Itzprince

WE ARE ABLE "A Touching Story" Episode 1 I feel a cold touch at my back. It is harmattan period. I just want to be left on my bed. I turn around like a fat cake, but mother turns me around again. I can see her mouth moving. I wonder what she is saying. But certainly she can’t be saying anything more than the fact—I am lazy. My school is in Ejigbo, Lagos. They say we are special people, yet I haven’t perceived anything special about us. Some of us can’t talk. Some of us can’t walk; some of us can’t see, yet they say we are special. Well, I am not moved a bit by those flatteries. I look at mother’s hand movements. It is funny to me. I smile. I wonder when she will be able to master the sign language. “Rose, get out of bed,” she has managed to communicate with her hands. She has to repeat each word just to put them at their best. I could remember challenging my teacher some times back that… I rise up lazily and go straight for my bath. When I get to the bathroom, I see a basin filled with water there. Wow! It is warm. I splash the water on my body. I observe that the door is shaking but I didn’t really think about it. I continue pouring water on my body. Today in particular, I spend around thirty minutes in the bathroom. The water is just exactly as I want it to be— warm. When I step out of the bathroom, daddy gives me a scornful look. The grotesque on mother’s face also suggests to me that I have done something wrong again. Why me all the time? My father gets into the bathroom and begins to open his mouth. Since I am deaf, I didn’t hear what he is saying, but my mother is opening her mouth too in return. They understand each other—it’s only we, the special one so called, that can’t understand them. Mother helps father to carry a bucket of water into the bathroom. That man—always angry. I don’t know his problem. He is far away from me more than a stranger. I wonder why he is my father. Mother quickly taps me and I face her when that man has entered the bathroom. “Rose, you used your father’s water,” mother says to me in her amateur sign language, yet she claims that she has learnt the language while I was five years of age. I wonder what is still keeping her in the amateur level till now, after six years. “I used his water? How?” I ask. Sometimes my hands just get tired of speaking. I wonder how I will be able to speak if I become paralyzed in my hands or a bad accident claims them. “I put his water in the bathroom first because he must be in Ikeja as early as possible.” “Why don’t you tell me that before I entered the bathroom?” I ask. “Em…Rose…erm…” my mother’s face is clugged up with tears. I know she is a very tender person —not wanting to raise anything that will remind me of my status— deaf and dumb. “Em what? What has letter ‘M’ got to do with this?” I am confused. “When you were leaving, I was calling you, but you were too fast. You have already entered the bathroom. I only woke you up so that you could go and brush your teeth and not to take your bath. Your daddy will be angry with us. He has been kicking at the bathroom door for a long time to break it if he could.” I know what mother is talking about: she wakes me up; I rush to the bathroom without looking at her to hear from her (you have to look at someone to see his/her communication). But if that is the only thing that has happened, does it warrant my dad frowning at me in that manner as if I am nothing but a fart? “Is he my daddy? I doubt it,” I say. Mother doesn’t want my eyes to get those tears in them again. She comes on time to wipe them off for me. I don’t believe I have a daddy yet. The only pictures I took with that man mother calls my dad are the ones during my one year and two years birthdays. No recent pictures, yet I am already eleven. Maybe if he knew that I would never speak in life, he would not have snapped those pictures with me then. Who creates me? I am sure it is not the same God who creates the other people on earth. I have approached my mother once and said, “Don’t you think it is satan who creates me?” “Don’t say that again Rose!” mother replies me. The vigour with which she moves her hands shows to me that she is shouting. “But why can’t I hear and speak?” I challenge her. “I thought that they say that all the things he creates were good.” “You are good either,” she says to me. “Good?” I laugh mockingly. Those lips of mine, what can they do other than eating, laughing and crying? I have been advised by my teachers to laugh always, since it will prevent my mouth from smelling. But I don’t seem to see the reason for laughing at all. I only laugh to make jest of people sometimes. Nothing again can make me laugh, even if you tickle me I won’t. I didn’t feel like going to school that day again. That man in the bathroom has killed my joy. How I wish I am not born into this family. If I am born into another family, it’s only my mother I will miss. Who cares about John, that wicked man? I think. Reluctantly, I sit at the table. If only mummy can allow me have my own meal inside my room and not at the dinning table. Or what is the essence of eating at the dinning table when my daddy is having his own food in a separate dish? It’s only my mother and I who eat together in the same plate. I see the way John is leering at me as if he should just lock me up somewhere. He is guzzling the food as if he hasn’t eaten since the day before yesterday. He can’t even communicate with me since he has refused to learn the sign language like my mother. He will only tell my mother to tell me anything he wanted to tell me, yet if he has written them down I would have understood him. I have perceived that mother doesn’t use to tell me what my father was asking her to tell me. Perhaps my father’s words will be too harsh on me. She has to come out clear one day when the preacher in our church condemns the act of lying in all its ramifications. That day, mother said to me that she has been telling me the opposites of what father has been asking her to tell me. I didn’t need to ask her what exactly he has been saying since commonsense is there in me to know that they were unpleasant things. I am looking away while eating. Mother taps me. A mould of amala is still in her grip, but she has something to tell me. With the food in her hand, mother gestures to me, “Rose, your daddy says you should stop looking away from your food.” I frown. I know that what he said is more than that. His face can tell it all—many wrinkles on his forehead. If only he can speak in a mild manner to me, it had been better. I quickly readjust and eat my food, silently as usual, since there isn’t any noise I want to make. I see daddy speaking to her again. This time, mummy speaks back with an angry face. It seems as if they are on my matter again. At last, mummy speaks to me: “Rose, don’t get angry, but your dad says that I should tell you that if his boss gets angry at him for coming late to office today, then you are in trouble. But don’t mind him, Rose, he can’t do anything for you.” That is how my mummy will always say, yet that man will beat both of us together whenever it is time for him to do so. My father looks at us as if he is suspecting that my mother is saying more than he said to her. I look at his mouth and I am able to figure out the first word he says: “Hannah…” That is the name of my mother. I fold my hands and didn’t eat again. Father didn’t even care. He has finished eating the amala. He has begun to rush out of the house. That Volkswagen he has, he hasn’t used it to take me to school once. Sometimes my mummy will use it to take me there if he is on afternoon duty, since he will be sleeping in the morning by then. Father points to me as if he is threatening me when he gets to the door. Mother is just looking at him. When he leaves, she rushes to me and hugs me tight. She was shedding tears as she presses her lips firmly against my cheek. I am off to school. Mother takes me there herself before going to her own work too. Throughout the school period, I didn’t speak a word. Mrs Oyin, our class teacher is surprised. How come Rose’s name didn’t enter the name of noise maker today? she must have thought (we write names of noise makers in our school too; making unnecessary sign language is a noise). Mrs. Oyin is a second mother to us. She likes everyone of us in Primary Six B. When she comes into the class to punish the noise makers, she calls me out and takes me out of the class. If only I can hear, then she would not have taken me out of the class. She would just have whispered into my ears. In the office, she says, “Why are you not speaking today?” I tell her there is nothing. When I get back home, daddy was already inside. I am surprised. He is supposed to be in the office by then. I go on my knees to greet him, but then, he slaps me on the face. I scream with all the power inside me. He will be the only one to suffer the sound from my throat. He didn’t leave me alone. He has come on me, punching me like a punching bag. Mother rushes in at once and begin to prevent him. But it is too late. My eyes are swollen already, yet I didn’t know my offence. It is the next day I know what has happened. My father has been suspended from office for two weeks for getting late to work that day. But does that call for dealing with me brutally that way? God should kill me once and for all, I think. To be continued

Ass-ignment . . With gratitude to God for giving me the uncommon wisdom of blocking my parents, nosy aunties and religious siblings on whatsapp. As far as they are concerned, I’ll always be their last born or baby brother that is pure and untainted and God forbid I know anything like a-s, condoms and the unholiest of them all “sex”. God will continue to bless their naivety (Ameen). So if you’re reading this, I don’t consider you holy and we will burn in hell together ( just kidding). Brethren, I, like any other curious, God-fearing, law-abiding, attention- seeking and well meaning Nigerian have always wondered why a-s or crudely known as nyash is underrated. (Idle Mind na Devil workshop true true). “The understanding of a-s(ets) and it’s movements and proper gyrations which translates to it’s power is the beginning of wisdom for any girl” – Herbert Macaulay, 2017. We will all agree that this is true because he left his grave to inform everyone that cares to listen about this before going back. God bless his blessed soul. It is safe to say, ladies and gentlemen that these remarkable attachments have gone a long way in defining or redefining our growth and achievements as people of this great nation. To understand a-s is to understand spirituality. How else would you explain why one part of the body will cause an innocent man to defy the laws of physics and biology and turn his neck 180 degrees?. If you think I’m joking, just go to the market place or live in a neighborhood with yoruba people (pepper is not their only trademark) and you will see miracles (TB Joshua is an apprentice). That was how one young man, caught under the anointing of a-s attempted this and his neck remained there permanently. He didn’t even realize this until his forward movements seemed backwards and vice versa. Basically he was moon-walking forwards. How we solved that problem is a story for another day. To understand a-s is to understand divine wisdom. You think all these young boys and married men (oops) especially the ones not doing well in school have poor memories?? Think again. If you’ve ever had the pleasure of witnessing greatness in the form of men describing a woman’s behind that he saw 7 years ago to other men, you will understand that Scofield is a learner and that the devil is a liar. If you’re a girl and you’re reading this, calm down before you accept the devil in your life and say hurtful things like “men are pigs” or “men are scum”. While they are hurtful, they are as useless as condoms to an impotent man. My point is, it won’t change anything. Men will look, analyze, carry out lab tests even. Sue them!!. God will bless you with enough money and female lawyers to facilitate your cause (Ameen).. To understand a-s is to understand pure suffering. I know what you’re thinking, how can something be so beautiful and yet so dangerous?. You’ve obviously never heard of money before. That was how this single astounding booty (pun intended) succeeded in wiping out half the men in my street and leaving the other half to tell the tale. How?, Let me explain. My street used to be like any mechanical engineering department in the world, it lacked a-s. And as expected, we were living happily but we’ve always known something was missing, mi(a-s)ing if you will. Keep in mind that this incident happened before I was born, so praise the Lord. Maybe I won’t be here telling this tale today. Angels don’t drive neither do they enter public transport. They do what they do best. They appear and that was how this lady showed up. News of this booty spread like butter on bread ( somebody that knows my parents might read this and truncate my hustle, so yes, it’s bread and butter I’ve always wanted to say, not anything else. I love you mummy!!) and before you could say “assignment”, half the men were already on their way to the scene. The other half heard but they were not able to outsmart their wives as they promptly locked all the doors and they dutifully swallowed the keys (God bless those women). Boys will be boys, but in this case, men will be zombies because nobody had the courage to interrupt the a-s by asking questions like “who are you?” And “what are you doing here?”.The sensible ones were at home with their wives, loathing her asslessness. When you hear cases of women “locking” their husbands down or up as the case may be. This is what they meant. Anyway, they just followed her until…. well, I don’t know what later happened, as I have pointed out earlier, I wasn’t born yet. The narrator (the only man with balls) told his wife that this was his house and she was going to abide by his rules and God dammit he was going to leave his house and do what real men were doing. Long story short, he later peeped through the window with his first son on the lookout for the real owner of the house. Sometimes men have to relinquish control for the society to prosper (life is mysterious like that). Nobody saw or heard from them after that assident, sorry accident. The remaining people left the street for fear that the a-s might return. I know a lot of people will not believe this story. They will let the devil use them and say fallacious things like “this story didn’t happen” but let me ask you, have you ever heard of a street called hskvdgu before? ( the “v” is silent). I didn’t think so. Enough said. If I tell you everything now, what will I tell my coworkers when I’m trying to sound wise and insightful. Imagine how I’ll feel when they come to me for wisdom and I happily narrate this story and they go “we’ve already heard this somewhere, tell us something else”. Then I’ll hesitate and one of them with eyes that words cannot describe will say something like “he doesn’t even know anything sef”. Blood will spill that day. Most likely mine but blood is still blood. I believe with all these points, I’ve been able to convince you that the importance of booty is key to the development of any society and its power, if properly harnessed, will create world peace, solve world hunger and eradicate our energy problems once and for all. In order words, any part of the body is important, but a-s is importanter.

Who is the lucky bae

Nice one

He breathed deeply as he thought about it. She had obviously been carried away by Chief’s generosity. The day she left him was the day he realized that she had been visiting Chief secretly. Chief continued to send his boys to buy produce from him but he was unable to turn them back. If he did, he and Ade would go hungry. He therefore swallowed his pride and continued to supply Chief’s household with food even after Chinenye’s betrayal. Papa looked at Ade’s raised arms waiting for the onslaught of his belt. He saw something glistering in his palm as he gripped the shard of glass tightly. He was bleeding severely and did not even realize that his body was drenched in blood. As he tried to lift up his son from the floor, he struggled and whimpered. He pulled him up with force and he suddenly went limp in his hands. “Ade, Ade.” Papa shouted his son’s name. He took out the shard of glass out of his son’s palm and threw it into the bin. He carried him in his arms and ran out of the house. He struggled to open the stiff passenger door of his beetle with Ade in his arms. The door opened after much force and he placed his son gingerly on the back seat. He breathed deeply as he thought about it. She had obviously been carried away by Chief’s generosity. The day she left him was the day he realized that she had been visiting Chief secretly. Chief continued to send his boys to buy produce from him but he was unable to turn them back. If he did, he and Ade would go hungry. He therefore swallowed his pride and continued to supply Chief’s household with food even after Chinenye’s betrayal. Papa looked at Ade’s raised arms waiting for the onslaught of his belt. He saw something glistering in his palm as he gripped the shard of glass tightly. He was bleeding severely and did not even realize that his body was drenched in blood. As he tried to lift up his son from the floor, he struggled and whimpered. He pulled him up with force and he suddenly went limp in his hands. “Ade, Ade.” Papa shouted his son’s name. He took out the shard of glass out of his son’s palm and threw it into the bin. He carried him in his arms and ran out of the house. He struggled to open the stiff passenger door of his beetle with Ade in his arms. The door opened after much force and he placed his son gingerly on the back seat. “Ade, Ade, Ade.” He called again but his son refused to answer. “Oh God, hear my prayer. Please save my son. I will never touch him again. I will never let the anger I feel for his mother get to me again. I will never transfer the aggression to him again. God, I need your help, please. He is my only son. He is all I have got.” Papa reeled out prayers as he struggled to start the car. It always took a while to start and it usually did not until it was pushed. But there was no one to help him push it now. Ade who always helped in pushing lay still in the back seat of his rickety beetle. Tears streamed down Papa’s cheeks. He got out of the car and opened the gate in a hurry. He tried to single-handedly push the car. He grunted as he pushed and jumped into the moving vehicle. The rickety beetle coughed and started. As he raced to the hospital, he prayed in his heart that God will forgive him and save his only son. +++++The End+++++

Papa wrapped his belt around his hand. How many times had he told Ade that he should walk like a man anytime he called or honked? He had had to open the gate himself to drive in his rickety beetle car. The sound of the car could be heard a 100 metres away as it coughed out thick black smoke. Many of his neighbours had told him to get the car serviced but whose business was it, what he did to his car. As he closed the gate with the weather-beaten padlock, he calculated in his mind how to deal with his son. Since his mother left them to become Chief’s third wife a month ago, Ade had been unnecessarily absent-minded. He had broken a plate, a flower vase and even forgotten a pot of soup on fire. He wondered what the boy’s problem was. He had had enough with his mother. He was not ready to deal with his forgetfulness. He remembered how Ade’s mother had insulted him every day over his inability to provide her the nicer things of life. He worked hard to provide for his small family but it was never enough for her. He tilled his farm day and night to put food on the table. They never lacked food as he planted every food item they consumed. Cocoyam, maize, tomatoes, vegetables etc. He even had a small poultry he managed all alone but Chinenye was never happy. She whined every day about how Mama Nkechi’s husband had bought his wife twelve yards of Hollandis. Mama Uchenna’s husband bought his wife a brand new car with which she went to shop in the Epe fish market. Mama Kunle travelled abroad like she was going to the salon. It did not matter if she went to Ghana or Benin Republic which was just a few hours away. As far as she was concerned, those countries were abroad as long as you had to fly there. Each day, she reminded him of his inability to satisfy her materially. She refused to work because these other women just sat at home taking care of their kids. None of them got their hands soiled; she always crooned. Each day for the past ten years, his confidence dropped a notch lower. His confidence was eventually shattered when she left him and moved in with Chief. She left with nothing. She said everything she had or shared with him was wretched compared to what Chief would provide. She did not even remember to go with her son, Ade. He was probably one of the wretchedness she left for him. Papa wrapped his belt around his hand. How many times had he told Ade that he should walk like a man anytime he called or honked? He had had to open the gate himself to drive in his rickety beetle car. The sound of the car could be heard a 100 metres away as it coughed out thick black smoke. Many of his neighbours had told him to get the car serviced but whose business was it, what he did to his car. As he closed the gate with the weather-beaten padlock, he calculated in his mind how to deal with his son. Since his mother left them to become Chief’s third wife a month ago, Ade had been unnecessarily absent-minded. He had broken a plate, a flower vase and even forgotten a pot of soup on fire. He wondered what the boy’s problem was. He had had enough with his mother. He was not ready to deal with his forgetfulness. He remembered how Ade’s mother had insulted him every day over his inability to provide her the nicer things of life. He worked hard to provide for his small family but it was never enough for her. He tilled his farm day and night to put food on the table. They never lacked food as he planted every food item they consumed. Cocoyam, maize, tomatoes, vegetables etc. He even had a small poultry he managed all alone but Chinenye was never happy. She whined every day about how Mama Nkechi’s husband had bought his wife twelve yards of Hollandis. Mama Uchenna’s husband bought his wife a brand new car with which she went to shop in the Epe fish market. Mama Kunle travelled abroad like she was going to the salon. It did not matter if she went to Ghana or Benin Republic which was just a few hours away. As far as she was concerned, those countries were abroad as long as you had to fly there. Each day, she reminded him of his inability to satisfy her materially. She refused to work because these other women just sat at home taking care of their kids. None of them got their hands soiled; she always crooned. Each day for the past ten years, his confidence dropped a notch lower. His confidence was eventually shattered when she left him and moved in with Chief. She left with nothing. She said everything she had or shared with him was wretched compared to what Chief would provide. She did not even remember to go with her son, Ade. He was probably one of the wretchedness she left for him.

He looked at his inner arm and rubbed it looking for a vein. He had to do it just like the man in the movie. There was no time to look for a rubber wire; he would just do it. He placed the splinter on his arm and tried to draw a line with it. He squeezed his eyes. It was painful. But the man in the movie had been happy. Maybe he needed to go deeper, so he could feel the same joy. He was contemplating on his next action when he heard the honk of a car outside. He looked around him. The shards of glass still lay strewn all over the floor. This was going to earn him extra lashes. He quickly kept the large splinter in his pocket as he grabbed a broom. He weighed his options.Should I run to open the gate or should I sweep away the broken pieces of glass? Which option would get me a lesser punishment? He opted to sweep the broken glass away and let his abuser open the gate himself. The most he would get for refusing to open the gate was a slap. This time he would make sure he turned his right ear. He quickly swept up the little splinters and dumped them into the bin. He got out some old newspapers and put them in the bin. That should mask the evidence till evening when he would throw out the trash. He heard the voice of his abuser boom through the living room. It sounded louder than usual or was it his imagination. He got out the splinter of glass from his pocket and in a hurry, he slashed his wrist. “Ade, Ade.” The voice roared in anger. He stood in the kitchen shivering. He angled his head to the right side expecting the slap. The abuser’s right hand was not as strong as the left. The slap would not be as painful. But his abuser had other plans. He had removed his belt and he was wrapping it around his left hand. Ade saw his abuser’s face and his heart fell to the bottom. He was going to get lashed not slapped. He cowered as his knees collapsed under him. They suddenly felt heavy and unable to accommodate his weight. He lifted up his arms to receive the beating. He counted to three in his mind, waiting for the belt to hit him. But it did not. He wondered why. If he dropped his arms now, the slap would attack his left ear. He felt the strong hands of his abuser pulling him up by the shoulders. He struggled to stay down. ______________________________________________________ The story continues

He wrapped the belt around his left hand in anger. Lines of fury turned his face into a monster. He gritted his teeth in mad anger and lifted up his belt. The boy cowered, raising up his arms to receive the thrashing. His body could not take them anymore. It was already torn in various places. He whimpered expecting the belt to hit his raised hands. He was tired of crying. One, two, three. He counted in his mind expecting the worst but it was not to be. He refused to look up or lower his arms just in case a deafening slap hit his cheeks. The last one he received still caused his left ear to ooze out pus. He had tried to no avail to stop the ear from leaking but it behaved as if it had a mind of its own. Suddenly, he felt strong hands pulling him up. He knew he was done for.Why did I break the glass cup?He had tried to be careful while washing it in the kitchen zinc. He had been happy that he had completed the task without any mishap. But his happiness had been cut short as it had slipped off his hands as he was about to place it on the shelf. “Kpa-ka.” The sound of the glass tumbler shattering broke the still silence in the house. He looked around with tears in his eyes. This was the only glass tumbler in the house and he had broken it. He stooped to pick the shards of glass. He tried fixing it back together even though he knew there was no use. But he could still make an attempt. Maybe by some supernatural power, the ruins of the glass would merge back together. As he picked the shards, a thought occurred to him. He could cut himself with the broken glass, so he would not get beaten. That could earn him some sympathy. He could bleed out on the floor. The sight of blood could destabilize his abuser and he could receive compassion. He sat on the floor, the shards of glass still in his hands. He fiddled with a long splinter and the thought took shape. He wiped his cheeks. This was no time to cry. It was time to take action. He looked at his arm and thought of the best place to draw blood. His mind went back to the movie he had watched last night with his abuser. The man had tied his upper arm with a rubber wire. The veins on his arm had bulged out as he did that and he had injected something into his arm. He remembered seeing joy on the man’s face as he smiled. He had heaved a sigh of relief before dozing off.Would I also experience the same joy? Would I smile and doze off just as the man had?The shard of glass in his hand was not an injection but he could make do with this for now. He wanted to experience the same happiness the man in the movie had. He wanted to smile again even if it was just for a moment. He was tired of crying every day. He never got anything right any longer. Last week, he had broken the flower pot while he was cleaning it. He thought he could move it a bit, so he could clean the side away from him. That action had resulted in the flower pot falling off its stand. He looked at his shoulder and touched the open bruise. By next week, the bruise should heal if the belt of his abuser allowed it to rest. Two weeks ago, he had broken a plate while he was in a hurry to get to his abuser. He had been told so many times that he needed to walk like a man. He did not want to get slapped for walking majestically; so he had broken into a run with the plate in his hands. Unfortunately, his right leg hit the door just as he was about to hand over the plate to him. He fell down and the plate in his hands came crashing down right before him. What he had been scared of eventually happened. The slap had been deafening and he had hit his head on the wall from the impact and the force with which it had come. His abuser was left-handed and he used it with dexterity. The pus still oozing out of his ears was a reminder of the fateful day. ****scroll down****

Some are funny

Where and How to Kiss Your Love Behind their ear. Tip of their nose. Back of their neck. Underside of their forearm. Curve of their waist. Palm of their hand. Inside their wrist. Under their chin. Their eyelids. Inside of their ankle. Their collar bone. Tips of their fingers. Their spine. Small of their back. Their tummy. Behind their knees.

Below you will find a variety of kiss types. If you find some that catch your fancy, feel free to try them :-) Butterfly Kiss - With your faces less than a breath away, open and close your eyelids against your partners. If done correctly, the fluttering sensation will match the one in your heart. Cheek Kiss - A friendly, "I really like you" kiss. Often the preferred kissing method of a first date. With your hands on your partner's shoulders, gently brush your lips across her cheek. Earlobe Kiss - Gently sip and suck the earlobe. Avoid louder sucking noises as ears are sensitized noise detectors. Eskimo Kiss - With your faces less than a breath apart, gently rub your noses together. Freeze Kiss (or Melt Kiss) - Experiment with this fun kiss. Put a small piece of ice in your mouth, then open mouth and kiss your partner, passing them the ice with your tongue. It's an erotic and sensual french kiss with a twist of cold. Foot Kiss - An erotic and romantic gesture. It may tickle, but relax and enjoy it! To give a toe kiss by gently suck the toes and then lightly kissing the foot. It helps to gently massage the base of the foot while performing the kiss. Forehead Kiss - The "motherly" kiss or "just friends" kiss. The forehead kiss can be a comforting kiss to anyone. Simply brush your lips lightly across the crown of their head. French Kiss - The kiss involving the tongue. Some call this the "Soul Kiss" because the life and soul are thought to pass through the mouth's breath in the exchange across tongues. Surprisingly, the French call this "The English Kiss". Girls Kissing Fruity Kiss - Take a small piece of fruit and place between your lips (juicy fruits such as grapes, strawberries, small pieces of pineapple or mango are ideal). Kiss your partner and nibble one half of the piece of fruit while they nibble the other until it breaks in half, allowing the juice to run into your mouths. Hand Kiss - Gently raise her hand to your lips. Lightly brush your lips across the top of her hand. Historically this kiss was performed with a bow, which showed deference to a lady. Hickey Kiss - The object is not to draw blood, but to gently leave a mark that will prove your interlude was not a dream. This is often included in erotic foreplay. Mistletoe Kiss - Surprise your lover by capturing them with a gentle holiday kiss under the mistletoe. This is also a good method for shyer individuals to steal a kiss from a potential lover. Letter Kiss - Send your lover a kiss in a love letter by writing the letter x several times in a row at the bottom of a letter such as XXXXX. Neck Nibble Kiss - Gently nibble up and down your partners neck. End with a gentle kiss on the lips. Nip Kiss - This kiss can create a very erotic sensation. While kissing your partner, ever so gently nibble on their lips. You must be very careful not to bite to hard or hurt your partner. When done correctly, this kiss ignites wonderful sensations. Shoulder Kiss - Simply come from behind, embrace her, and kiss the top of her shoulder. This is a sensual, loving kiss. Sip Kiss - Take a small sip of your favorite drink. Leaving a little bit of it on your lips, kiss your partner. It is a unique way to create a sensual feeling and your partner will enjoy it. Talking Kiss - Whisper sweet nothings into your partner's mouth. If caught in the act, simply say as Chico Marx, "I wasn't kissing her. I was whispering into her mouth." Tiger Kiss - Quietly sneak up behind your partner making sure they do not know what you are going to do. Out of the blue, grab them and gently bite their neck. Make sure to get a few good growls in too. This will surely surprise them. Trickle Kiss - Take a sip of a favourite drink and trickle it slowly into partner's mouth while kissing. Tongue Sucking - A variation of the French kiss. During an open-mouth kiss gently suck on your partner's tongue (not too hard because it may hurt). Very sexy :-) Quickie Kiss - When you're in a rush. Often the nose gets it rather than the lips. Vacuum Kiss - While kissing open-mouthed, slightly suck in as if you were sucking the air from your partners mouth. This is a playful kiss. Virtual Kiss - For Internet lovers. Send an e-card or a kiss via email with this symbol: :-* .

BROKEN ‘I’m too broken to attempt to fix you. I’m also too tired to try.’ Yara screamed as the wind buffeted her sideways to the foot of the mountain where she landed heavily on her backside, hitting her head on a pile of rock and magma. David looked down at her, the muscles of his jaw working quietly. He began softly,‘ You’ll continue running away from things and people and emotions. Anything that does not cut your definition of perfect, you’ll run away from. You’d run until you eventually run past the one who really loves you and then you’ll run into the arms of who you think is your vision of perfect. He’d do everything perfectly and you’ll fall perfectly. And then when he has you down under, he’d revert to being an asshole. He’ll ride you and you’d regret every last mean word you said to all the people who really loved you.’ By now he was screaming. The end!

BROKEN LOVE Although it has not been long Beatrice left house that morning, ken can’t stand the chance of waiting for her to come back in order to confront her. He was pacing up and down through the whole house thinking of what could have led Beatrice into such act, they have multi+ in all aspect of wealth, many cars, houses, and investments. Could it be that that Beatrice is a prostitute before ken married her? Or is that ken was not capable of satisfying her on sex? All these things kept running through ken's mind, he went to the sitting room and laid down on the chair, not so long to count he dozed off because he has been stressed since he heard the story. The next few minutes was so fast to him, , he woke on hearing the wife's car horn, he came down from the chair and stand on the door that led to the staircase. Standing on the door he was thinking of how to attack his wife, in a jiffy of time Ken stood face to face with Beatrice who was busy greeting him as usual but he was not responding, Beatrice looked at him and saw the fiery look on his faced, she was marveled and transfixed, she tapped him on the shoulder and asked him who made him angry without knowing she was the one. Ken slapped her twice and asks her who Mike was, she tried to speak but she was short of words, tears rolled down her cheeks. She tried to control the tears but she couldn’t. Ken asked her for the second time who mike was but she could not give him any answer, Ken sent her out of the house with nothing not even a car or transport money. Since Beatrice have no money on her she have no other option than to go to her friend Amanda. Amanda gave her money but the money was too small to take her to her father’s house, so she trekked for a long time before she entered a bus. When she got to her house, she saw her parents and narrated all that happened to them claiming she don't know anything concerning Mike .Her father went to Ken's house but the gatekeeper could not let him in, all attempt made by Beatrice to call Ken proved abortive because he ignored her calls. After two months, Ken met and married another girl. The new wife was a troublesome, she would left early in the morning without keeping any food for ken and came back late in the night, When Ken confronts her she would tell him that she is a busy woman and not a house wife like her first wife Beatrice, this remark always threw Ken back down because he never thought that she knew he had married before. Beatrice in the other hand was struggling to survive not having any hope to be the wife of Ken knowing fully he was a man of his word. It happened that one day a man came looking for Ken but he was not around but he dropped his number with the wife, when Ken came back he dialed the number and a male voice was heard, the man told ken that a man was involved in a ghastly accident and he requested to see him before he will be taken in for surgery. When Ken got to the hospital, he found out it was his best friend Mark. Mark told ken that all he told him about Beatrice were all lies, this made ken so angry that he wanted to strangle mark but the doctors pulled his hands off marks throat, mark also told him that someone gave him money to do that, when he was trying to tell him the name of the person he gave up the ghost. Ken was in the world of confusion he blamed himself for everything, how could he have sent out a sincere and adorable woman? He should have investigated the matter very well before taking action, how could he face Beatrice and her family? And even if he succeeded in bringing her home, what is he going to do to her new wife or should he marry two wives at the same time? Oh God what have I gotten myself into, he lamented. When he got home that day, he could not concentrate neither could he do anything, he drank himself in to a stupor, her wife tried finding out what the problem was but he keeps avoiding her. Early the next morning, he drove to the village and begged Beatrice and her parents for forgiveness but they refused at the first time but after a continues pleading by ken which lasted up to ten hours the family forgave him and he took the Beatrice home. When they got home, Beatrice saw Amanda at ken's house, she thought she was there to welcome her, she ran to hug her but Amanda avoided her. These surprised her; a friend that has not seen her for a very long time was avoiding her. When Beatrice looked at Amanda's stomach she found out that she was pregnant. She asked her how? Knowing fully she was single when she left the city months ago. Ken told Beatrice that Amanda was the girl he told them he married. Amanda knelt down and begged Beatrice, she latter forgave her. After delivery Amanda handed the child to ken and left to return no more. Ken and Beatrice lived together forever. THE END

As usual, he came during the day. When everyone else is too busy working to understand what goes on in the big office. No, I don’t work. Yes, I go to the office, I resume at 7:30a.m and close at 5:00pm. Yes, I’m paid huge sums of money. But no, I don’t work. Or rather, I don’t consider what I do work. It’s more like hoeism. Yes, I said it. I’m an office hoe. You know that category? The one that is called ‘office sex’ on those sites, yeah? That’s what I do. Only to me, it’s paid office prostitution. No no, don’t think i enjoy it. I hate it, I detest it, in fact I loathe it! This life…this bondage. This living prison cell, but I have no control over this… He smiles as he walks in. That mischievous smile, fueled by lust and an awakening in his groin. His smile is gleeful, his expression shouts triumph, victory. I steel my body against his touch. I’ve had enough, too much. I smile back at him, one laced with anger and pain, one showing only hospitality to his nasty desires. I’m used to the routine, why won’t I? It’s been my weekly activity for years. But today will be the last time I dance to his music. I remember how it started-the interview that rainy Tuesday morning. I remember how my black pumps were kept on as he had his way. It was my only way to get the job. And I thought that would be the end. And then my second day at the office. “You know what I want”, he stated flatly as if it had been part of our deal. I was shocked, but now it’s as usual as drinking water. But not again. I fell helplessly against him, and allowed him have his way. Till now, I still remember his grunts as he took his savage pleasure in my frail body. Yes, he tripled my salary. I earned even more than the directors earned. But no more. Frankly, I don’t give two fucks about the money. After all, he’s treated me like a mistress, filling my bank accounts with more than enough funds. As he whispers endearing words in my ears, the same ones he says every time, I’m grateful I’m against my desk. I arch my back, reaching for it. My Saviour, My Deliverer. Shar’Dama Ka, I say within me, enjoying the flow of the Krasian word for deliverer. I’m going to set myself free today; surely, I have power over what goes into me and comes out. And certainly who derives their pleasure in me. I chuckle a bit, managing to make it sound as a moan, stunned at what a little object can do. I imagine the headlines when they find out, ‘Office Worker Ends Game For Boss’ and the frantic search for me when it all comes to light. ’Worker disappears leaving boss in a state of deep sleep’. My laughter turns to sadness as I think of his pretty wife and cute daughter. Barely a teenager, I can’t help but feel sorry for the daughter who would now live her life without a father. But then, it is probably for the best. A monster like him would know no boundaries, not even with his daughter. He turns his back and starts talking while unbuttoning his shirt and removing his other items of clothing. This is my only chance. I pick up the weapon and aim it properly. I’ve timed it all to perfection, he’s slow at undressing, always wanting to ‘give me a show’. Too bad I’m the one giving the show today. Before I can have any rethink or feel sympathy for anyone who might be affected, I pull the trigger once…twice…thrice…five times. Until I see him fall down, so wounded that I know there’s nothing anyone can do to save him. Satisfied, I pick up my bag and walk towards the door. At the point where I have to cross over his now lifeless body, I stop and stare at him. This man was once my only source of hope. I remember walking into his office, hoping and praying that I get the job. Indeed, I got the job. But what a job it was. I close my eyes and will all memories of him to be drowned in the deepest part of my mind. I want nothing to do with a dead man, not even memories. After all, who wants to remember memories of being a pleasure toy? I shut the door firmly, against him and that world. Before anyone finds out what has happened, I would be on the flight to New York. A new name, a new life. I’ve timed everything to perfection, I think again to myself. And in the comfort of my Camry, the thought of being caught slowly creeps in. But then, even if I am caught, no prison would be as bad as the one I’ve just broken free from The End

“Chris, let’s check out the pub. Perhaps, there are girls we can chat up over there,” Etienne suggested. He had knocked on my door moments earlier. When I opened the door, he was standing with hands in his pocket, grinning at me as though he had just won a lottery. “I am tired, Etienne. I just returned from playing football at the park,” I replied, resisting his lure for another evening of ‘hunting’ (as he often put it) in the student pub on the ground floor of our hall of residence, the international students house (ISH), London. Etienne was one of the first few people I met upon arrival in London. After a train ride on the Piccadilly line, from Heathrow to Great Portland Street, I hauled my luggage behind me, famished after the trip from Lagos to London. Nonetheless, I was excited; thrilled to be in London for studies. When I saw the sign on the big building on Great Portland Street – International Students House (ISH), London, I felt relieved. All my efforts in studying the London underground map had not been in vain. I did not want to get lost, so I had invested loads of time and energy into figuring out my train route from Heathrow to International Students House, right in the heart of London. I paced up, crossing the road hastily as I walked towards the lobby of the big building. “Welcome to International Students House, London,” a middle aged English lady said to me with a smile on her face. “Thank you,” I replied, returning her smile. Minutes later, I was checked into the room that would be home to me for the next one year, eat least. As I turned to make my way to the elevator, there was a big, tall black guy smiling at me. “Are you African?” he asked. His accent was heavy…unmistakably African. I tried to place his accent as quickly as I could – something I have mastered over the years, listening attentively when people from different countries talked. “Yes, I am. I am from Nigeria. I take it you are from Cameroon,” I replied. He stepped back, looked intently at me, his eyes boring holes through me. His smile had vanished, momentarily. Slowly, another wave of smiles reappeared on his face. “How did you know I was Cameroonian?” he asked. “I have been here a few days now, and you are the only person to have placed my nationality with impeccable accuracy; just by listening to me,” he said. I could tell he was surprised…delightfully. “I tend to listen to different accents and memorize them afterwards. I took a wild guess. Clearly, you are African, I could hear that from miles away, but you are not East African. Your accent is different from the East African accent. At the same time, you are not from Southern Africa. I heard a blend of English and French when you spoke, so knowing that there are French Speaking and English speaking parts of Cameroon, I took a crack at you being Cameroonian,” I explained. “You are very correct, Masa,” he said, his smile broadening. I later found out that Masa is the Cameroonian version of ‘old boy’ in Nigeria. Etienne and I became friends right away…you know, the African bond held us together in a strange land, far away from home. “Come on Chris, when I walked past the lobby a while ago, I saw some girls heading for the bar. Let’s go check them out.” Etienne was a classic womanizer. For some reason, he liked to go ‘hunting’ with someone – a backup who would distract the second girl, should his target have a sidekick with her. Following his incessant persuasion, I sluggishly dressed up, wishing he’d get tired of my delay tactics and go by himself. Not Etienne; he was a hard man to lose. He stuck it out. Eventually, we rode the elevator from the third floor to the ground floor. The bar as more quiet than normal. The usual student population; largely revelers were nowhere to be found. The bar man, a French guy sat quietly behind the bar, peering keenly at the TV monitor with no one to serve. A dry frown appeared on Etienne’s face. “Come on, where are the girls?” he asked, rhetorically as we walked to the end of the large pub. Looking to the right, we sighted two girls tucked in a corner, sipping on a cold glass of apple cider – Strongbow, to be precise. Etienne’s face lit up. Even from a short distance, you could tell that they were beautiful girls. I have to admit the dark-haired one with her back to us looked more beautiful. Well, her physique said it all even from a distance away. Etienne instantly had his sights set on the blond one. “Hello, you mind if we sit with you?” Etienne asked. “Sure,” the blond replied with a smile. Etienne dragged a seat out and balanced his weight on it. He was at least, six feet ve inches. He made sure to sit close enough to the blond. I took the last remaining seat at the table near the darkhaired girl. “So where are you from?” I asked. “Switzerland,” the blond replied. “Have you been there before?” The dark-haired one asked. “No, I have not, but I would like to someday,” I replied. “I bet they have never been anywhere else. I wonder how long it has been since they jumped off trees in the forest where they lived all their lives…deep in the heart of Africa” the blond girl said to the dark-haired one. She spoke in French, so I was completely lost…had no clue what she had said. The dark-haired girl laughed raucously, throwing her head backwards and flicking her hair. I had no idea what was amusing them both. I could not help but notice their unsullied beauty as they laughed fervidly. “What is it?” I asked naively, with no clue what they were saying. Etienne was rather quiet….unusually quiet. By now, he’d be making his move on his target like military commandoes zeroing in on their target. “Nothing,” the blond girl replied. Yet, Etienne remained quiet. “I was just telling her that your accent is sexy,” the blond said. “Thanks, I said unaware of what was truly said about me…about us. “So, how about you? Where are you from?” The dark-haired girl asked. She was still wrestling with a fervid outburst of laughter. I never knew my accent could be so sexy, yet so funny. “I am from Nigeria.” “I replied. “I am from Zambia,” Etienne lied. I could not for the love of my life fathom why he was concealing his nationality, but I kept quiet. Etienne never did anything without a reason. I was going to ask him about it later. “So, are you students? Do you live at the international students house?” Etienne asked them. “Yes, we live here in ISH. I am studying at the University of Westminster, just down the road from here. I am taking a master’s in international relations at the Regent Street Campus,” the blond girl replied. “Me too, I am studying at University of Westminster – Law,” added the dark-haired girl. She leaned over the table and said something in French to the blond, and again, they laughed their heads off, giggling like teenagers chatting about their crush. “I am sure they have no clue what international relations and Law are all about,” she had said to her friend. “Look at the big one…he really looks like a big monkey,” the blond replied. “And the small one, he looks like he is about to die of hunger. I bet those starving Africans we see on TV are his relatives.” “His hair is all scruffy, are you sure he is not suffering from some sort of nutritional deficiency?” They dissected us in French, speaking as fast as possible. I could only look and wish I spoke French. Yet, Etienne who spoke French fluently remained quiet. I looked at him, and he appeared to be staring coldly at me. I think he meant to say something with his eyes, but I could not quite make out his cryptic message. The Swiss girls laughed even harder. “Do you want beer?” The blond asked. “No, thanks!” Etienne answered before I could say a word. I knew he understood French perfectly, so from his tone, I could tell something was wrong. An offer of beer was a normal ice breaker in the ‘hunting’ game. Typically, he would have jumped at the offer, knowing it was his turn to buy the next round for the girls…which meant, there was time for another round. Usually, he’d be heading up to his room with a girl after a few rounds. “I will go get a pint of beer for my friend and I,” I said heading for the bar. When I returned with two pints of Strongbow cider, the girls were still busy yapping away. “Who knows if they have ever tasted cider,” said the dark-haired one. By the time I returned, I noticed that Etienne’s phone was lying face-down on the table. “So, do you stay in this building of international students house or the other one – Mary Travelyan Hall?” I asked. “We stay at Mary Travelyan Hall,” replied the blond. “So, where do you study?” The blond asked. University of Westminster as well,” Etienne and I echoed. “So, we all go to the same university!” The dark-haired girl exclaimed. “How dare you say we go to the same University with these apes?” The blond asked the other girl in French. Her voice was inundated with sheer contempt. “These apes are both first class graduates from their universities in Africa and they are studying here in London on scholarship!” Etienne said in French. His voice was loud. He was overly animated. The girls said nothing in reply. An eerie silence hung in the air. I stared at the girls who had been loquacious moments earlier, as they suddenly looked subdued; panic-stricken. “What is it?” I asked Etienne. “These two idiots here are racists…blind racists!” He replied, his voice dripped with anger. “No, we are not!” They both said. Then, Etienne raised his phone and began to play back their recordings to me – he explained each one to me. I wanted to leap like Bruce Lee and kick life out of both girls. “It is not true. We were only joking,” the dark-haired one replied. “It does not matter what you say, I have you two on tape. I will make sure you are rusticated and thrown out of international students house. I promise you that!” Etienne yelled at them, boiling peevishly. “Let’s leave,” the blond said to her friend. “Run…Run all you care, but there will be no hiding place for you racists!!” Etienne yelled at them as they rose to their feet and began to head for the exit They walked briskly desperate to put place for you racists!! Etienne yelled at them as they rose to their feet and began to head for the exit. They walked briskly, desperate to put the incident of the past minute behind them. I was sweating despite the air conditioner being on. A massive ball of rage bounced around ebulliently within me. I wanted to run after them and show them shege!!! I managed to calm myself down. By the next day, Etienne and I led a complaint against both girls, sending the voice recordings to the authorities. The authorities of international students house swung swiftly into action. Both girls were thrown out of the building. They did not wait for us to complete the complaint process at University of Westminster. They packed their bags and left town, abandoning their studies for good…at least in London. Hunting was over for me after that. Well, by that I mean my role as Etienne’s backup was finally over. I was saddened by that experience that it took quite some time for me to get over it and begin to get along well with white people. Etienne on the other hand was out hunting the next night. Nothing would deny him, not even racism! THE END