by Kathryn Olushola
1. The first time you both met, he had come to visit you at your hostel. He brought two plates of jollof rice for you and your roommate and then sat on your bed. Your roommate was at the other end of the room, munching on her food. She called you over to come watch a funny video she had seen online and he followed. When you leaned in to watch the video, he leaned in too; he leaned behind you so that the thing between his thighs pressed against your baka. He grinded on them the way strippers do on poles and it would have been sexual assault if you hadn’t enjoyed it.
2. The second time you met him, it was more of two people with raging libidos looking for where to let loose, than people who just wanted to sit, talk and watch muscular men lift heavy objects at the stadium. You both sat and talked but when it got dark, when the muscular men had all packed their equipments and gone home, you swung into action. You both hid behind the pillars and began joining your bodies together as one. His hands searched for the two oranges on your chest and when found, he squeezed them softly like the way a baby would squeeze everything that got in his hands. A moan escaped your lips. Your hand, too, found its way to his pintle.
You were interrupted by the flashing of lights.
“Who dey there?”
You both manifested from behind the pillars.
“I wan lock the gate, day don dark. Make una dey go.”
Usually, when people are caught like that, the urge to continue usually dies but instead, it fuelled yours. On your way out of the stadium, you told him about a quiet lane that your friend, Ifeanyi, had named. Ifeanyi called it ‘Lover’s Lane’.
“Let’s go there. It’s not that far.”
You took his hands as you walked down and upon arrival at the lane, you kissed some more. The sound of a car from a distance halted the show that you were both putting on. You groaned. Surely the universe didn’t approve of that insanity. Frustrated, you both walked back to your hostel, Nkrumah. It was late now, stars, scattered all over the sky.
Behind Nkrumah was an abandoned hostel that was being renovated. You looked at each other; words needed not be spoken because your eyes said it all. Like a lady walking alone in the dead of the night, you walked briskly with him, into the abandoned building.
Flesh against flesh without protection, your body collided with his and you soon came.
3. The third meeting was the last. It had been months since the first and second meeting happened. You had both been between each other’s thighs. There was nothing much left to be done but maybe, he wanted more.
A school bag hung on his shoulders as you both walked down to the school stadium. It was an early Saturday evening. Boys wearing jerseys scattered across the road. When you both arrived at the stadium, you sat at the top-top row with him. He opened his bag and extracted two bottles of soft drink and a travel magazine. Then he tried to kiss you.
You got angry and stumped down the flight of stairs at the stadium. He ran after you, telling you to hold on but you gave him deaf ears. All the way down to your hostel, you were both screaming at each other in Igbo.
Then he finally said, “Biko, bia. Please come.” But you replied “Ka anyị ghara izute ọzọ. Let’s not meet anymore.”
He smiled, said ‘Goodbye’ and left.
That was the end.