Unholy

Here folks, a short story to compensate for the long break from our beloved Genesis.

Ada shifted uncomfortably in her seat as the Pastor spoke. She wondered why the man kept punctuating his sentences with fornication.
Forni-cation. Funny-cassion. Foni-cashun.
The word turned around in her head. This was her fourth Sunday attending the church and the man’s sermons seemed to revolve around that topic. Like it was the only sin that riddled the ‘body of Christ’.
“When you go to a brother’s house at night, don’t you know you’re inviting sin? Inviting forni-cation?” the Pastor yelled.
Ada wanted to tell him that even when you went in the afternoon, when the sun was at its peak, fornication was always invited. Sometimes it came uninvited, unbidden, unannounced.
She could testify to that. She let her eyes stray to the choir stand, it was somewhere she’d been avoiding since the Pastor started screaming funny-cassion. But now as she dared look, she moistened her lips as the memories bombarded her.
It was supposed to be an interview, an opportunity to know more about the choir, to know how well she could sing, to know how motivated she was to join the choir.
It was her friend Nene, who was in the choir who had suggested that she join. She had even introduced her to the Music Director.
“It would help you develop your voice and work for God,” Nene said with excitement.
Nene was very good at convincing people so she had stood no chance when the girl had embarked on a join-the-choir crusade.
He had invited her to his house;
“I normally interview prospective choir members,” he said with an easy smile which made his face look better.
He had told her to come by 2pm on Saturday because he had rehearsals by 5pm that evening.
As she looked at him now, sitting in the front row, eyes fixed intently on the Pastor, she wondered how someone could be so ugly and yet so beautiful.
She recalled the hardness; of his chest and in his groin and she felt her body tingle.
She had gone to his house that day with all intentions to join the choir. She’d met him fully clothed and welcoming and she remembered thinking how his eyes were too close together. How he was too lanky with a tiny waist. She remembered thinking that God had probably compensated him for his looks by giving him the voice of a nightingale.

He had offered her a drink- Coke, if you please. Just to relax, before we get into business.
One hour went by and they had still not ventured into talking ‘business ‘, the more Ada tried to steer the conversation towards the choir, the more he pretended not to notice.
“Tell me about your family. How many siblings do you have?”
She wondered what her family had to do with her singing capacity.
And then he had gotten up at a point and turned on the stereo.
“Music, good for the soul.” he said.
He forgot to add for the body too.
It had happened in a flash, like she saw in the movies; one moment they had been sitting on the rugged floor, talking about mundane things, non-sexual or romantic things, and then the next his mouth had covered hers. Abruptly silencing her.
That was what thrilled her, the fact that he didn’t ask permission, that he took without asking.
The Pastor was right; stolen bread was indeed sweet.
At first she didn’t think, she couldn’t. He was kissing her senseless. His tongue playing with hers in a way she had never, never imagined.
And when she eventually began to gather her wits, he stopped.
She was breathless. His kiss had done that to her. She shut her eyes like a virgin, unsure and ashamed of herself. Ashamed that she had let him. And yet not wanting the moment to end.
And like he’d read her thoughts, he leaned in for another kiss. This time she welcomed him.
By the time his hands strolled to her green blouse and fumbled with her buttons, she knew she had no willpower to stop him.
And when he entered her, she screamed Jesus first, then his name, all in one breath.
Odogwu!
Thankfully the stereo was loudly blasting Frank Edwards ‘Thank God I Made It’.
Ada remembered thinking how ironic it was that they’d made love with that song playing in the background.
By the time they lay spent on the red rug, Ada imagined that the rug smelled of sex, of sin.
The next time she really looked at him, she saw not his ugliness, but a certain beauty. A beauty that came from giving pleasure.
And she wondered again, whether this was how the Spirit led people.
After having mind-blowing sex with the man and screaming his name in ecstasy, they would conclude that they were being led to marry him.
It had to be blasphemy; it had to be sin to get such fulfilment from sex. No wonder God had restricted it to marriage.

“So, did I pass the interview?” she turned to him, hoping he had enjoyed it as much as she had. She wasn’t an expert, not like him anyway considering that the number of lovers she’d had could be counted on just one hand.
He nuzzled her earlobe, tickling her.
By the time they went for the second round, Ada was convinced she would marry him. After all, a good marriage was sustained by a great sex life. If only she could have this for the rest of her life; she knew she would worship him. Worship at the altar of his little god- which was actually quite big.
And every night – and day maybe – he would take her to heaven.

“So what are we now?” she whispered, her feet curling into his.

“One,” he replied, kissing her again.
She chuckled to herself as she looked at him with his bushy eyebrows, looking so prim, proper and holy in his white plaid shirt.
She planned to visit him after service today, later this evening. She hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him since their encounter a week ago.
She had to convince him that they were just right together.
Her attention was jerked back to the service as the Pastor said he had an announcement to make.
“There’s a wedding in our church. Pra-ise da Lord!”

She joined in the resounding hallelujah.
“Two of our members are tying the knot in a few months. They just informed me. Let us rejoice with Brother Odogwu, our able Music director, a man after my heart. He will be getting married to Sister Mariam. Please step forward both of you.”

As both parties approached the altar, Brother Odogwu beaming with pride and Sister Mariam, a shy petite woman clad in a sweeping skirt; there was a commotion at the back of the church.
It seemed a sister had just fainted or fallen under the anointing; no one could tell for sure.

THE END

Mimi. A ( C) 2014

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.

http://www.religifake.com

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.

Dear Future Husband; A Letter

Photo by LivluvCreate

Dear Future Husband,

Believe me I will not be writing this letter to you if it were not so important. I have pondered on it many times and have decided it is important I communicate this with you before you approach me.

There is one thing you will need if you want to marry me. Forget the cars, the duplexes, the 9-5 bank job or the fat wallet, this thing is more important than all those. In fact, if used well, this thing will get you all those.

I am sure you are dying to know what it is that will be your ticket to marrying me. Let me tell you, it is something seemly insignificant but I tell you it is a case of the pen being mightier than the sword. And please do not laugh because if you do it will just convey to me that you are not the kind of man who understands the deep things of this life.

Okay here it is, my dear future hubby, you need dimples.
And no, I am not some dumb blond. I will not tell you what I have not researched about. I have seen the power of dimples first hand. In fact, the other day I went to the bank to do a transaction and while at the counter waiting my turn, a lady brushed by me and marched to the front like she owned the place.

I opened my mouth to tell her it was my turn next and she turned to me and the moment she smiled I knew that the battle was lost. This lady had the freshest dimples you could imagine. I almost died and went to heaven.

She now spoke in one tiny voice like that and said things I cannot remember because I was too busy basking in the glory of those two deep holes in her cheeks.
Now, I am not gay(how could I be, when I’m rooting for you?) but dimples have this effect on me that it doesn’t matter who has them; man, woman, animal, alien. I do not mind. They drive me crazy, in a good way.
You should know how the rest of the story goes.
So, future hubby; you don’t have to be tall, dark and handsome. Don’t worry dimples would take care of that. They have a way of wiping off any sort of ugliness in anybody. When you show them, everybody forgets about whatever inadequacies you have. With dimples, you are beauty in the eyes of every beholder.
And by dimples I don’t mean those semi-dots, those wannabes that appear by mistake on people’s faces. Like mine. Do you know how many times I have stood in front of the mirror and folded my mouth in just to produce actual dimples? I can’t count, I tell you. I mean real dimples, the deep ones that your finger can fit in.
Let me tell you why dimples are important again, for us. You see, dimples are like boobs. I have boobs so I can tell the effect they have on men alone, this time. They open up closed doors; they are powerful in an inconspicuous way. And with dimples you and I will never have to fight. Because I am very sure that by the time you bestow me with a glorious dimpled smile, my anger will evaporate and I would forget what I had been angry about in the first place. That way, we get to have lots of make-up sex even when there is nothing to make up for.
But that is good, right? After all, the key to a successful marriage is sex. And from what I hear make-up sex is the most beautiful kind; spontaneous and passionate. If we keep doing that, our marriage is sure to succeed. Do you know why?
Dimples.
Do you now see why it is paramount for you to have them?
With dimples, even if you don’t have a car or a good job when you come to marry me, my mother would convince my father to hire you and then marry me. You see, mother is a sucker for dimples too.
I am concerned about this because I am dimpleless and it has been a source of worry for me all these years. I have however made up my mind that when I have become a millionaire like some of these celebrities, I will fly abroad and have plastic surgery done. The kind where they only put dimples in my face. I hope that kind of surgery exists because I am thinking, if they could change a black man to white with plastic surgery, why not put dimples where there were none? Faces are like pasta, no?

photo by drahanorov

But I digress; I was saying that I am sure that if I marry you, dimples would automatically be in our children’s jeans…I’m sorry, genes. That has been my earnest prayer all these years.

Lord, what I have never been able to get, my children shall have in hundred fold. Amen.
So you see, you are paramount to the answering of this prayer.
Now, I know you will read this and I am telling you now, please, biko, mbok, ejooo drill a hole in your cheeks if you want me to ever recognise you because I have asked God to blind my eyes to any man whose cheeks are naked.
And my God answers prayers.
I will wait for you.

Your Dimpleless Future Wife.

Photo by Hitarek.net

HaPpY New YeAr: Unapproachable LiNDa

2015! Yaaay! Hey people. So, a friend and I played around with New Year stories and this is what I came up with. And as kind and generous as I am, I decided to share with you lovely readers.

Here’s to the first Hourglass post of the year. A little som’thin som’thin to keep you chuckling.
Cheers!

Don’t forget to drop your thoughts, they would be much appreciated. Enjoy!

*****

The night smelled of burning rubber. He clenched his hand to allay the nervousness that was eating away steadily at his gut.
Woman wrapper was the word that did it. That Timothy, of all people could call him that tore at his pride.
He; who had dared ask unapproachable Linda in her high heels and short skirts, out.
It was ironic that he was doing this now for her. She had promised that next year would be different, that she would not stop him from being with her- as long as he could prove himself.
Prove how? He asked, a puppy seeking approval from its master.
She had looked at him with those brown eyes and said; for New Year, I want a life chicken.
What? His twenty year old brain could not comprehend what a life chicken had to do with their romance.
Show me how much you love me. I love you, I love you no be by mouth.
She was right. Linda was an expensive girl, it showed in her rainbow makeup and her Ghana-must-go type of handbags. If he wanted to keep her interested, he had to buckle up.
And so he had found himself here. About to rob a church.

The idea had come as a joke at first, three jobless youths talking about how to make quick money this period. He had laughed it off when big-eye Timothy had suggested it.
But Ayo had bought the idea; had even offered to get the toy guns for the operation.
Why use guns if they’re toys? He wondered.
To scare them.
He had refused at first, thinking of his resolution to turn a new leaf this New Year. Then he had thought of Linda’s life chicken and Timothy’s taunting.
Just this once. And it must be over before 12:01am. He believed in resolutions.
He felt a tap on his shoulder and Timothy nodded at him. It was time. They slipped on their masks and waited as Ayo made his way to the back of the church.
The plan was simple; intimidate an usher to get the message across to the Pastor that service was being interrupted. Enter and make everyone surrender their valuables. Easy. The church was one of those average churches that had zero security.
As he stepped into the church behind Timothy, he saw that Ayo had done his job; everyone was lying face down.
Ayo handed him an offering bag.
Armed with bag in one hand, gun in another, he began his rounds.
Everybody submit your valuables before I shoot. Timothy growled.
Ike’s hands shook as he passed the bag around, his eyes glancing at the big clock intermittently.
11:50pm.
Ike! A harsh whisper in a familiar voice.
It was Linda, kneeling, her hands dangling over the offering bag he held.
He opened his mouth to explain then stopped as she raised her right thumb discreetly before lowering her head.
His confidence returned as he realised she had just given him the go-ahead.

Mimi A (C) 2015

Sunday Tonic- Aggression (Just for Laughs)

Pastor Konga’s church premises was one of those former buildings that they used for events like clubbing, pool parties(even though there was no pool) and the likes; he’d somehow found a way to change its appearance and turn it to the house of God.
He’d divided the building into two, one side was the main church and the smaller side was…something else that I suspected was the office because its doors were closed when I got to the church that evening. Everywhere looked deserted; the altar side was crudely decorated with all these faded palm fronds. Maybe they were trying to copy all these big churches that used those fine artificial flowers to decorate their altar but their copy copy had gone wrong because their own palm fronds were the colour of dying animals but then again it might just have been my bias against the Konga ministries.

A sign on the altar flashed “Jehovah Sharp-Sharp, the God of amoured combet”. Yes, the armoured was missing an ‘r’ while the ‘a’ in combat was an ‘e’ and I had to laugh. Wetin the man use im degree do sef? And what about his air-headed members? They hadn’t seen these mistakes since?

Something reminded me that my wife was one of the air-headed flock and I wasn’t surprised she could believe such bullshit about Sabbath sex and worefa. His members couldn’t spell common ‘armoured combat’ and when did Jehovah Sharp-Sharp turn to one of the names of God? Mtcheeew I was too busy boiling within that it took me time to notice the sounds coming from the office. I however began to hear the muffled screams of ‘Oh God!’, ‘Jesus!’ and some occasional shouts of ‘sharwama’ which I later modified to be tongues. Tongues from the Pastor Konga.com himself.

He was praying. Chai. How could I disturb a man that was on the mountain? What kind of bad luck was this one sef? I didn’t have all day to wait for him. And when on earth would his prayers finish? Even God would not forgive me if I interrupted the man’s prayers like that just because he’d reduced my sex life to zero.
Shey God struck someone in the Bible dead because of interruption of the Priest’s prayers? Ehen, any time you enter the Ark of God, it is holy and if any kain person interrupts the Priest while he is in the Ark of God, fyam! His own don finish. Shey na wetin do that man wey make King David fear say make them carry Ark of God go those other people country? Yes, yes. My memory isn’t rusty after all. I still sabi Bible small.
         Oya wait. Just wait let him finish the prayer. Ten minutes no go kill you.
So I sat down and began to wait. But the missing r in ‘armoured’ no allow me to rest, then the ‘e’ in combet con dey vex me, I just decided that I couldn’t take it anymore. I stood up and went to the office door and knocked.

I didn’t hear anything again. Gbam. My guy man don pray finish. Halleluyah!
I knocked again, I come dey hear noises like say person dey arrange something. I could not wait again, I just entered.
See me see Pastor Konga. Sha the man is fine and that fact alone made me angry. He is using his fineness and bad English to scam people. Amoured combet ke.
He was sitting behind a large desk, gripping the edge of the desk hard and frowning, Bibles were open on the desk and a bottle of oil was there too.
“Yes?”
He was sweating, a side effect of correct prayer, I think.
“Pastor Konga dot com…erm…sorry. Pastor Konga my name is Kingsley Iwu. My wife is er…a member of this church and…”
“Who’s your wife?” the man was boning.
Why is he looking angry with me? Because I barged in on his payers? Haba. But my matter is urgent nah. Amoured combet cannot just be attacking me inside that church and I will just stay like that or maybe it is me that needs deliverance. Maybe angels are chasing me out of the church because I am a sinner.
“Sorry for disturbing your prayers sir,” I offered.
“Er…yes. No problem. Please be quick I would like to returned back to it.”
Did he say ‘returned back’? Omo, see gbabagaun nau. See if I be all these people wey dey screen churches, I will just ask the pastor to preach one sermon and if he just dey scatter grammar I will just order the church to be closed down. Hian.
Now how do I start to make this complaint that I will not look stupid? Pastor, my wife is not sleeping with me again because of you? And he hadn’t even asked me to sit down. So I took initiative and offered myself a seat, in the chair across him.
“Yes? Yes?” he prompted, tapping the desk.
“Erm…are you married, Pastor?” Safe approach, let’s talk man-to-man.
“No. The Lord hasn’t lead me yet but what is the business of that with this? Who is your wife?”
“Well, I thought you were married so we could talk like men but the bottom line is my wife is not sleeping with me except once a week because you apparently told her to cut down on her carnal crap. Is that what God sent you to do, Pastor?”
I could swear I heard a snort. From him? But his face didn’t move. And how dare he laugh at the mess he created?
“Ahem,” he cleared his throat, “can we talk it another time Mister…Iwu? I am on the middle of something, please? I understand all you’re saying but now is a bad time…as you can see I am…er…praying.”
“But you’re talking to me now. Why don’t you just pick the phone and call my wife and tell her you heard wrong from God that she can absolutely have sex with me? What’s the big deal there? Besides let me tell you, I don’t believe that God will ever say such a thing. Wetin concern conductor with overload na?”
“Please sir, later please. I will attend to you…tomorrow. You know how it is when you’re praying and receiving from God. It is not good to interrupt spiritual things like that. Just come tomorrow eh and remember I am a man of God, so mind how you talk to me.”
“So tomorrow you will fix this problem?”
“Definitely.”
I wasn’t satisfied but it was obvious he wasn’t going to attend to me today and since he’d promised I would get answers tomorrow, I agreed to leave.

So I turned to leave. My mission had been futile. I walked to my car with head bowed, no sex tonight again? How long will this go on? I bent to open the car but realised that I wasn’t with my keys. I must’ve forgotten them in the office. Ooh! Now how will I go and interrupt the man’s prayers especially after how he kicked me out? Which kain bad luck be that one sef?

And yet no matter how I looked at it, I couldn’t avoid it. I had to leave this church with my car which meant I had to go back to the office.

I paused in front of the door as I heard the voices. Not just Pastor Konga.com but someone else. But how? There had been no one else in the office. Who was he then talking to?
And then the screams of oh my God and Jesus began again.
Do it. Just enter and pick the car keys as quietly as possible and leave. I told myself. No need to interrupt his intercession.
So I entered, without bothering to knock and my mouth fell open at the sight that met my eyes. Pastor Konga was sitting on his desk, head thrown back in ecstasy as a woman knelt before him, ‘praying’ at the altar of his penis. Both froze as they saw me. Perfect picture pose.

Without thinking twice, I whipped out my phone and said, “Say cheese.”
Well, to cut the long story short, me and my bootilicious wife got down to the deed that night. Apparently, God showed another vision to Pastor Konga.com saying that carnal desires with one’s husband weren’t a sin after all.
Ta-da! The day is saved!

 Author’s Note: Okay so I kept my word. It is finally over. My fingers didn’t grow a mind of their own this time. Yaay! This story hasn’t been about mocking anyone, it is just a way to get people to open their eyes and not let themselves be exploited by people bearing the form of godliness. You don’t need a human mediator to communicate to God, you can do it on your own because He listens to you too. You’re His child too. I do hope that as much as this has been entertaining, it has also been able to teach us some life lessons.
Thank you for following and oh…comments are welcome as always. Always.

Mimi A.

Sunday Tonic- Acceptance (Just For Laughs)

I don’t know about you but there are times I wish I could take some ‘adults’, lay them across my knees and beat the living shit out of them. I know how that feels, not to be able to take out your frustration on the perpetrator. If you attack a grown man like that so-called Pastor Konga, people will call you a tout or a thug, they will start quoting things like ‘touch not my anointed blah blah blah’. They will not want to understand that the idiot provoked it the moment he started peddling false gospel like telling wives to cut down on sex with their husband. That is how some of these men of God will leave the main thing that God sent them to preach and come and be interfering in people’s matrimonial lives. Who asked that one for advice now? Anyway, it is why I like to look well at all these ‘men of God’ before attending their churches because you don’t know the spirit that one is carrying. Some of them will be bored and broke, they will rush and open a ‘gathering’ and call it church. If to say God dey wicked, thunder go just dey strike all of them one by one.
Now see my naïve bootilicious wife; now I know she’s never been the brightest bulb in the department…eh, yes I know, don’t crucify me because I said it out loud.
How you wan make my wife con sabi suntin pass me? But kai, maybe if she knows book just small, she will know that this Pastor Konga.com is using her head.
This woman, let me not remind her of how when we first married, sex used to sweet her like suya. Every time she will come and give me that look she knows I cannot resist, indirectly communicating that she wants some. Now she is forming sister Holy-Pass-God when even God did not say such a thing. Which one be Sabbath day again biko? And that hogwash about Sunday being too holy to have sex, where the Bible tok that kain thing?
Wait sef, is that Pastor Konga.com married sef? I am sure if he’s married, he is not obeying all these stupid rules he’s giving his members. People like them na im like to do pass and they will now be spoiling other people’s runs, pouring san-san in other people’s garri. Okay na. I will show him and my wife. She will be the one that will come and beg me to sleep with her. Yes!

Shey it has been three weeks since she made that her announcement? Since that time she started sleeping with jean trouser as if that one will stop us if we want to do anything. She has forgotten that time that we were courting that she wore all that turtleneck sweater and jeans trouser with leggings under to prevent ‘sin’, kai…but I be bad boy sha. By the time I was ready for her, the leggings and trouser disappeared like no man’s business. So she all of people should know that that one no be obstruction. If I want it, I get it. And it will not be called rape.
It is only on Thursdays she used to wear her nightie that she knows I like. So this woman now did mental timetable and picked Thursday as the day she wants to be having sex. What does she take me for, anyway? She thinks I’m a dog that cannot do without bone, then she will toss me a bone every once in a while and I’m expected to jump at it? I will just surprise her

So after her revelation I did not say anything again. I just laughed, believing when the time comes she will come around. I know one thing my wife hates, is the silent treatment so that’s what I’ve been giving to her.
I will come back from work, take a shower, eat dinner and climb into bed without a word or even attempting to touch her. She will try to make conversation by asking me question but I kill the conversation with my monosyllabic answers.
When she climbs into bed beside me after an hour of ‘shababraking’ in the sitting room, I will peek and notice her pulling on her jean trouser. Okay, she still never learn lesson. Shey the Bible say, wives submit to your husbands and your body no longer belongs to you alone? My own wife is withholding from me what is mine in the name of Pastor Konga.com. The mere thought of it makes me angry especially since we had previously agreed that we will start trying to have children this year. How will one have children with once-a-week-Thursday sex?
So, for the past three weeks I did not touch my wife and my body feel am. The sexual tension was beginning to pile up in my body and literally make my heart palpitate. Since we got married, this was the longest we’d gone without sex (of any kind). During my travels, we always made sure we kept our sex life alive through the different ways which of course we all know. But this one was telling on me, and I saw it was telling on her too. It was not the idea of not having sex that was telling on her, but the fact that I wasn’t even trying to get her to sleep with me despite the one day a week allowance. I’m sure she was beginning to wonder if I was getting it elsewhere or if suddenly I was no longer attracted to her.
I was getting cranky with everyone around me. I soon had to confess to my guy Mezie what was happening in my home.
Know this, Mezie is thirty-four and single with three baby Mamas. Yes, that is how fertile and loose my friend is. Mezie is probably bad news to any of the male folk or even female folk but somehow, he’d found a place in my heart and he had an uncanny way of reading women seeing as he’s had many entanglements with them.
So, when I told Mezie my plight, the first thing he did was laugh.
“Guy, your madam dey craze ooh!” he said in between bouts of laughter.
“Shut up and give me better advice abeg.”
He did not shut up of course. He laughed till he was satisfied and then he said;
“You sure say that Pastor no dey knack am?”
“Eh?”
“Yes nah. Wetin you expect? You think say the Pastor tell all the members of im church say make dem no do? If I hear say the men for that church listen to am. Mtcheew. Na winch?”
Yes, Mezie had a point. Was that rule for only my wife and me or did the rest of the church listen to such nonsense too?
I realised I had to pay Pastor Konga.com a visit.

Mimi A. 2014

*****Dear readers, I really wanted to end it here. I really did. I promise I didn’t plan for an extra part of this story but somehow that mischievous part of me took over and voila! I promise the Part three should be the last part of this story. Just pray for me that my fingers will not develop a life of their own. Pray, brothers, pray!
Now, you know how we do it. We cannot read and laugh over this and not comment. I want to hear your wonderful thoughts, I really do. So kindly, kindly drop a comment for Pastor Konga and our M.C if you please. Thanks in advance for being such darlings!******

Trials of an Almost Wife

Dear readers, it’s been more than a while I blogged. Whew. Forgive me please, really. I got caught up in, well…life et al. Here’s a little something I wrote a while ago and decided to share on here. I hope you enjoy it and please don’t forget to let me know what you think. I’d love your feedback. Thank you.

******

 

I’m looking at a woman I don’t seem to recognise. She stares right back at me, looking so familiar and yet so strange.

She is almost out of shape; her hips are overlapping and seem to be falling out of her body. Her ample bosom spills out from beneath the gown she’s wearing. Her make-up is otherworldly and even the layers of foundation cannot hide the lapse in her facial skin. There was a time this woman was regarded as beautiful. A time when the men had scrambled upon each other just to get a piece of her.

A time when she’d not needed nearly half of the make-up she has on now, to look pretty. A time when she would have drawn a second and even third look from a man; now all she draws are whistles from drunken men ogling her large behind.

I am staring at the woman and cannot hide the look of disgust on my face. When did she become this person? When had she lost her appeal?

I know the answer yet I am afraid to say it. To accept the truth; that the woman is me.

I turn away from the mirror and sit with a heavy plop on the bed. Nicodemus has just told me that he has found another wife. The man had the nerve to tell me that his useless Pastor has prescribed a new wife for him!

And what about me? I asked.

He said we are living in sin; that it is against God’s will.

I began to laugh. After six children kwa? You must be mad.

Nicodemus looked at me like I was the mad one. I don’t blame him. He is still handsome with his fair dimpled face and I am the one looking like his mother after having six children for him.

Who is that your pastor? I asked. Who is the man that wants to tear a family apart? Is that the work God sent him to do?

Emily, family? But I did not pay dowry on your head nah.

Idiot. So it’s now you know? When you were disturbing my bed at night and eating the forbidden fruit, you did not know e kwaa?

I am born again now ooh. Emily, don’t make me commit sin.

Born again? Better born again and go and see my father.

When he saw the argument was going nowhere, he’d left; muttering something about women.

I am waiting for him now. After nine years of living with him, playing faithful wife, opening my leg him to deliver his children all in the name of ‘I will marry you’, he has now decided to change his mind? God forbid!

I will not go back to my father’s house with six children and no husband.

Shebi when I was young and beautiful he couldn’t keep his hands off me? It was always, Emily, let me touch your breast now or Emily, give me a kiss now.

I let him touch more than my breast, I let him drink from the fountain sef, and now he wants to abandon me because I am no longer slim shady. Okay now. We will see.

If only I had listened to my mother.

Emily, don’t let that boy give you belle ooh. She said over and over again but I was too beautiful to listen. Now, he touched me and got me pregnant and my story finished. My father dumped me in his house and since then it has been baby after baby after baby.

Nicodemus! You want to make a fool of me? Oya, bring that chinch into my house and you will see all hell will break loose.

 

 

 

Mimi A.