The Club Of God- Fearing Men- 3

Genesis was not exactly a connoisseur of churches but he had been to his fair share of them to know which was which. He had also grown up with a righteous, religious mother.

http://www.zazzle.com

He knew there were different kinds of churches. The body of Christ had long divided itself, he observed.

There was the come-as-you-are type of church, those ones were well populated with all kinds of people. They had the good, bad and ugly. They were the ones that cared about who wore what and who drove what kind of car to church. The pastor would usually be a thirty-ish man with sleek suits, a darn beautiful wife and permed hair. He would be the type who jumped up and down the pulpit and talked about how much God wanted you to be rich.

That was the kind of church he preferred generally. Whenever he chose to not spend Sundays at hoe, whenever he felt he needed a cleansing of some sort; he would find one come-as-you-are church and fix himself.

He had once dated a girl who attended one of those churches. Her name was Lois and she was crazy about marriage more than she was about him. He had been twenty four then, certainly not thinking about marriage, but of course she hadn’t known that. She dragged him to church one day and promptly introduced him to her pastor as her ‘missing rib’. Genesis had almost choked on suppressed laughter that day.

“Are you born again, young man?” the Pastor had asked.

“He goes to church, sir.” Lois had said before he could reply.

Again, Genesis hid a snicker. The pastor was asking the wrong person that question

‘Have you confessed Jesus with your mouth and believed Him in your heart?” the Pastor had asked, still solemn.

Yes, he wanted to say. Lois and I confessed together last night, in my bed. She confessed my name with her mouth and the orgasm I gave her almost made her heart explode. She literally got born again in my bed last night. So yes, that counts.

“Yes sir,” he said instead with a barely-straight face.

And that was it. The Pastor had given them their blessing. Genesis had walked out of the church that day, warning Lois never to ambush him that way and in fact, breaking up their relationship.

So yes, he had a lot of experience with CAYA churches.

The second type of church he had witnessed was the Republic Of Church Repellants. Those types could smell sin from afar. They would look at you with what he called the Eye of Judgment and write you off instantly by the way you look on the outside. They were the type that would out rightly quote the-soul-that-sinneth-shall-die.

These types he did not like because the men dressed like underfed herbalists with faded or jump-up trousers and sometimes had irreparable body odour. Their mouth odour was the type that came from too much fasting that it had become the permanent smell of their mouths. They believed going to heaven was something that required looking tattered on earth. He had met so many of them while he was in the University and they disgusted him with their overly loud praying habits, the many fires they set to their enemies and the way they pretended they did not masturbate in the privacy of their rooms.

The ladies on the other hand dressed like sadists, like they’d been told that wearing colorful dresses was a mortal sin. They dressed in pleated ash skirts that hid their buxom (if any) asses and turtleneck shirts without shapes. They dressed like they were mourning the Jesus who died instead of celebrating the one who lived.

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His mother, he felt was a good example. He had never seen a woman so devoted to God and yet so fashionable. She had lived with their unbelieving father for many years and had managed to remain in the faith, as she often reminded Genesis and his brother. Truth be told he was looking for a woman like his mother. One who would be so dedicated to God and yet everything about her screamed romanticism. Someone that would be sexy but totally unaware of it. Someone who would look him in the face and throw his bullshit right back at him.

Not someone who faked spirikoko-ism, but someone who truly was.

That would be the true challenge.

So when he walked into the church he had decided on, for that Sunday, Genesis’ church sensors went up. The man who welcomed him at the door, smiling politely was dressed in a worthy outfit of jeans and a shirt.

Good, at least these ones didn’t consider wearing jeans a sin.

He smiled back at the brother and was passed on to the next usher; a lady this time, in smart jeans and a shirt too.

Apparently, it was jeans Sunday. He groaned within as he saw that most of the congregation was clad in jeans.

It must be a special program. He thought, taking his seat beside a lady whose head was bowed.

In the few seconds it took for him to survey his environment, he knew he had hit jackpot. This was it.

All he had to do was wait for the choir to come upstage or upaltar, or whatever they called it these days and he would know if the deal was sealed.

Time to settle into play acting. He closed his eyes and joined in the prayer frenzy with one eye open.

Just as he was getting restless that the prayer session was getting too long, he spotted her through the space in his hands.

She had just walked in, her right hand clutching her purse. She whispered something to an usher and continued walking; past him. On her head, was a baseball cap, matching her casual outfit to a tee.

He shifted his position to get a good look at her.

Darn, she was beautiful, he thought. Jackpot, baby.

His eyes followed her as she continued to the front. Her bum was obscured by the overlapping long shirt but he could tell from her hips that she had a fairly big bum.

But why she had to go all the way to the front, he had no idea. Was she one of those women that loved to sit up close to listen to the Pastor?

Oh well, he was about to find out.

To Be Continued…

Mimi .A.

The Club Of God-Fearing Men – 2

When he was six, Genesis had given his life to Christ before the congregation of children. It was his first attempt at that and he could faintly recall the childish excitement that had plowed through him as he stood among others, bowing his head and repeating those words after the children teacher.
He had taken the life back fifteen days later, or so he believed, when he had stolen a piece of meat from his father’s covered bowl of soup.
His father was not religious, it was his mother that took him and his brother to church every Sunday while his father sat at home, smoking cigars and reading the sports section of the papers.
He had once asked who named him Genesis and his mother had confessed that she had always wanted to name her children after significant books of the Bible. She had named him Genesis because he was the first; named his brother Matthew because he was the beginning of new things a.k.a new testament. She had admitted that if she had a girl, she’d have named her Ruth or Dorcas, the purple woman.
In a way, Genesis appreciated his name and the illusion it often created. People automatically assumed that he was a good person whenever he mentioned his name. After all, how could one answer a name as significant as Genesis and still be bad?
He had his first girlfriend when he was eleven; her name was Amarachi and she was two years older with breasts the size of agbalumo which he was awed by; her skin was the colour of one who barely escaped albinoism- yellowish red. She was the newest girl in class, older than most of them because her father was a contractor who moved around a lot, causing adverse effects on his family.
Genesis had known he was very good-looking early in life; his mother boasted about her sons every moment possible. She would stand them in front of the rectangular mirror in her room and tell them they were the most beautiful boys’ a mother could ever wish to have. She would proceed to point out the ‘beautiful’ parts of them. Their pointy nose, their nearly-pink lips, their straight legs, their full head of hair and their brains.
‘You are both very intelligent, do you know?’ she would say. ‘My children cannot be dummies. If anybody calls you dummy, tell them you are smart.’
By the time Genesis was eleven, he was a confident boy, comfortable in his skin. He knew what he was and nobody could take it away from him.
Till date, he mentally thanked his mother for building that confidence in them.
He gave his life for the third time when he was fifteen. The church his mother had been attending then had done an outdoor movie show where they played the movie ‘Burning Hell’.
The movie had been so vivid and fear-inducing that even those who had given their lives to Christ before, rushed out to give it again the moment the Pastor made an altar call.
Genesis couldn’t sleep for three days without hearing the sounds of those screams from hell. And each time he woke up, he begged God to forgive him and not throw him into hell.
The fear lasted exactly two weeks and he began to slip back into his old ways. The dreams stopped, the memory of the movie faded and he slowly but surely took his life back from Christ.
Since then he hadn’t given it again. He had sailed through university living the life of a man who liked his women, who knew what he had to offer and who wasn’t willing to relent on the fullness of life.
Genesis liked games and most of all, he was smart. That was another reason the ladies liked him. He was the one they came to for tutorials when exams were closing in.
The challenge of nailing a spiri-koko sister was one that sent adrenaline rushing through his veins. He was twenty-five, still virile and not looking to start a family so soon. Games like these, were what made life very interesting.
As he got ready for church that day, he replayed his plan in his head again.
He had not shared with his friends his strategy.
He would find the church, attend service there, twice at most and then miraculously ‘give’ his life to Christ in public glare. He would be touched by the sermon and kneel in reverence before God. His acting had to be top-notch to convince any potential prey.
A true spiri-koko woman, would not want to pass him up. He wasn’t just good looking; he had now confessed Christ in front of the church successfully denouncing his unbelieving ways. They would rejoice for him
She would no longer see the do- not- be unequally -yoked scripture as a barrier.
And he didn’t plan to target the choristers. Those ones with their cheap notice-me tactics, were all for the taking. One strike and they would fall without a challenge.
His plan was fool proof. He was sure that he won’t even need to approach the sisters with the abrasiveness of a hunter, they would come to him. Then he would pick his challenge.
He whistled to himself as he knotted his tie. First rule of the game; look responsible. A responsible unbeliever is more likely to get attention than a haphazardly dressed one.
‘I don set o,’ he called out, to Sly.
‘Which church you dey enter today?’ Sly emerged, dressed poorly, in Genesis opinion.
‘Hin dey Opebi side. I been see am as I dey come from work on Thursday,’ he opened his cupboard, took out a shirt and threw it at Sly. ‘Guy change that shirt, abeg. Why you dey fall my hand na? Na church you dey go, you wan make dem look you like pesin wey something dey worry abi?’
Sly shrugged, pulling off his own shirt. ‘De church wey I dey go, na so dem dey dress.’
‘That shirt no be am at all. E no follow abeg. Change am. Simple. And next time you wan come spend weekend for hia, carry beta cloth come.’
In two minutes, they were ready. While Sly slid into blue loafers that matched his jeans; Genesis wore his suede shoe that he kept for special occasions or work.
He had a good feeling about today, about this church. It might be the one.
His fingers tinkled with excitement as he locked the door behind them and set out.
Hello ladies, here I come.

To Be Continued.

Mimi. A. (C) 2015

The Club Of God-Fearing Men- 1

The alarm clock plus the continuous jabs to his back caused his eyes to peel open in a slow unhurried manner.

“Ahn ahn, wetin sef?” he croaked, rolling on his side.

“Seven ‘o’ clock don knack, dude. You don forget today na Sunday?”

The owner of the voice was Sly whose real name was Solomon.

“So, na im you wan break my back?” Genesis raised himself up, in slow movements. Everything about him was done without hurry. Nothing in life was worth the rush, he often told friends.

“Abeg your mouth dey smell. Na orijin you drink last night, abi?” Sly was hovering over the mattress in boxers and singlet, clutching a towel.

Genesis eyed him. “I no fit remember. I was wasted.”

“And you know say today na Sunday, you go party last night. Na so you wan go meet Jesus abi?”

“Why you dey shout? I tell you say I get hangover?”

Sly sighed, kicking the mattress. “We have a deal, dude. Don’t forget.”

Genesis moaned as he remembered the deal.

It had started out as a mini boys’ night out, like they usually did. Him, Sly, Tango and Chris were hanging out at the club that Friday, tossing back shots of tequila mixed with humour.

Then one of them, Chris, had said something about the latest girl he was into.

“One church babe like that o, the babe no dey even give me face,” he lamented. “And she fine die, see curves mehn!”

“Use your charms on her na. You na fine boy,” Sly urged.

“Omo, this babe is not smiling jor. I don try all my tricks, she no budge.”

“Then leave am. Wetin she get sef?” Tango said. He was tall with ripping muscles and stretch marks that crept out from under his sleeveless shirts.

“There’s something sexy about babes you can’t have,” Genesis chipped in, biting down on the lime that came with his drink. “Especially these real spirikoko church girls. Those ones that will dress simple without excess makeup and all that, and then when you look underneath that simple façade, there’s a hot chick waiting to be unleashed.”

“Exactly, bro.” Chris nodded.

“Are you saying church babes no dey get conji?” Tango asked, grinning.

“No, not every church babe, no be those ones wey dey rush hide under church when they don dey old and dey find God-fearing husband. Not that type. I mean deep, correct sistah-in-da-Lord.” Genesis continued.

“And na their own go sweet pass o!” Sly chuckled. He was dark with feral features that most women found irresistible.

“True!” the other three agreed.

“Anybody don nail that kain girl before? Tango?” Chris sked, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“Why you call my name first eh?”

They laughed, they all knew that Tango was a relentless womanizer; his well-built chest and the fact that he often modeled, was an aphrodisiac for the women.

“Oya, make we do am like this. What is the thing church babes find most attractive?” Genesis asked.

“Jesus Christ?” Sly replied and they burst into laughter.

“Idiot. Check their prayer point and you will see the first thing there na God-fearing-man.” Genesis replied. “You see Caro my neighbor; on Friday night you go hear uh uh uh from her room and Sunday morning you go dey hear prayer of send me a God-fearing- husband. Even prostitutes dey find God-fearing man!” Genesis said.

“Oya in essence what are you saying?” Tango asked.

“I’m saying, Chris if you want to nail a spirikoko sister, you have to become what they want the most.”

“A God-fearing-man!” they recited.

And that was how it began. Their little joke had morphed into something like a challenge, four of them decided to take on new identities to nail the spirikoko women of their choice.

That was two weeks ago; since then they had been scouting for the right churches to attend.

The first one Genesis had attended had been disqualified the moment he met the usher at the door; a woman whose cleavages did more welcoming than the rest of her. His seatmate too, shoki-ed all the way through praise-worship and promptly dozed off as soon as the Pastor mounted the pulpit.

At the end of the service, the sister who was part of the first timers welcome committee had given him a hug that gave him an erection.

“We hope you enjoyed fellowshipping with us?” she said, with a bright smile.

“I sure did enjoy fellowshipping with them,” he replied, his eyes never leaving her heavy chest.

He did not return to that church, it would not have been much of a challenge to pick any lady in that church for their little game.

The second church he attended, located in the cul-de-sac in their street was a laugh. The first thing that had struck him was the lady who wore skirts so tight he thought they would split when she started rolling on the floor speaking in tongues.

He almost laughed at the display while watching it through his hands. Who said church wasn’t much fun?

This time when the service was over, a woman who looked a total contrast to the tight-skirt floor-roller, in her grey sweeping gown and headgear that covered her ears approached him with a semi-scowl.

Genesis had wondered if she could see into his soul and hated him already.

“Welcome brother. Are you born again?”

“Er…”he was taken aback, especially since he had planned to leave as soon as the service was over.

“You are not. I see generational curses following you, brother. Right there, hovering above your head is a black coffin. Brother, you need deliverance, you need help from God.”

“At least me I have coffin hanging over my head, you are lying inside a grave. Rubbish.” With that he hissed and exited the church.

Those were the two churches he had tried so far. His friends had spread out too; they didn’t want to concentrate on one church. So far, no body except Chris had found the right church to settle in.

Genesis sighed as he made his way to the bathroom; it was going to be another dramatic Sunday.

He hoped to have better luck at his next stop.

To Be Continued…

MIMI A 2015 ©

Toxic Power

 

 

It was a Friday night and like all Friday nights in Abuja, partying was going on. The night club opposite the hotel was blasting Dorobucci and Tinuke couldn’t help nodding to the rhythm from where she lay in the room.

She reclined in bed feeling lazy, feeling rich, clad in the night robe the hotel provided. A glass of Chardonnay balanced on the bed stand beside her.

Life was good. Ordinarily she would have been out there with the others, bodies grinding on the dance floor, sweat dripping like water from their bodies as they boogeyed. In a way she missed not being where the action was happening.
On nights like these she’d be sure to meet some rich Abuja guy, a politician or some company man with pockets so large that he wouldn’t mind giving her a treat. Most times she didn’t even need to sleep with them to go home with a wad of cash; all she needed was give them her famous blowjob, the one that had made Chris call her a goddess two weeks ago and also led the Chinese man from the pool party to start stalking her.

As much as she liked the action, the teasing and the knowledge of what her body did to the men around her, she preferred being here; in the hotel room of Chief Adenuga. The man literally reeked of money and she’d followed that smell today in Transcorp. She had a keen eye for money; heck she’d been raised in money and even though her father had disinherited her because of her blatant refusal to study medicine, she’d been determined to continue her life of luxury.
She didn’t intend on living off anybody, least of all her siblings. So she had come to Abuja; the city of dreams.
She didn’t have the brains to take on something as tough as medicine but she certainly had the body and the beauty; all she had to do was flash some cleavage and thighs and the men were goners.

Whoever said women weren’t powerful hadn’t met Tinuke Afolabi.

She was studying Theatre Arts in the University of Abuja, acting was what she did best and that was something daddy didn’t want to hear.
My daughter in Nollywood? Over my dead body!

Daddy could be vehement about some things sometimes. He was stubborn, as stubborn as she was.

She had gone ahead to apply for Theatre Arts and when she’d gotten it, daddy withdrew his support, which meant he refused to pay her fees or even acknowledge she was in school.
It was Mummy who sent her some money, then Mosun her elder sister did her best too.
Still Tinuke knew it wasn’t enough, she knew the kind of life she was cut out for and it was one where she ought to live big. She wanted to go to Shoprite anytime she felt she needed new stuff, she wanted to eat out as many times as she could, she didn’t plan on living a life where she cooked with a rickety stove and got black soot all over.
That wasn’t how daddy had raised her. And even if daddy’s money was no longer keeping her comfortable, she wasn’t going to drop her standard of living for anything.

The first time she went out on a Friday night, it had been her roommate who’d persuaded her.
Have a little fun Tinu. We’ll just get some drinks and you know, dance. Rachel said.

Tinuke hadn’t needed much convincing, she was bored. So she’d gone and met an elderly man who’d promised to reward her beautifully if only she graced his legs with her glorious behind. Those had been his exact words.

Just to sit on your laps? She’d asked, intrigued.
And anything you can think of that will make me comfortable. He winked.

She spent the rest of the evening giving him a lap dance and had walked out by three a.m with fifty thousand naira cash and the man’s card.

Her eyes spun as she stared at the money. It wasn’t the magnitude of it that stunned her, it was how little she had to do to get it.
Why did women have to become prostitutes if they could make twice as much just letting a man feel you up?
Like seriously, why did they have to risk the real thing when men drooled at the mere sight of a heavy bum and full chest?

Tinu knew there was no turning back after that night, she’d seen an easy way to make some cool cash and also give her daddy a mental kick in the gut.
Money was power and then some. Daddy knew that and that was why he had cut her off when she didn’t do his bidding.
She was back in the club the next week, dressed in a red gown that left little to imagination, barely stretching below her thighs, her voluptuous ass jutting out with all provocation.
This time, the men were all over her as soon as she stepped onto the dance floor.
She knew she couldn’t be a sex worker. She couldn’t see how those women did it; having cold meaningless sex with different faceless, nameless men for a meager sum. She had class, standards; she was a woman trying to maintain her status quo of the good life and not some desperate chica.

Now look where she was three years later; a semi-graduate and a fairly wealthy woman.
She could count on both hands how many men she had actually slept with to get where she was.
Daddy had been wrong after all, she was smart. In her own way.
She had conned many-a-men out of large wads of money. Next to money, woman was power.
No, not the vagina; it was all of woman that was power.
If not how could you explain the willingness of the men to give out money for little things like blowjobs and sometimes a little bedroom ‘kinkiness’?

As her bank account swelled, she’d reduced her night club hangouts. Today she’d met Chief Adenuga at an end of year party held at Transcorp.
She’d noticed his eyes on her halfway through the party and when she had gotten close, his sleek Armani suit tugged at her money-sensor. He had a slight paunch that she decided she could forgive because of the Swatch that dangled on his wrist. Moreso he was clean-shaven in a way that made him look ten years younger than his fifty something years.

She had been at this long enough to know when words weren’t needed. Just one look, a flick of the thumb and Tinu knew he was in. By midnight Tinu was back in his hotel room.
There was something enigmatic about him that she couldn’t quite place her hands on, his eyes followed her in a way that spotted her skin with goosebumps. When she did her famous lap dance for him, he hadn’t seemed affected. He had not fawned over her like the other men did. She had gone a step further to strip to her lingerie then tease him, and still he did not seem moved.

And then he had left abruptly.
Order whatever you want, he said before leaving. It’s on me. I’ll be back.

She had only been too glad to soak in the tub and order herself Chardonnay.
Daddy’s favorite drink.

She was almost drifting to sleep when she heard the noise at the door.
He was back.

Come, he beckoned to her as she sat up in the soft bed.
He was not a man of many words, she noticed so she didn’t say anything as she moved towards him.
It was dark, she had switched off the light minutes ago.
She stood, facing him, wondering what he wanted, what she’d have to do to please him tonight.
You are a brave girl, he said. She noticed the coarseness in his voice then and felt her pulse quicken.
I like brave men, she rejoined.

Then he pulled her to him with a force she had not reckoned and began to ravish her lips with his.
Her response was quick, unplanned, like something programmed to happen. She kissed him back with equal fervor.
His hands travelled up her back to her neck and Tinu sighed in expectation, unconsciously.
This man, was good.

She leaned into him, wanting more of his cold fingers curling around her neck.

Ah, he likes kinky, she thought. A little dominatrix.

When his fingers began to squeeze, pressing against her throat, panic set in.

Her eyes widened, their lips detached.
The struggle began. Her hands clawed, fighting for freedom.
Nothing.
He was strong, his hand never loosing grip.
Please stop, she begged. No words came out.
She knew she was dying. And she thought about daddy and his money.

She was going to die like a dog with no one to witness it. No stage lights, no cheering, just the snuffing out of her life like a light bulb.
Her eyes pooled with tears as she felt her vision darken.
She had been mistaken. Neither money nor women was power; death was power because it could take everything away from you with one swoop.
It respected no one.
END

Mimi A.

Higher Bidder

Hey guys, it’s been a while. Been quite busy but hey, I missed y’all plenty. So this is a story that was written based on a picture on a friend’s blog. It’s a flash fiction and I hope you enjoy it.

If you do, don’t forget to drop those lovely comments of yours and if you don’t enjoy it, well, still drop me some comments. Would love to hear your feedback.

Gracias.

********

 

His eyes widened at the computer screen.
It couldn’t be.
He smiled, something sinister. He wanted to stand on his chair and dance a jig or something, he wanted to whoop as loud as he could and punch the air with his fist. But he didn’t. He couldn’t, after all he was still within the office premises and even though everywhere was empty, the cameras might pick his movement and suspect something.
He had just struck gold, the information on his screen was worth…what? Well, he knew his story was about to change.
What should he do about this info? Turn it in? Or sell to the highest bidder?
Mark pretended to think about it, even though he knew that beneath it all, his greed was larger than life.
It wasn’t a question of whether he should sell, it was who would be the higher bidder? NPP or APP?
Which political party was willing to grease his palms with just enough cash?
In all his years of being an investigative journalist, it dawned on him that he had made more money from the ‘investigative’ part than the actual journalism.
He had promised Izzy something sweet this year, she had been nagging him to resign his job. She said he didn’t make enough money at it. Now was the opportunity to prove her wrong. He would sell this information and maybe retire on the proceeds, for now. Then he would keep a low profile, because with what he knew, his life was worth something too.
Thankfully, he had contacts at both political parties ; one of the perks of being a journalist was that you knew people. And they knew you.
Quickly his fingers moved over the keyboard and he typed the message and sent simultaneously.
He waited, eyes skimming the pop-up on his screen. This was a freaking gold mine and naturally he was supposed to take it to his boss or take it public, do something heroic for the nation, but was the information worth anything when publicized? Would anyone thank him? Would they give him a medal or money?
He shook his head to clear it. This was the best thing to do. Maybe not the right thing but the best. For himself and his future.

He waited for the reply.
“What info?” came from his contact at NPP.
“Something you’d really like to get your hands on. Something the public shouldn’t know. Something regarding oil. Something big.”
He didn’t want to give away much and yet he wanted the info to sound juicy, he wanted to dangle it in front of them so they would bite.
“Confirm info.” the message was from APP
He frowned. These ones were usually harder to bait.
Immediately he made a decision. He took a screenshot of the information and sent. That was safe. They would not doubt him now and besides APP was the richer party, he would absolutely love to do this business with them.

He didn’t count the minutes that passed as he sat glued to his system. His hands shook with excitement, anticipation of wealth. He also did not notice the blinking light on his phone.
The last thing he heard was the rasping sound as the bullet tore through the netting and buried itself in his ear.

 

He fell face flat on the keyboard, his eyes lolled back in his head.
He did not live to see the black-clad intruder enter, pull off her mask and kiss him lightly on the temple before carting his computer away.
“You should have listened to me Mark. I’m sorry.” Izzy whispered before leaving.

Mimi. A. ©