WHORE Of BABYLON

WHORE Of BABYLON

FOREWORD: The following is a work of fiction. And the hoe’s side of the story. lol. Check on it.

*

I am lounging on the sofa in my father’s house in Enugu. I like to call it my father’s house. Why? Well, because the house I see myself having is in Banana Island. That’s the dream. Now, if only one of the chiefs in my clientele would just make it happen, you know, actually do something other than the ‘change’ they keep giving me, never mind that I do for them what their wives and mistresses can never do for them.

Sigh.

You’d think a man with millions in his account would show a little more appreciation considering all the satisfaction I provide for him that his fat slob of a wife can’t give him.

A sardonic smile slowly creases my face as I recall an experience I recently had in Lagos.

***

Chief Uduak is someone I privately nicknamed Potty, because the hefty paunch he calls a belly makes up 80 percent of his entire body weight. If he wasn’t so generous with his money, there’s no way I’d have let myself go near his gross nakedness.

So he’d called me from Lagos to come pay him a visit. At the time, I’d been contemplating traveling to visit Mark in Owerri; fine banker Mark who won’t take “I don’t love…” for an answer. All these men that keep interpreting good man-pussy as relationship material.

Oh church!

Anyway, I immediately cancelled that visit in my head and channeled my mentality on Chief.

Chief is one of my easiest hookups. He’s not only very generous, but sex with him doesn’t come with much stress. A laughable dick and no adventurous spirit. We are usually twenty minutes in and in one position, before he’s coming and sliding off my body to drop into a snore-fest of a slumber till the next morning. And for all that minimal effort, I still get given more money than a banker earns monthly.

He’d called me on a Thursday evening, and by 3 pm on Saturday, I was strolling through the tarmac of Murtala Muhammed Airport with my cyan-coloured valise. Of course, he had paid for the flight and had deposited an extra 50 grand for a brief shopping spree after I complained that I had no new clothing. I mean, who comes to the Centre of Excellence wearing the same clothes he wore on his last visit?

My bestie, Kenny had come to pick me up. We both attended Air Force Primary School and Mea-Mater Secondary School all in Enugu, and then, his father, a civil servant, was transferred to Lagos.

Kenny is gay but such an antithesis of me, probably why we have stuck by each other throughout the years we’d known each other. He is reserved, cool-headed, nothing rainbow about him. He loves the gym more than he loves to spread his bow-legs for a dick. Everyone thinks he is my boyfriend just because he isn’t the stereotypical bottom. I’m like the only one who knows he only remembers he has a penis when he goes to pee.

We embraced fiercely outside the airport building. He looked different. His pecs had gotten more defined, and he appeared taller and looked way hotter than I remembered him to be. Had I not known him so well, I would probably have crushed on him. Oh, and his nose had been crooked. I would later get to know that it was as a result of a fight with a co-gym colleague of his – a fight he didn’t win. Kenny may be all muscled up now, but getting physical still isn’t his forte.

On the drive home, we didn’t talk much. We basically chat every other day when I’m in Enugu, so there wasn’t anything new to dispense, except when he commented on my black-polished nails. I very benevolently offered to do his own nails, and he rebuked me. He actually snapped his fingers in that get-thee-behind-me-Satan gesture.

Shaking my head!

Two hours later, after a hot bath and a quick meal, I was on my way to Lekki. A uber taxied me over to Oriental Hotel right at the 5 pm time Chief and I had agreed to meet. I may be everything but lateness isn’t one of them. I sauntered into the polish and marble of the hotel and was escorted to Room 405, which had been reserved by Chief. Once I was left alone in the room, I removed my suede shoes, unslung my one-hand bag, pulled out the seven adornment rings I had on and plopped on the bed.

The next time I opened my eyes was four hours later.

It was 9 pm and Chief Uduak wasn’t present. Hunger, frustration and annoyance all curled up into one ball in my belly as I reached for my iPhone 6 – the device he gifted me from Dubai the last time we met, and dialed his number.

He picked on the fourth ring, and I promptly went into bitch mode. How do I get here on time and four hours later, he’s yet to show face? No text, no call, nothing to pacify me over his lateness. When did he start thinking it was okay to treat me this way?

He stayed quiet and absorbing throughout my brief diatribe, and then I calmed and waited for him to explain himself. He didn’t interrupt, he didn’t snap, he waited me out, because you see, he adores me – another reason why I like Chief Uduak.

He apologised for running late and told me he’d still show up.

“Make yourself comfortable. Order something. I’ll be there soon, baby,” he said gruffly through the phone.

I called room service immediately we disconnected and ordered a meal for three people. This is the gift of my metabolism. If my body responded to the way I eat, I’d probably be competing with the stockiness of Chief’s stature. I eat and eat and everything seems to go down to my derriere, which is in no way a bad thing. It only shows how the Heavens are in support of my market.

Chief came into the room forty minutes after I was done with my dinner, and began talking about how his meeting had gone on and on, while he divested himself of his clothes. I wasn’t even listening. My mind was too wrapped up with thoughts of how I would stand that horror of a body when he gets naked and on me, and worse of all, how I would be subjected to thirty minutes of the tickling he’d put my pussy through with that biro cover of a dick he has. The man may not have a dick to save his life, but stamina, he get am plenty!

And he likes the lights on. He says the look on my face as he ‘pounds’ me (more like ‘fingers’ me) turns him on the more. This is a testament to my acting skills, because those expressions hide feelings that would definitely not turn him on.

Sigh.

Anyway, the night happened. I’m a professional. Unto who much is given, much is expected.

The next day, one hundred and fifty thousand naira richer, I left the hotel for Kenny’s place. I needed to get well rested before my flight back to Enugu the next day. My mother had traveled to Abuja and was going to be back to Enugu on Tuesday. I hadn’t told her of my trip to Lagos. That woman’s ogbanje is always the last thing I need in my life.

***

The chewing-gum beat of Arianna Grande’s Side to Side from my phone cuts short my reverie. I grab the device and put it to my ears.

“Yeah, hello?”

On the other end, I can hear static. Network in my house is always shit.

“Call me back please. I can’t hear you,” I speak into the phone.

“Can you hear me now?” an unfamiliar voice calls back from the other end just before I take the phone away from my ear to hang up.

“Yes, I can. Who are you?”

“It’s Sage.”

I scroll through my mental rolodex for any contact named Sage, but it’s not coming to me.

“Who is Sage?” I question.

“Sage now – Sage…”

I heard you the first time, I think as irritation sets in. “The herb?” I retort impatiently.

The guy begins to chuckle, a rumbling sound that fuels my irritation.

“Can you, like, tell me who you are or do I have to cut this call on your anonymous ass?”

“Hey, calm down, babe.”

Babe?! Hian! Inukwam guts.

“It’s Sage, Kenny’s ex,” he says.

As soon as I hear “Kenny”, I remember him. Tosin Williams aka Sage is the one calling me.

Biko why? I questioned my internal organs.

Aloud, I say in the blandest tone, “Oh, Sage.”

“Yes, Sage.” He chuckles. “I’m in Enugu now and wanted to know if we can meet up somewhere.”

I withdraw the phone from my ear, turning to stare at it as though it had suddenly turned into an alien device transmitting wrong signals. Sage wants to know if we can meet up somewhere? This is the same wildebeest that didn’t like me because he felt I was a walking kito. The same yimu somebody that went as far as instructing Kenny not to be friends with me, so he, Kenny, and by extension, him, Sage, doesn’t get outed by association.

That’s the Sage that’s asking to meet up with me somewhere?!

My instinct is to decline his request with the nastiest putdown ever. Then I remember how hot he is – tall and chocolate-skinned with a nice smile. When he was dating Kevin, he’d been doing his Masters at Unilag.

My hoe-ly antennas begin to tingle as I return the phone to my ear. “Okay, let’s meet at Celebrities. I’ll be there in an hour.”

“Alright.”

We disconnect and I sit there, thinking about the oddity of the phone call. I think about Sage, and then I think about Kenny. I wonder briefly if I’m betraying my bestie by agreeing to meet with his ex.

Then I shrug. Chances are Sage doesn’t even have the kind of money it’d take to get into my pants.

TO BE CONTINUED

Written by Delle

Print Friendly
Previous 'I Am HIV Positive And Happy.' - Binyavanga Wainaina
Next Zero Means Zero

About author

You might also like

Series (Fiction) 21 Comments

Those Awkward Moments (Episode 9)

Previously on THOSE AWKWARD MOMENTS: So Kevin’s mum takes him to see Jude in the hospital, in spite of the fact that siszilla Janet had made it expressly clear that

Print Friendly
Series (Fiction) 24 Comments

890-8

I was at the reception area when Ivan called to let me know he was waiting by my car. I picked up my bag and waved goodnight at the receptionist

Print Friendly
Series (Fiction) 14 Comments

BEAUTIFUL SINNERS (Episode 10)

PREVIOUSLY – After his friends Tayo and Sly called him out on his self centeredness, Kevin felt so bad, he decided to confess his unfaithfulness to Kuddus. And thanks to

Print Friendly

20 Comments

  1. Colossus
    December 02, 07:08 Reply

    When I read the forward, I was already thinking this will be another Masked Man piece.
    Now I know there is more than one whore of Babylon

    Are you really sure this wasn’t submitted by Masked Man?

    • Pink Panther
      December 02, 07:18 Reply

      LOL! Becos Masked Man is the resident whore of KD, okwaya?

      • Colossus
        December 02, 07:38 Reply

        What can I say, the guy sure has a knack for writing the most whore-y of stories.

    • Delle
      December 02, 11:08 Reply

      Lol. Well, let’s just say Masked Man is a good teacher?????

  2. Mandy
    December 02, 07:26 Reply

    Well, this oughtta be interesting. 🙂 This one na correct akwuna. lol.

  3. IBK
    December 02, 07:35 Reply

    Nice nice nice. Thoroughly enjoyed this.

  4. ambivalentone
    December 02, 07:35 Reply

    7 fucking rings??? On 5 digits??? You sure av heard that Nigerian joke na. When you fall over, u’ll be jangling like a brass tray

    • Delle
      December 02, 11:18 Reply

      A true diva may fall but would commercialise it?

  5. pete
    December 02, 08:35 Reply

    The ‘Oh church’ part was a giveaway on the identity of the author. Delle, there are some non-fiction in this story, right?

    • Delle
      December 02, 11:10 Reply

      Pete Pete Pete…let’s just say Sizikora is an extension of me?

  6. Dontdropthathun
    December 02, 09:17 Reply

    The Petty game in this write up!
    ” He says the look on my face as he ‘pounds’ me (more like ‘fingers’ me) turns him on the more.” ???????? Bet Why?

  7. Khaleesi
    December 02, 10:10 Reply

    This is so thoroughly good!! Not a single boring syllable; please keep it CUMming!!

    • Delle
      December 02, 11:09 Reply

      Oh I need perverts like you in my life??

  8. Mitch
    December 02, 18:54 Reply

    Akwy one way!

    Aunty mi, I dey hail oh!

Leave a Reply