There is something about waking up in a woman’s bed.
I don’t know about you, but I often feel a sense of displacement, like “Dude, where the fuck are you?”
And it hits differently when you wake up to find that a beautiful woman is giving you a hand job, your pingolo all shiny with argan oil.
But you see, I needed to pee. My bladder was bursting. A bottle of wine can do that to you. But I let her work on me for a while, watching as she alternated between her hand and her lips. Then when I could hold it no longer I told her I wanted to pee.
In the loo, I took a quick assessment of Taiye and I. The first summation was that we were two forty something year olds with high libidos. The second was that we had clicked sexually. Third was that the Coronavirus pandemic had brought us together in an unusual way and we were taking massive advantage of it.
But did I like her and what did I think of her? Truth was, we hadn’t talked enough, or should I say interacted enough for me to form an opinion. With Chi, it was a three hour discussion en route Nigeria and I was completely sold on her. And then I chased her until I wore her down.
Taiye was a different kettle of fish. She saw me, thought I was hot and the first opportunity she had she grabbed it and dragged me to her bed. She had looked like a push over, an aging women with a high sex drive and something to prove but our little tiff had shown me that Taiye was no push over. She was a woman who was used, it seemed, to saying her mind and damning the consequence.
As I washed my hand, I admitted to myself that even though the sex was amazing, this was not love. Cabin fever, maybe, but not yet love and I wondered what would happen when this quarantine ended and we had to deal with a post isolation regime.
Drying my hand, I spoke candidly to my self – “Nna, forget the future and enjoy the present.”
And that’s what I did, I got back in her room, turned her over and slid right into her like hot knife through butter.
“Time for some back shot, baby,” I said and she said “Yes, papi,” as I began to dig into her.
We had toast and omellete. I brewed tea in my house and brought it over – french earl grey, bergamon and mint.
“How do you know which infusions will work?” Taiye asked after the first tip.
“Gut feeling, babes,”I said
After breakfast, Taiye and I had a leisurely soak in her bath tub. She had lit scented candles so we sat there and let the warm water and aromatic scents from Tsavorites lull our senses.
We only stepped out when the water got cold.
I left Taiye so I could go over to my apartment to use my cosmetics then dress up.
I was in the process when Vic called via whatsapp.
“Leave me, I am self isolating,” I said before he had a chance to say a word.
“Gerrout dia,” he screamed. “Come and carry your sister. I am tired,” he said.
I knew he was referring to his wife but I was in no mood to go easy on him.
“Which sister?”
“Marian, my wife. Come and carry her before we kill ourselves.”
“Kill your selves biko. I will inherit the kids, the house and the cash.”
“Your father dia,” Vic screamed. “Thief of Baghdad like you.”
Vic cut the call and I had a good laugh. When things are going swimmingly with his wife, he would tell me how she was the best thing since sliced bread but once there was a hiccup, he would call and remind me how she was my sister because we were family friends and Vic had met Marian in my house when he spent the holiday with me.
“If I hadn’t met her in your house, would I be in this shit,” he often told me and my answer was always the same. “No, but you will be in deep shit.”
Once done and dressed, I put a call through to London.
“Dad, I am pissed,” Zizi said the moment the call went through.
“Can we start with good morning Daddy yo?”
“Good morning Daddy but I am still pissed?”
“Okay, what happened?”
“Uncle David was here. I don’t know why mum insists we call him Uncle Dave when he is not even like our real uncle.”
“Hush, child. Why are you pissed?”
“Well Dad think of all the contagion he had to pass through to get here.”
“Contagion, child. That’s a big word, you know.”
We spoke for a while and all I could see was a girl not willing to accept another man in place of her dad.
“Hey kiddo. It’s ok. I don’t mind your mum seeing Dave. I just want to be your Number 1 dad.”
“You will always be my Number 1 Dad,” she said.
I spoke with Zulu who seemed to be watching all the films on netflix whether age appropriate or not.
“Dad, I know you prefer whisky to wine, but I think you should see Uncorked. It’s brill.”
Aramide was feeling shy or ashamed, I couldn’t tell which so didn’t want to come to the phone.
I had just set the phone down when I heard banging on the door.
I peeped and Taiye was standing there, hair flying like the medussa.
“I need your help, Zeal,” she said as she stepped in. “I need you to take me to Ikeja then Ilupeju.”
“I am on lockdown babes,” I told her.
“I know Zeal, but I am asking a huge favour. My father is dying. His insulin runs out tomorrow and I need to go buy enough to last through this period. These old people always piss me off. How can you not know your medicine is running out? My mum gives him his injections daily, surely she must know. These people are wicked. That’s all.”
“Calm down,” I said taking her in my arms and I was surprised to see her weeping as she placed her head on my shoulder.
“I will take you T, no worries. I will take you.”
She said her thank yous as she sniffled and wiped off her tears with the back of her hand.
The drive to Alpha Pharmacy off Toyin street was uneventful. We got there and were asked to wash our hands, wipe it, use sanitizer and then sit and wait. We were assigned numbers, our orders were taken and then we waited.
Orders ready and paid for, we set off for Ilupeju and that was when I found out that Taiye’s father was a former minister. She was the last and the only child in Nigeria and they had bought her the apartment for her 40th.
“They just take the piss when it comes to me,” she said as we parked.
“Oya, see the injections. You and your husband will not kill me. You give him injections every day and you don’t know its finished,” Taiye said dropping the bag on the table.
“Oko mi, ma binu. This thing we call old age, ma binu oko mi. Come and greet your mother,” her mother said rising to hug her and Taiye burst into tears again.
“If not for this man, I wouldnt have gone out today. Your wahala is too much, mummy.”
“Ma binu. Don’t be upset. It’s old age. I thought we still had.”
Just then her father walked down stairs.
“T for Taiwo! T for Taiwo,” he hailed and I recognized him immediately. “So, if we did not say insulin was finished we will not see you, abi?” he teased and tried to peck her.
“Daddy, leave me joor.”
“Ahh, this fine man is turning your head abi but you know I am your Number 1 man, T for Taiwo.”
After they made up, Taiwo introduced me as her friend and neighbour and then her mum ended up inviting me for lunch.
“Zeal Onyia, abi ki l’on tin pe? Once this Koro nonsense is over, you must come over for lunch. I insist.”
I thanked her and promised to honour her invite.
By the time we got back home it was past 6pm.
“We need to shower. That’s what the advisory says. Discard your clothes and have a bath,” Taiye said the moment we got in.
And so we discarded our clothes and stepped into the shower but Taiye would not be Taiye if she didn’t get naughty and so as we were about to step out, she grabbed me and beat my meat to a happy ending.
She changed into my tee shirt and we sat and watched CNN.
We paused to watch the presidential broadcast during which Buhari said Lagos, Abuja and Ogun state would be on lock down for 14 days.
“Jesus. Imagine if my mum didnt call and they ran out. Hmm, thanks,” she said snuggling up to me.
“You are welcome,” I said as I mulled over the fact that the number of people who had tested positive had jumped up by 22 to 111 from 89 yesterday.
Lord have mercy!
(Continues tomorrow and Edited by Toni Kan)