Writer’s Word: This is a work of fiction and I do not, in any way, support pedophilia.
7: 38 pm
The light from the laptop screen plastered my shadow against the side of the wall as I sat in a sprawled position on my bed, typing away and swaying intermittently to Arianna Grande’s Side by Side coming from the computer’s speakers. I was alone, wearing just my boxers, and enjoying my company. All the guys had gone to watch Man United take on cross town rivals Man City in the EFL semi-final. My roommates, Leke and Ibrahim, were die-hard red devil supporters, while Joshua was a Chelsea fan. I really wanted Man City to win, if only to spite the two Old Trafford faithfuls. The four of us used to go watch matches together, but today, I’d felt reluctant to play cheerleader for their team. I was a Real Madrid supporter and the only viewing center around was a bit far and always overcrowded. I’d instead planned to follow the match online and use the time to finish up my report sheet, which was long overdue.
A yawn escaped my mouth as I reached for my newly purchased Samsung Galaxy S5, promptly typing out the URL for Live Score. The phone was barely a month old but already had quite the reputation among the corpers posted to Akeredolu, a Northern Local Government in Oyo State. Among the four of us, my phone had the remarkable ability of always finding network in the otherwise dense environment. It soon became “our phone” as my mates would either beg to browse with it or browse on theirs connected to my hotspot. Being in the school premises didn't help matters either, as the so-called corpers’ lodge – “tailored to fit our corpers’ needs,” as the Vice Principal would say – was well hidden, almost away from all forms of civilization.
It was a quarter to 8 when I repositioned the pillow behind my back as I looked vaguely at the now complete report sheet on my laptop screen. Then I picked up my phone, hoping to find out who was winning the game. The irritation I felt earlier when I paused my work to check out the Live Score site returned when I saw that the page was still refusing to load. And it wasn’t just that; there was now no network coverage on my sim. This was strange. In the five months I’d been serving here, nothing bizarre like this had happened – at least not to me. I shut down my laptop, and refocused on the phone. I did a manual reset on the phone, and still, no show.
Frustrated now, I stood up and walked to the door. I opened it and the gentle caress of the evening breeze embraced me. I stood there on the threshold of the door and checked my phone once more. There was still no signal. I exhaled with some apprehension. The phone was my only link to civilization, and more importantly, I’d only subscribed to getting ‘allawee’ alerts via email. I huffed out another breath, leaning back against the door post and moved my eyes over the vast space of the school environment. It was quite stark, save for some vegetation, a borehole tank and a few tap outlets. The evening was quite peaceful and only the distant chatter of some students infringed on the silence. The tank was a good two hundred yards away from my room, but I could make out a few students leaving with buckets and kegs. A few minutes passed and the space was back to its serenity as the students moved away.
Then I saw him.
He was waddling over the fields, hurriedly making his way into the hostel. He was going fast, but not nearly fast enough. I halted his sprint with a whistle. He looked at me and I motioned for him to come over.
Okay now why did I call this boy? I thought to myself.
As he moved closer, I observed him intently. He had a lazy towel secured about his waist and was holding a bucket. It was apparent that he’d just had a bath; I wondered briefly why he’d gone to the tank area to do so and not in his hostel. His towel was doing a terrible job of covering him up, leaving out parts of his groin and thighs to my suddenly amorous stare. He was quite chubby with slightly pendulous man-breasts that danced as he hastened toward me. As he drew closer, I recognized him as one of the SS2 students in my CRK class. His name was Azubuike. I had seen him severally in class but never really took notice of him.
He approached and I caught a full head-to-toe view of his body, and I felt a rise within me. Slightly startled, I turned and went back inside the room, arranging my suddenly rock-hard penis vertically inside my boxers. Then I sat on my bed and placed a pillow over my groin. I heard him get to the door and called, “Come in.”
He entered the room with tentative steps, first putting his head in before pulling the rest of his body and bucket inside. He dropped the bucket and stood facing me.
I swallowed hard. His body was gorgeous. The drops of water on his hair and skin made him look irresistible. He had a face with soft cheeks, a sizable nose and lovely lips. His complexion was a fine shade of caramel, turned near luminous by the moonlight flowing into the room and the dying glow of my rechargeable lamp. He looked really young, but, oh, he was beautiful – excellently tailored to meet my needs. His humble eyes kept darting about the room, not quite meeting my intense stare. His slightly paunchy belly sat on top of his towel, complementing his size and making a robust figure out of him. His body was so smooth; there was not one scar in sight. His feet also looked soft and clean, tucked inside his bathroom slippers like the limbs of a cherub.
“Goo-good evening, sir,” he finally said shakily when I hadn’t spoken in an interminable moment.
His voice filled my heart with a warm rush, brushing a brief smile across my lips. I had never heard him speak in class; he was one of those quiet boys who never did anything wrong nor tried to stand out in anyway.
I cleared my throat and said, “How are you? Your name is Azubuike, right?”
“Yes sir,” he said with a nod.
My throbbing phallus kept raging down below but I remained calm as ice. I was speechless again. After what seemed like an eternity, I opened my mouth, but the words didn't come out. I knew what I wanted to ask, but I did not want a reply. I looked away from him, adjusted the pillow over my groin and glanced at him again. He looked young – too young. I really wanted him to be eighteen or above, but...he didn't look it. Even if he said he was eighteen, I wouldn't have believed him. I knew his response would ruin my intentions, but I had to ask. I had to be sure. I had to confirm before I acted out the script in my head.
I looked him squarely in the eyes and said, “And how old are you?”
He blinked at me, as though not expecting the question. Then he said the words that wrenched my heart: “I am sixteen, sir.”
I closed my eyes and exhaled heavily. His words began speedily quenching the burning desire. I wore a dejected look as I felt my hard-on retire. I couldn't. I just couldn't bring myself to do it. He was too young. I had condemned pedophiles all my life and here I was, about to transgress. Many thoughts ran through my head but deep down I knew my decision was made already.
In a defeated voice, I asked, “When will you be 17?”
“Next year. July 23rd,” he responded.
I felt a very cold calm run through me. It was like I’d snapped back to reality. What was I thinking? He was just a kid.
I sighed heavily and said, “Don’t worry, you can go.” Then I reached for my torch, which was on the bed beside me, switched it off, and threw it at him while saying, “Just help me place this on the shelf over there.”
He hadn't seen the torch coming, but reacted reflexively in the following moment. He reached for the airborne torch with both hands and the towel, which he’d been holding to his waist, dropped to the ground.
Although my action was not premeditated, I had no intention of apologizing for the outcome. In a moment, he was completely naked in front of me, holding my torchlight, his towel pooled around his feet. Every inch of his body that was hitherto hidden was beautiful. My hard-on came back with revamped zest, meaner and stronger. He looked stricken and hurriedly bent to reach for his towel.
“No, stop!” I didn't say those words, and yet, they came from my mouth.
I wasn't going to touch him. I just wanted to look at him. The embarrassment on his face, coupled with his naked body, gave me the spasm of a lifetime. I just wanted to look at him forever. He cringed, attempting to cover his privates with his hands, but again, I barked, “Stop!”
I stood from the bed and moved toward him until I stood facing him. He looked down, mortification coming off him like steam. My hands were trembling. I wanted to touch him. I wanted to feel him. I wanted a connection of my body with his. I needed to feel him. I reached toward him, my fingers shaking, anticipating contact.
Then I took a deep breath and collected the torch from him instead. Then I placed it on the shelf and crossed over to the window. I looked out into the darkness. God, what was I thinking? What was going on?
I closed my eyes and felt a judder run through me. Then I turned and looked at him, this time, my gaze on his behind, admiring him from the back. He was just as impressive behind as he was in front. I moved toward him until I was standing, a hair’s breadth from him. I exhaled unto his shoulders and in the next heartbeat, I touched him. I moved my hands forward and put them on his breasts. They felt so good, so soft, so tender. He trembled. I squeezed them, my palms cupping his bath-moistened flesh. I rubbed his nipples till they became hard. Then I moved a hand from his chest down his belly to his thighs. He jerked forward when I touched him down there. He was hard. Hard as rock, hard as fuck! He let out a slight moan as I worked on his ear with my tongue. Then I turned him to face me. He still looked very beautiful. I looked him in the eyes. They were burning with a lust he didn't understand. I moved in to kiss him. Involuntarily, his eyes fluttered shut and he puckered his lips and waited.
No, I can’t do this!
The words banged about in my mind, pushing me back from him as though they had a physical force of their own.
“I can’t do this!” I ground out through clenched teeth as I backed away from him, shaking my head as he looked back at me, a confused expression staining his beautiful features.
“Oh my god, what am I doing…” I muttered as I turned away from him.
I couldn't bring myself to comprehend what had just happened – with a sixteen-year-old for that matter. I felt filthy. I felt like a sinner, a dirty sinner. I was disgusted at myself for what I had done.
He stood there, quiet, innocent and bewildered, watching me. He looked lost.
I turned to him. “I am so sorry, Azu…” I began haltingly. “I didn’t mean to…I really don’t know what came over me…I am sorry…Can we just pretend...” I couldn't finish any statement I started. I inhaled deeply and finally said, “Look, Azu, I am sorry.” I placed my hands on my head, and looked at him.
He was still throbbing hard and so was I.
“Fuck!” I began pacing for a bit until I finally gained some composure. “Azubuike, I am terri–”
“Ukeme! Abeg come give me your phone!” someone called from outside, just beyond the door.
It was Joshua.
Startled, I whirled around to face my bed, while a panicked Azubuike dashed for his towel. The door was thrown open to admit Joshua, and in the milliseconds it took him to saunter into the room, I had plopped down on the bed and grabbed a pillow to hide my erection while Azubuike, with his towel, was recoiling into a corner beside the door.
We both looked guilty.
Joshua stopped momentarily upon seeing the two of us, and then proceeded further into the room to drop down on the bed beside me. His manner was animated as he said, “Guy, gimme phone make I check livescore. E be like say person don score.”
Drawing on the reserves of my composure, I said, “I think say you follow Ibrahim and Leke go watch match na.” I was focused on looking around for my phone so I wouldn’t have to look at Joshua’s face. I didn’t want to know if he had any questions in his eyes.
“Omo, the place too full joor,” he said as he took off his shirt. “When no be my team dey play, hia!”
Azubuike was still frozen in place beside the door. I found the phone and handed it to Joshua as I said, “Network no even dey for some time now…” My words trailed off when I glanced at the screen of the phone to see the network bars had leaped back into life.
“Wetin this one dey do for here?” Joshua asked as he typed in the URL on my phone.
There was silence. He looked at me, then at the boy, and barked, “I am talking to you, boy. Turn and face me.”
Azubuike shuffled about a bit, reluctant to turn fully around. It was apparent to me that he was still turned on and was too embarrassed to let Joshua see that. for chrissakes, my boxers still felt a little stiff beneath my pillow.
“Azubuike,” I called out to him, “you may go. Thank you.”
The boy gave a mumbled response and fled from the room. In the wake of his departure, I could feel the scrutiny of Joshua. I didn’t look back at him, but I could just tell that he had guessed at what may have happened before he walked into the room. But he didn’t say anything. He simply got up from the bed, murmured something and walked out of the room.
I heaved a sigh and dropped back on the bed, closing my eyes as I laid my head down. Then my phone pinged. Ah yes, the network was back. I picked it up from where Joshua had left it and checked the page he opened. It showed the scores: Manchester City 0, Manchester United 1.
Written by Orobo Hunter