My first night with Patricia was expectedly blissful though with initial flashes of reservations and demurral. On the whole, the excitement, the pleasure and the conjectures of imminent matrimony far outweighed the patches of skepticism.
Pat left our village, four kilometres from Keffi, Nasarawa State via a night bus. I waited with bated breath, checking time and texting for traffic updates.
I was already at the bus terminus in Ore when their vehicle, a 14-seater white Toyota Hiace bus arrived. My house is just a trekking distance from the terminus. So, Pat and I strolled home, frolicking like new lovers that we were.
Tired and tuckered out, she stooped on the bed while I quickly boiled water for her to shower.
I watched her undress slowly. First, she took off her floral long gown and detached her netty braziers. Her breasts, full and firm, flourished seductively. And as she slouched to scooch her pants, her slinky sides and bulky butts shot into view. Bashful and beautiful, Pat gently soothed her itchy hairy gonads as she gravitated towards the bathroom.
The steamy sights left me salivating. I stood in awe of her sublime beauty and swift switch to womanhood.
I met her less than two years ago as a petite, pretty budding beauty. How she has grown burly, with an extra large bum, beats my imagination.
Back from the bathroom, I offered to massage her body. Timidly, she crouched on the couch but I swayed her flat on the bed, bare-skinned.
I took a half full bottle of olive oil from the bedstand and sprayed the content on her sensuous body. With verve and zest, I sank my supple palms into skins, starting from her wet feet to her wiry shoulders. As my oily hands reeled between her inviting laps and pelvic, Pat panted, wheezed and moaned enticingly. Her whoops woke me up. My hitherto timorous dick became turgid and target driven.
Twitchy and skittish, I stepped out of my shorts, swiped my stiff manhood with my oil soaked fingers and parted her legs. Pat raised her groins, her crinkly cunt squirted creamy, sticky juice.
The penetration was deep and the hole seemed bottomless, emitting more fluids.
After the early morning welcome sex, Pat and I settled down to talk.
I have worked for four years as bakery assistant and I have earned the trust of my employer. I live in a mini flat owned by the bakery owner. I need just two children. On her part, Pat agreed with everything I said but she said she needed to work for sometime before getting pregnant. Deal.
Three weeks later, Pat was employed as a shop assistant at a supermarket. Everything went well until one Sunday afternoon. My siesta was rudely interrupted by cacophony of sarcastic voices. A small crowd of women and children had gathered close to our compound. I peeped through my window. I was scandalised. I saw Pat, sobbing profusely, encircled by the vociferous crowd. Her blouse rent, skirts ripped and hair ruffled. Her shredded pants hung loosely on her bruised fingers. Pat was caught in bed with one of my married neighbours. It took the intervention of some elderly women before she was freed from the maddening crowd. Back at home, she wept inconsolably, blaming her debauchery on the devil. I pardoned her.
Months later, Pat returned home, clutching a costly android phone and a pack of make-up kits. She claimed that the items were sent to her by Gabriel, her elder brother and a commercial motorcyclist in Lagos. I knew this was a blatant lie but I had no proof.
I remember the day she arrived, fresh from the village, Pat wore no make-up and she glowed without jewellery. Now, she has suddenly become a fashionista; voguish and finicky.
Notwithstanding, Pat and I had sex regularly yet she didn’t get pregnant. One night, she came back from work, stuttering and reeking in liquor. She staggered and slept off after she flung her handbag, littering the floor with its contents. While she snored away, I tried to help arrange her scattered items. To my utmost shock, I found contraceptive pills, POS print outs, bearing the name of her immediate boss and the receipt of her android phone. I waited till daybreak before confronting her.
Pat owned up to her perfidy. She confessed that she had been taking contraceptives to avoid getting pregnant. And she dropped the bombshell, “I’m in love with my boss…he is the one I want to marry”. I was shattered. I reminded that her boss was married. “Yes, I know he is married but I love him,” she insisted.
It dawned on me that I had lost my deposits on the lustful beauty that I brought from my village. I’m gnashing my teeth in regrets.