I can not recall the number of sympathisers who thronged our residence during the sad occurrence. But I took note of the presence of Aunty Debbie, my class teacher, who led five others on a condolence visit to our family over the death of my mom. The principal must have chosen Aunty Debbie as the leader of the delegation because of her relationship with mom and I. Being my class teacher brought her close to our family, especially my mom who was in constant contact with her for regular updates on my academic progress.
Much more than that, however, Aunty Debbie has a gift of the garb. She’s the school’s choice when it comes to excellent speech delivery. And when it was time to address us, she held everyone spellbound with an inimitable tribute to my late mom and a soothing spiel of solace for our family.
In fact, dad stood in awe of Aunty Debbie’s elocution as he received the letter of condolence from her. For a moment, attentions shifted from our grieve to her gift. Basking in the euphoria of her brilliant declamation, Aunty Debbie hugged dad and I as she led the school’s delegation out of our house.
Two days later, she returned with a basket of fruits for us. That was the day dad and Aunty Debbie exchanged contacts.
Shortly after the burial, dad told me he had engaged Aunty Debbie as my home lesson teacher. I was shocked. I didn’t tell him that I needed a lesson teacher. Even if I needed one, I would have preferred a science teacher. But I wouldn’t argue with him over this. I thought he was only trying to do everything to support me especially after mom’s passage.
Each time Aunty Debbie came to teach me at home, she came with gifts for dad. Later, she came with cooking ingredients and prepared soup for us. Dad was all over her, thanking her for her kindness. For me, this was getting too much. We didn’t need her to do all these. We have a house maid who does most of the chores including cooking. I guess dad endorsed her actions. I kept quiet.
Our house maid, Felicia was not comfortable with her as well. She told me that Aunty Debbie wanted to date my dad. Though I suspected that much, I dismissed the thought. Both of us resolved to monitor her activities.
Since the outbreak of Corona virus, dad has been working from home. He upgraded his study with a new table, a sofa and split unit air conditioner. So, most times after the lesson, my teacher would join dad in the study. To do what? I kept wondering. One day I asked my dad. He said “Debbie comes to give me regular updates about your learning progress and areas that require more attention. She is quite passionate about you” I couldn’t have doubted him. But I knew something was cloudy somewhere.
Felicia soon stumbled on a clue. My late mom’s younger sister came to pick me for a weekend with her children. Dad asked Felicia to go with me. His reason: he would be out of the house throughout the weekend.
Felicia and I returned home Sunday afternoon. We met dad at home. Apparently, he didn’t go out as had claimed. Even his car didn’t leave where it was parked. I didn’t ask him though.
While cleaning dad’s room the next morning, Felicia saw female undies and bra spread on a metal rack in his bathroom. She called my attention to the strange discovery. I checked out the two items. Definitely, they don’t belong to my mom. Since she died three months ago, we not only cleared her stuffs, but we also locked her room. Besides, the pants and bra are of big sizes. Mom was slim.
There and there, I concluded that they belonged to someone of Aunty Debbie’s stature.
Tall and fair skinned, Aunty Debbie parades sexy hips, huge butt and big busts. Could she be the owner of these underwears in my dad’s room? I struggled with the thoughts for days. But I couldn’t ask dad.
The lid was blown at last. Less than two weeks after the “undies and bra” episode, I was in school one afternoon when Felicia sent me a text that dad sent her on an errand as soon Aunty Debbie got to our house. Meanwhile, she had been absent from school for two days. She was on sick leave. So, I was not surprised but I wanted to confirm what Felicia just told me. I skipped the prep class and rushed home after the normal school hours.
I got home but I couldn’t enter through the main door. Dad latched it. I remembered the spare key to the kitchen. It’s usually kept in the concrete flower pot behind the living room. I picked it and opened the kitchen door. I heard voices of Aunty Debbie and dad. They were in the study, cracking erotic jokes. “I won’t enter your bedroom today…I don’t want you to kill me with sex” she said. And dad responded. “Who says I can’t do it here. We can have a quickie on the couch” There was silence.
Suddenly, I heard loud moans. “Take it easy, darling, your dick is touching my womb, huuu..o gosh” Aunty Debbie ranted in painful pleasure. Dad breathed aloud.
After sex, they continued their lewd jokes.”Ha, sweetheart, your thrusts were too hard. Have you forgotten that I’m pregnant” Aunty Debbie’s statement left me in a shock. But dad’s response shattered me. “Don’t worry, no matter how deep I thrust, my dick can’t touch my baby”
Quietly, I tiptoed back to the kitchen, stepped out and locked the door. I went to knock at the main entrance door.
I banged the door several times before dad responded “Oh Tamilore, you’re back”
I met Aunty Debbie seated in the living room, greeted her. Soon after, she took her leave. Dad returned to the study. I went to my room, pensive and distraught. I confided in one of my friends. She advised me to ask dad about his relationship with my teacher. But my courage failed me. Sooner or later, everything would be in the open. Why bothering myself? About two weeks later, Aunty Debbie resigned from our school! Apparently, to forestall the likelihood of a negative backlash. But dad is yet to talk to me.