My uncle visited our house dressed in a tank top and sweatpants. He had not been around for a while, and in my excitement on seeing him, I had a difficult time getting my eyes off the obvious bulge in his groin area. Matter of fact, I could feel my member stiffen from stealing glances at his crotch. One time, he caught my gaze and followed it to its destination, and then smiled an unfamiliar smile. Maybe he was simply pleased to see me or he was impressed by my noticing of what he was exhibiting. Whatever was the case, I didn’t care.

He had such a history, Uncle Chike. Growing up, he and I hadn’t been as close as he was with my siblings and most of my cousins, but I’d always fancied him. Everybody liked him in fact. He used to play local and inter-state football. And because he buttered his looks with an undeniable swag, the ladies swooned over him, from the local girls to those who returned to the village during festive seasons from other places. I remember the night in the village when I was about nine; I had walked in on him in an inner room of the boys’ quarters of our family house in the village, a set of rooms which my younger uncles. I’d been searching for another uncle, and instead I found Uncle Chike conquering some girl’s pussy. It was dark, except for the rays from the full moon illuminating the room through the window. He had her legs spread apart and his pelvic region was thrusting into hers. We little children had a name for adult acts like that; we called it bad thing. Ladies loved my uncle, and they loved to do the bad thing with him. Whenever he was playing in a local match, they’d follow him to the field and hold his water can, towels and sports bag, beaming with pride every time he ran across the field in an attempt to score. And when he scored (he was a sure scorer), they’d run to him on the field, squealing like guinea pigs, to hug and kiss him. And my uncle loved the attention.

And now, years later, he was hugging me and pumping my hand in an exuberant handshake. I am taller than him now, and so, during the hug, I had to bend a bit to accommodate his arms around me. This was one of the few times I wished I wasn’t so tall, so I could snuggle into his embrace and rub my groin against his.

At thirty-three years of age, he was still not that far from the guy he was back in his late teens and early twenties. Low-cut sporting waves, a more rounded face now, fuller, yet his pointy chin remained. His neck and shoulders were proof that he still did his lifts; the parting of his sternum, that definition of his pecs made me envy the gold cross pendant that was nestled there from around his neck. The yearning to place my head there and tap my feet to the rhythm of his heartbeat was almost overwhelming.

This man wanted me to sit beside him for us to catch up on all that had been happening in our lives. I had my eyes on his bulge more times than I had them on his face. Maybe that was why he playfully chided me on how it was my turn to play with girls the way he did at my age.

My dad was somewhere within earshot of this conversation, and laughed at my uncle’s suggestion before saying, “That one? He barely keeps friends, let alone female friends. He has been indoors for two weeks. We can’t even get him to go to church even if we begged.”

He sounded like he was telling a joke, but I knew he had just reported me.

“I would go to church if Uncle offered to drive me himself. Church service would be more fun if I am assured of the arms of a man who will catch me should I fall from getting slain in the spirit.” This was what I wanted to say in response to my dad.

But I didn’t.

Uncle Chike had dinner at ours. My mom made egusi soup with pumpkin leaves, stock fish and croaker. I watched him eat. Refinement had not altered the way he ate eba. He ate just like my father and my other uncles. Large morsels that I envied because they’d enter him and become one with him, and even their waste would have the privilege of sliding through the hole that would most likely cost me an arm and a leg to reach.

After a very pleasant visit, I walked him out to his car, a midnight-blue Camry Spider. He reached into his pigeon hole, extracted some cash and handed it to me.

Fantastic! One uncle who didn’t think I was too old for monetary gifts, I thought to myself, liking him the more.

I stood and waved till his car was out of sight. Then I returned to the living room and to my room moments later. My boyfriend, Derrick, had called severally while I was outside with my uncle. It was his routine to call at 8 pm everyday just to check up on me. Today, I missed his call, and because I was too preoccupied with thoughts of Uncle Chike, I didn’t acknowledge Derrick’s calls or WhatsApp messages. I just laid there on my bed, luxuriating in the chain of thoughts about Uncle Chike that crowded my mind.

I must have dozed off, because a knock woke me up. I opened my eyes. It was dark. The electricity was obviously out, but the rays of the halogen street lamps sliced through my linen blinds like an amber square hidden behind fishing nets. The rap on the door came again. It was soft and slightly distant. Someone was knocking, but not on my door. I got out of bed, tiptoed outside my room. The knock was coming from the main entrance. I tiptoed to it, peaked out through the peep hole. The person was backing the street lights, so I couldn’t make out his features. With a heart pounding with some anxiety, I withdrew from the door and looked around the living room for nothing in particular. He knocked again. My breath hitched, and then I went to the window to check out who this intruder was.

That was when I recognised the tank top and the sweatpants. It was Uncle Chike. My heartbeat changed from terror to excitement as I unlocked the door quickly to let him in.

His car had broken down not too far from the estate gate. Some boys had assisted him in pushing it back to the estate gate area where he felt it would be safe till morning. And then he had come back to pass the night. He hadn’t called my parents because he’d assumed they’d already be asleep. He didn’t have my phone number either. And he did not want to sleep out there on the porch. He offered to sleep on the couch, but I insisted he share my room. My dad had standing instructions that nobody was to sleep on the living room sofas.

Ensconced in my bedroom, he took off his top and his pants. He had just his boxers on. Now that bulge looked even bigger. He stepped into the bathroom to shower with the door closed, and I found myself cursing the German door of my bathroom. It was unlike the wooden doors that have cracks one can peek through.

Uncle Chike returned to the room and climbed into the double bed to lie on his tummy, his butt facing the ceiling like Olumo rocks lying sideways. The partition in his butt was visible, precise, like the parting on Kim Kardashian’s wig. He was tired, but I could tell he was not very exhausted. I made the first move by rubbing my feet against his. He moved. I did it again. He moved again. The third time, he turned to face the other wall, backing me. My heart was racing like it wanted to jump out through the rib cage and leave me to my kito quest, but my desires made my ears deaf to the voice of reason. It’d been only slightly over a week since the last sex I had, just before Derrick travelled, but my whole being was reacting to the nearness of Uncle Chike like it’d been centuries since I was last touched. I involuntarily clenched the muscles of my butt hole, causing the hole to squished shut, bussy juice oozing in readiness to receive.

And this man was just there, backing me.

My heart was pounding in a rage as I drew closer to him, to his ear and whispered, “Just think of your favourite girl.”

He grunted.

I paused. Waited for another sign to prove I’d made a wrong move.

There was nothing.

So, I lowered myself to his groin. I shoved him a little but with enough insistence, so that soon, he was lying with his back. There was a little resistance before he turned around, but it eased gradually. Then I lowered his briefs, far down to his ankles so he would not just change his mind and easily pull them back up. I am not good at giving blowjobs, but Uncle Chike’s penis was already standing invitingly to attention. He must have been very horny because his hip-thrusts and guttural groans got intense way too soon into my ministrations. His body dewed over with sweat.

Never fuck your uncle. He is not your mate. But who cared?

I had barely sucked him for six straight minutes, before he suddenly took charge. He whipped me around and parted my legs, before diving in. He grabbed a pillow and placed it over my face as he dug in deep. The pain was an excruciating kind of pleasure; I wanted to both push him away and pull him into me to be my plug. He rode me like a stallion, twisting, bending, turning, pounding. My guts were filled with all the air and pre-cum he had pumped inside of me. We fucked for over an hour and he was clearly not tapping out, even though I was starting to feel like I had reached my limit. He withdrew his cock, placed me in a suspended congress position, reinserted and started thrusting. If I had a cervix, he was thrusting inside of it now.

Just then, the door opened and my father flashed his torchlight straight at the bed, on my face, blocking out my sight of whatever expression he must have on his face – you know, the look you get when you see your brother fucking the shit out of your son.

He was saying something but I couldn’t quite comprehend it. It was like trying to restart your system.

“Peaches! Wake up!” my dad called out, still holding the torch to my face in a bid to hasten my arousal.

I gasped as I cast about, searching for Uncle Chike. He must have made it out to the bathroom, unscathed by my father’s rage. I sat up on my bed and buried my pounding head in my palms, not sure of what had been going on.

When I had sufficiently recovered myself, I stepped out of the room to do my father’s bidding. The electricity was out. After turning on the generator as my father instructed, I returned to my room to search for Uncle Chike, but he was nowhere to be found. I clenched the muscles of my hole, expecting to feel the soreness of an hour-long pounding of a dick. But all I felt was the moistness of lust and desire.

I dropped back onto the bed, and began to mull over the obvious. There was no horny uncle and no decadent fuck. Just a large patch of cum on my battalion shorts. I had been dreaming.

As I changed my shorts into a fresh one, there was a knock on the main door. It was my dad who answered it. As I approached the living room, I could hear voices. One of them belonged to Uncle Chike. He’d had a flat tire and he was going to be passing the night with us.

Written by Peaches

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  1. Delle
    May 01, 08:56 Reply

    My adrenaline level skyrocketed the minute the dad walked in only for it to be A DREAM!!!?

    A. DREAM!?
    Peaches, ya mad ?

    • Mariposa
      May 01, 12:58 Reply

      Lol… Honestly I was scared for Him… ????Till I saw it was all a Dream… ????

  2. Mandy
    May 01, 09:00 Reply

    “Just then, the door opened and my father flashed his torchlight straight at the bed, on my face, blocking out my sight of whatever expression he must have on his face – you know, the look you get when you see your brother fucking the shit out of your son.”

    I actually paused, took my eyes away from the story, and braced myself for whatever catastrophe was about to be unleashed by father on his brother and son. See the way my heart was beating…

    Only for me to get back to the story to find that it was just a dream??? Peaches, may the power of all this wasted adrenaline fire you with proper thunder there. Nonsense.

  3. Olutayo
    May 01, 09:05 Reply

    I’ve noticed that this Peaches guy is a very wicked person with his cliffhangers. The other story he told about an internally homophobic lover who kicked him out of his house late in the night, he hung us up to dry with the cliffhanger of potential robbery happening in the taxi. I’m still getting over the trauma of “was he robbed or did he escape”…

    Now THIS!!! After dreaming a dream of what happened after the uncle came back, we are back in real life only for the uncle to COME BACK! AND YOU DECIDE TO END IT THERE!!!

    Now I have so many questions!!! Again!!! Do you think you’ll make heaven with this kind of wickedness, Peaches? ??

  4. Sadiq
    May 01, 10:16 Reply

    Really? I can’t remember how many times I have been in such dreamland

  5. Higwe
    May 01, 13:57 Reply

    If it’s any consolation at least you have have the gift of dream and prophecy.

    If all else fails , you can open a church like Odumeje – the lion himself .?


    Peaches – you’re one of the best writers here … perhaps even the best post golden KD, but for some reason , I always feel you project a lot of your fantasies as actual real stories.

    I don’t know any village in the world where a group of teenage girls would boldly rush into an open field to kiss a man knowing their relatives, close family friends and perhaps even parents are watching .
    I can understand one damning all consequences if the boy in question was some rich dude with a heavy bank account but your uncle at that time was a struggling teenage boy … whose only source of fame was his swag and a local football career. ?

    The scene of you walking in on your uncle having sex with a lady wasn’t well written either.

    I won’t go into how messy the description of the event seemed… but a nine year old processing all that in darkness….mmmh ?

    I know there is hardly any kind of evidence to support what we submit here and it’s actually very ambitious of me to accuse you of this … but a lot of your stories play up real emotions eg your penultimate submission which even had me confronting a friend who fits the description of the man you wrote about.

    You often write stories where you end up in some kind of bad situation and there is absolutely no resolution.
    It’s on to the next one with no mention of the preceding events ever again.

    Vaguely I remember a story that you wrote where a lover sent you out in the night and you got lynched by robbers or something …in some you were raped and others you were beaten.
    While I do understand your right to share as much as you want to , it does leave me flummoxed that one can’t think of an update despite the vitriol and angst expressed by the commenters … cursing the alleged perpetrators and enquiring about your safety.

    Real life never ends with a cliffhanger , there is always a follow up whether good or bad.

    Distinguishing between fictions and real stories doesn’t depreciate the quality of your writing either … which I admitted earlier is quite superb .

    Now playing up people’s emotions and having them feel anathema for characters that merely exist in your phantasmagoria is pretty cheap and also dangerous.

    My apologies if I’m wrong about you though .
    I’m merely a human and I make mistakes too but this is what I feel and I had to say it to be at peace .
    Only you know your truth and I’m no one to counter that , but when things aren’t adding up consistently …a reasonable human should question.

    That said …. apologies still .?

  6. Peaches
    May 01, 14:57 Reply

    Thanks baby boy @Higwe. You see, When you write, you are god to your pen, and characters and what you make out of your narrative. You may be percieved as selfish, but not accused of it.
    About your friend, i may not know him, but we may share mutual friends, and since he had no voice to tell his story, I did the telling with his permission, which is no crime.
    As for the uncle, I dont know what village you have in your mind, but these local leagues have a lot going on that day to bother about adult ladies pecking and hugging cruahes, these girls even love the gossip. We would too if homophobia is nonexistent. Girls who did the chase were not reserved village girls, they were ‘returnees’ and they were exposed.
    About the cliffhangers, I havent read up the rule about the inappropriateness of cliffhangers in real life stories, but I understand the frustration because I was in that situation after reading Chimamanda’s Half of a yellow sun, with Kainene missing, and The book of Tommorow by Cecelia Ahern where we know nothing of how she was going to appreciate her new half burnt father and the lies on which she had grown, but we get to live through that, dont we all? So do not be flummoxed because some details i left out, because i left it to your imagination, the average human has detective capabilities, right?
    I do not think i am playing people’s emotions. Humans cannot be told how to feel. Nature itself made that a futile effort. Reread the responses. They relate to these stories in ways that appeal to them, some panic for the nearest unknown, others glee at some guts, or envy, or pride, or a wish they could live that story, and for some, bitterness that the story was formed at all, and it is okay. As for the child part, i hope you know that they are smarter that the size of their bodies, just a reminder.
    I know my truth, yes. And the art of using fancy phrases to excite the minds of readers do not make me guilty of endangerment of their psyche.
    Thankyou for your observations although. There is always room for improvements.❤️

    • Audrey
      May 01, 18:27 Reply

      I was going to make mention of the KISSING part on the field but chose to ignore until you came back to defend yourself. Nna except you ain’t from Africa,Nigeria precisely I doubt any of such thing ever happened and you trying to tell us how the girls were returnees my dear it matters nothing because except you are less than fifteen(Which I obviously doubt) your nine year old self would mean we are talking about some 15-18years ago which makes your assumptions quite difficult to believe cos presently even with all the WOKENESS some things are frowned at let alone during the period you’re trying to project to us.

      Nna o dabaro

      • Pink Panther
        May 02, 09:24 Reply

        Audrey, you’re really trying to invalidate someone’s story? Really? You? lol. OK o.

        • Audrey
          May 02, 17:09 Reply

          Not invalidating anyone’s story I’m only trying to point out a part of the story that didn’t sound/look real. Cmon I’m entitled to what I choose to believe or not.

  7. Shepherd
    May 01, 16:34 Reply

    WTF,i almost fainted when dad entered the room, thank God it was a dream, cos….. I won’t be pleasant oo

  8. Rexx
    May 04, 11:29 Reply


    I’m still screamiiiiiiing, like I literally gasped for breath and dropped my phone… Wooooooooooooow!!!

    Amazing read wow!!!!!!

    But which style is “suspended congress position”??

  9. Seeker
    May 05, 16:54 Reply

    Lol! I loved this. Great read 🙂

  10. Olly
    May 07, 13:01 Reply

    wow, i was so scared. like what would his father say if he caught them. so many things ran through my mind until i realized it was a dream. you’re a good writer to be honest.

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