There’s a first part of this story here.
“Have you tried reaching Bob?” Funke asked via our Whatsapp chat app. I replied positively and added that he is not around at the moment and won’t be around at the needed time either. She wanted to ask if I’d reached out to other guys, but I had to cut her in listing the number of boys in our class I’ve actually called just to get out of my father’s boring house. They are either away for the holiday or not chanced enough to accommodate or visit a fine girl like hers.
“I think Victor is a fag though.” I typed angrily and added, “Imagine him saying I’m with Somto, and he’s not ready to leave him for anyone right now.” I nearly vomited when he said it. Funke just kept typing lol from the other side. I’m sure she’s stomach filled with lots of laughter already. Then she mentioned Bola.
“Ew!” I remembered exclaiming so loud. “He’s definitely not on my list. Not ever. He doesn’t even have a guy’s name. He’s so disgusting.” I typed telling her I’ll be sleeping instead, and that’s how I ended the chat and put off my data connection.
I laid down for about 45 minutes and decided to try one more number. The call ended up becoming the worst call I’ve ever made since the holiday started about 2 weeks ago. The stupid guy I called, Rasheed, said he has about 2 prostitutes with him and won’t mind adding me to the group. He added none of them would mind turning the threesome into a handsome foursome. I swore silently and finally settled down for a long sleep, or so I had thought.
Bola ended up fun to be with after all. At a point, I asked if he had any booze at home. He replied with a ‘no’ looking at me surprisingly. I smiled and said I was just teasing, but deep down, I wasn’t. In fact, I brought out weed soon after and asked him to take a smoke after each one I took. We soon got high and did a lot of things I’m not sure either of us remembered.
When the weed-feel wore off a bit, my heart reminded me of how cool I’ve always been with Rasheed. How we did a lot of bad things together – drinking, smoking, having sex, sex chatting, exchanging nudes, name it. I felt my life smashed into pieces when he said those three nicely said words – I need space. I just slapped him and walked away from him like it wasn’t that hurtful. I cried every single day over his thoughts. Ever since, it feels like his life got better and mine got badder.
So, I cried again and this time, I buried my head into Bola’s pillow. He wanted to console me, but he can never know what the real matter was, therefore he left me alone, since I wasn’t even ready to talk. That’s how I slept off unknowingly.
Later, I felt his hands on my breasts and acted unresponsive. I think he was going to kiss me next and my brain had already designed how the next set of actions would be like – kiss, smooch, kiss, undress, kiss, suck breast, kiss, finger, kiss, blowjob, kiss, sex at last, and end with a kiss again.
Unfortunately, the next thing that happened was the loud sound of a very thick slap. I refused to wake up thinking it might be a prank or maybe he’s trying to check how deep in sleep I was before starting my brain process. The sound of the next slap felt real, and as a matter of fact, it seemed like I was the recipient of the slap. I had to wake up immediately.
I stared blankly at a very real Bola on my bed while holding on to his cheek.
“How did you get here?” He asked with a tear-filled eyes.
“How did you get here too?” I asked back lifting up my head trying to see who’s standing in front of us.
Then came down another slap on Bola’s face. This time, the tears came running down.
“Who’s she and what’s she doing here?” The man yelled angrily.
I remained frozen and glued to the wall next to me. I just realised I’m not in my house, but I’m yet to find out if I’m in a dream or not.
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