Written by Mircale Okah
It was with Goke that Lillian learnt how to whine her waist while sitting on a dick. “When you have fully sat on it, draw a letter ‘P’ with your waist… yes… yes… just like that… you learn soooo fast…” he had said, rolling his eyes as if he were entering the spirit realm.
It was Goke who taught her how to touch herself, instructing her to close her eyes and imagine him.
“Imagine I’m right there with you. What would I be doing? Yes, spread your legs and touch your clit. Yes… where else would I touch? Tell me, Lilly, tell me.”
He talked her through the whole process, made her insert her finger into her juiciness, and made her curl it as she reached a spot that made her convulse. He watched her, breathing hard through the phone.
Maybe it was his breath and the hoarseness of his voice, or maybe it was because she placed one finger on her clit and another deep inside her; she didn’t know what did it. All she knew was that she moaned out loud, shuddered, and shook on the bed as she experienced something she would later describe as “close to heaven.”
It was Goke who taught her how to arch her back. “Your back and your waist should not be on the same level. Place your chest close to the bed, raise your butt, keep your knees firmly on the bed, spread your thighs, and raise your legs backwards.”
He was the one who held her braided hair and pulled her head backwards with it as he thrust hungrily into her. She always looked forward to the painful pleasure of his slaps across her butt. She liked the way he grabbed her butt cheeks, pushed her slowly so she could lie on the bed, then pulled her waist slightly up toward him, going down with her—never breaking the connection.
One, two, three more strokes before wrapping his arm around her to find her clit. Once he found it, he would use two fingers to make slow circles, and she would raise her hips higher to meet his rhythmic plunges. And when she could no longer take it, she would let out a soft moan, and Goke would whisper in her ear:
“Yes, baby… come for Daddy… yes… good girl…”
And she would let go, surrendering to the waves of sensation, Goke following soon after.
That was years ago.
Where will Goke be now? What will he be doing? She wondered, lying on her back, staring at the ceiling while Emeka moved on top of her, moaning, going in and out of her like his life depended on it.
He didn’t care that her mind was far away. And when he did notice, he would bite her nipples as though he were calling her back to reality. Then, she would let out a fake sound — raise her hips to meet his slow pumps and shake her legs as if she were having a seizure. These small gestures turned Emeka on and made him believe he was doing something to her. He would then let out a groan, shake while still inside her, and drop his head on her shoulder, breathing heavily.
She hated that.
She hated how Emeka treated her like she was an egg that would crack under the slightest pressure. She hated how careful he was, how uninventive, how unadventurous.
“You are my wife, and I don’t intend to treat you like a prostitute. We still have many years together,” he had said one day after she asked why he never wanted to try other positions. “I don’t want to wear you out, Lili Lili.”
She hated how he called her name.
There were things she liked about Emeka, though. The way he stood by her when her mother died. The way he paid off her mother’s debts when the creditors came knocking.
The night her mother was buried was the night she agreed to sleep over at his place. She was scared of being alone. It was the same night Emeka had snuck into the room to touch her. She hadn’t put up a fight. She just let him. He was excited, like a boy given candy. She was dry, and it ached as Emeka kept thrusting in and out of her. He didn’t mind, didn’t care, and didn’t stop until he growled and shook.
Yes, that has been his way.
“You are so tight and sweet. Don’t worry, I’ll get you lube tomorrow,” he said before he walked out of the room as if they had already agreed to become fuck buddies.
And fuck buddies they did become until Emeka saw her talking to a man at the end of his street.
He had gotten out of his car and possessively asked what the man wanted with his fiancée. Both she and the man were shocked. The man apologised and left, and she got into Emeka’s car.
“We should get married before all these useless men try to take what’s mine,” he had said as they drove off. And that was it. That was how she became Emeka’s wife.
When Emeka introduced twenty-six-year-old Daudu as their new gatekeeper, Lillian knew. He had looked at her like an animal he wanted to devour, and no matter how hard he tried to hide it, she knew. So when Emeka travelled to Onitsha to supervise his spare parts business, the same one that gave her the lifestyle she now lives, Lillian wasted no time.
Daudu was nothing like Emeka or Goke. Perhaps it was his youth, or maybe it was because boys his age knew exactly what to do and how to do it.
The only thing she taught Daudu was how to suck her boobs right.
“It’s not going to burst, so don’t treat it like a balloon. Gently graze my nipples… yes, suck it like you would pure water, like you’re expecting milk to come out. Don’t twist it. Gently hold it between your fingers and roll… clockwise… now anti-clockwise. Yes…”
Daudu was a fast learner.
She locked her legs around him as he slammed into her, his mouth on one nipple, his hand on the other. She held on to him tight, as if she would split in half if she let go. And he fucked her — shamelessly, with no restraint, with no respect.
As soon as he rolled off her, panting after cumming on her thighs, she smiled and turned over.
“Just come inside me next time,” she said. “I can’t get pregnant.”
She could feel Daudu’s eyes on her, but she didn’t turn to face him.
He was now the second person who knew she could never get pregnant, not for him, not for Emeka.
