to me.”
“Please Dime…”
“I just want you to tell me something, and I want you to tell me the truth,” I paused for a moment, “did you sleep with him?”
There was a long silence before she responded, but that silence told me what I wanted to know. “Yes,” she replied, “I-I’m so sorry.”
“You do not need to be sorry.”
“I didn’t mean to…”
“It was your decision to choose him Yewande, since he treated you like a “lover”.” I said coldly, my voice again rising a notch. “It hurt me deeply, but I ended up accepting it. It took a while, but I realized it made no sense fighting for something that was never mine to begin with…”
“DJ, don’t say that…” her voice broke over the line.
“…it was your choice. You went with him. I wasn’t happy, but there was nothing I could do. It wouldn’t have hurt me so much if it was some other guy, but I learned to live with it. You do not have to apologize for anything. There’s nothing to apologize for.” I concluded.
“DJ…”
“Goodbye Yewande, and please, don’t ever call me again,” I said and ended the call.
End of part two.