I came back from Abuja and there was a pretty little thing with a sexy pout sitting at reception.
“You are new, right?” I asked and she nodded.
“That’s Oshoko,” the receptionist said. “I already warned her about you.”
“Have you now,” I said offering my hand.
Sexy Pout took it in her dainty palms and flashed eyelashes and I knew my enemies had failed again.
Bola, the receptionist and I had shagged three or four or maybe five times. Who is counting and who really cares. She thought shagging her meant a relationship. Dumbo!
But then I gave it some thought and realised it wasn’t her fault because if she was any smarter she wouldn’t be in reception, right?
I hate being nasty but Bola has been on a personal crusade against me and my Best Friend. Left to Bola, she would be the last woman I shagged.
Every time a new female staff joins the firm, Bola would try to paint me black, tell her how much of a cad I am and how all I do is sleep with all the female staff.
Now, free advice for you ladies.
That shit never works. Tell a woman a guy is bad and a dog and all you do is arouse her interest. It never fails and you know why, women love a bad boy. Most women love to shag just like the next guy and they don’t want a novice in the sack. Geddit?
Anyway, we shook hands and made formal introductions.
“Oshoko, Head, Media Relations.”
“Rachel, Events.”
I held on for a heartbeat, gave a gentle squeeze then smiled as she flashed her lashes.
I didn’t see her again until lunch time and I was happy when she came to sit beside me.
“You don’t listen to warnings, do you?” I said as I moved my tray aside to make way for hers.
“Should I?”
“Depends,” I said and held her gaze.
“On what?” She asked.
“On what you heard.”
“Well, are you as bad as they say you are?”
“Maybe worse. I love women. I love shagging. Is that a crime?”
“I don’t think so,” she said twirling her pasta in her plate.
“So, do you?” I asked.
“Do I what?”
“Love men and shagging?”
“Really? You are asking me that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well, you have to find out,” she said and smiled.
I found out two days later, when as I came out of the restroom, I saw Rachel standing at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in a short red skirt and white top.
“Hey, you,” I called.
“Hey, you,” she called back.
“When are we going to find this thing out?” I asked.
She didn’t say a word. She stood there for what seemed like a few seconds then as I watched, she lifted up her skirt and exposed her clean shaven pubis.
“Catch me if you can,” she said and headed for her office.
I gave chase.
By Oshoko Bushushu
