“Ekùn! One-man battalion! The one and only Minister of women affairs of the entire Naija kingdom…”
Tunji smiled as his friends hailed him. He knew the facts behind the words, and he had tried several times to set them straight, but it has been grossly futile.
“…any other Minister of your station is counterfeit.” Mide, the very outspoken one in the group, added the popular line before inviting him to join in the feast of suya.
“Oga, this meat por ground e suweet pha! Musa I don phut am flenty flenty por me!” He mimicked the suya seller the aboki-way.
They’ve been friends since they were children. Right from the times they did the daddy-and-mummy plays as kids with girls (which always caused a fight since they all coveted the role of daddy and not son; because daddy and mummy sleep on the same bed), he has proved himself as a person with keen interest in the mechanics and physiology of the point of intersection of the female thighs.
“Oh! Me I don porget. No be this kin’ suya Tunji dey chop. Na the one wey get…”
Tunji wouldn’t let him finish the sentence before he interjected. “And how many times will I tell you guys I’m a changed person now?”
The laughter that followed was loud; it spoke lots with an undertone of sarcasm. He had said the words without thinking and he sounded like he had used them many times already. Convincing his friends that he has finally changed for good was a tough one, but he hammered it more at the time, being utterly convinced himself that it was true.
Mide coughed in his characteristic mischievous style; a gesture that always suggested that he has a trick up his sleeve. Silence ruled for a moment just before Mide’s voice filled the air.
“Are you saying you wouldn’t buckle,” he glanced at Tunji’s fly, “even if Risi swayed all the ‘real estates’ provocatively before you?” He fixated on Tunji while his hand independently moved a piece of meat into his mouth.
His reply wasn’t as quick as appropriate, but he managed to say a few words to stifle the gathering that was already buzzing with shades of chuckle and laughter.
“I won’t!” Tunji responded sharply, drawing just the right amount of attention he wanted. He furthered to bank on the situation.
“I don’t know this Risi you so hype, and I don’t care how configured… no, sorry, how impressive she looks; all I know is that I won’t falter ‘cuz of her. Besides, staying firm also takes the grace of… of er…”
He stuttered as the weight of a distraction overwhelmed him, leaving the opportunity for Mide to trace his line of sight which settled on a spot. A spot fully occupied by Risi.
“….grace of God!” Mide supplied the words to complete Tunji’s sentence and put him out of his loop.
“Exactly!” He regained focus as he moved towards the spiced meats he had mentally told earlier to get behind him.
“Maybe I’ll be needing suya after all,” he mouthed as he munched.
He exploded with a surge so great he could vividly feel energy flee from him. Tunji rolled over to a side of the bed as he caught his breath. He stared at the ceilings but saw nothing, apart from the faint irregular marks that play tricks on him sometimes. It was the third round of intimate lifting, thumping and grinding with her in just one night. He lied sweaty; spent.
The kissing and sucking insect by the nomenclature Risi had made sure his life never remained the same starting from the day they had had the suya that changed everything. To her, it was another one down, many more to go.
The ceiling smudges gathered before him to form a crooked image of the all-seeing eyed Mona Lisa, which made him feel exposed and guilty altogether. He remembered reiterating “the Lord has done it again and finally” to Mide when he converted for the supposed last time. Now his hollywood movie has a pidgin subtitle:
Risi don do am again.
Whatever grace means without caution?
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