[I liked Nnenna’s story ‘Do you wanna lick me‘ and when I asked her for a part 2 she asked me to write, and so I did.]
We were like eba and jollof, Olive and I. I remember when I first saw her in church. She sat next to a woman who could only be her mother, they had the same facial features, except that where Olive had barely there make up, her mum had on ‘a full face’. Overly tweezed eyebrows, electric blue eyeshadow, bright red lipstick, and to set it off an elaborate gele to match her blue and silver aso ebi. Olive was definitely more casual in her iro and buba, her blouse slipped off her right shoulder occasionally and the glint of her gold chain showed off the hollows in her neck to perfection. I started fantasizing right there and then about putting my lips to that neck, and tracing a path all around its dips and hills.
I always knew I liked girls. It’s just been a fact of my being my whole life. It’s like breathing, it’s just something you do. And it’s never been a problem finding girls. Somehow other girls always knew that I was into girls and would make overtures at me. Olive was no different…
“Hey I saw you staring at me throughout the church service. Do you fancy me or what?”
I laughed nervously. “What do you mean fancy you?”
“Do you like me?”
Church service was over and it was time for fellowship. Because it was the first Sunday of the month the women’s fellowship had laid a spread on the grounds of the church. The youth were always encouraged to fellowship. Pastors wanted people to meet and get married young to avoid the sin of fornication. That’s why my mum dragged me to church every Sunday. I had given up resisting and found joy in the loud singing and dancing. You could learn all the latest moves in the church. That’s where I had picked up my shoki moves.
“Ermmm I don’t know you to like you or not like you.”
“Let’s meet at Sip next Friday and get to know one another ”
And so we had. I was used to women subtly hitting on me but no one had ever been as open as Olive. She arrived at Sip poured into a black lacy number that ended just above her knees and showed off her cleavage to perfection. I started to wonder about tracing that line downwards… I could see all the Naija big boys turn as she Beyoncé’d past them. My chest practically expanded worth pride. I felt like standing on the top of the bar and shouting, ” she’s with me losers!”. Perhaps I shouldn’t have come to the date strapped on, my cock always brought out the aggressor in me…
That date was the beginning of my relationship with Olive. 5 years later and I had no doubt that she was the woman I wanted to spend the rest of my life with, SSMPA be damned. I knew my Mum was suspicious of our relationship but at the same time Olive appeared like the quintessential good Nigerian girl, and her feminine persona and willingness to help my Mum in the kitchen threw Ma off.
“Why can’t you be more like your friend Olive and do your hair nicely rather than this rasta mess you have on your head”
“Have you seen how pretty Olive looks in dresses? You should try buying one of those nice Ankara dresses and stop dressing like a boy.”
Sometimes I felt like saying back to her:
Yes Mum I know how pretty Olive looks. I love her in dresses, and what I love even more is taking her pretty dresses off her. We have a thing we do. I make her stand there and I just look at her. Everything about her turns me on. From the way her hair falls , to the fullness of her lips, to her collar bone, and the juiciness of her nipples, to the dip of her belly, and the roundness of her hips. And oh, in between her legs Ma, she’s even more beautiful. By the time I’ve worked my way down her body, and spent several minutes kissing her collarbone, her clit would have become long and hard. A brush of my hand against her would have her jerking involuntarily. One of the things I love the most about her. She is so super sensitive. And Ma, I don’t just stop there. I love to taste her. I love to spread her legs wide and trace all around her clit with my tongue. I love to push my tongue in and out of her pussy. Ma whilst I’m doing this I have to hold her firmly because she can’t lay still. By now she’s calling out my name “Adaeza, Adaezaaaaaa, Adazezaaaaaaaaa.”