Isabella Okon's parents lived in a house straight from a 1970 movie, the kind of house the Easterners in Nigeria - who struggled to be recognized as Biafrans - must have been subjected to living after the war that had blown the roofs off houses, left windows too naked, and doors too wide. There were frail-looking bamboo sticks positioned between the door and window frames to support the building by rubbing off some of the weight from the loose blocks that lost most of its cement to thorough washing from the rain whenever the Sky People got annoyed and punished the Earth People with too much water its use was lost. No one ever complained about the downpour; months of drought often took the complaints from their lips.
This was one of such nights the sky and its people were obviously holding a grudge against the people of the earth, the Okons scampering here and there putting away as much valuables as they could from the invading rain into the shelter of Effiong Okon's sitting room crowned with leaky zinc sheets from years of rust. In the afternoon when there was no rain, the sun would often peep shyly into the privacy of the Okons through the tiny holes littered on the zinc, only to grow some balls on realising there was nothing for the Okons to hide in the emptiness of the sitting room save for their barely-clad bodies, and so it left larger reflections on anything its stare fell on. But this was not some sunny afternoon and nothing peeped but something leaked, an intruder the family dreaded as they moved what they could under the parts of the room where there were no or little leakage. Isabella tucked her twin brothers into her arms this night in her shiver, just enough to keep the boys warm and take their worries away from the invading rain they somewhat loved until the cold from the wide and naked doors and windows got them.
No, this was not some house from a 1970 movie but one in the slums of Lagos whom no one lay a claim to - probably due to its ruins, the Okons had claimed the right of ownership having lived long enough to. The year was 2009, the same 2009 'Cof'men' - like I would later hear Isabel call them - had decided to rid that part of Lagos of its slums. The heavy machines, manned by beasts with bloodshot eyes from smoking marijuana and drinking 'monkey tail' had pulled everything a feet above the ground down, with the displaced families clustering around glaring in bewilderment at what was previously theirs but now the earth's. The 'whole' town had gone to watch this one movie. And so that Saturday morning as I sat outside resting from the morning's chores on the antenna pole, a knock on the gate distracted me, some useless anger from tiredness fuming inside of me as I made for the gate.
"Who's there?"
"Open up," Father began in a jest, "Lagos thieves are not always polite enough to knock."
My hands fumbled with the padlocks; the gate was open seconds later. I was in the middle of greeting Father and laughing out loud as he stepped in when something else took the laughter from my lips replacing it with silence. My lips stood slightly apart from each other, there were no words to describe what followed Father. A girl she was, not just the regular girl. Close-cropped hair that needed a little trim, big brown eyes, lips so supple one could tell by just looking, breasts - that fought with the buttons of her shirt for freedom - big enough to feed six motherless babies daily. I had started counting my blessings when some new blessing blew away the old ones; on this dirtily clothed girl was the most alluring buttocks a seventeen year old boy must have seen really close up - big, round, soft enough to bounce and leave noticeable lines when she walked.
"Isabella," she would later tell me her name.
"How old?"
"Sixteen."
Isabel - like I preferred to call her - is our new maid I had learnt from Father when I found the voice to inquire. If I ever had a thing against Calabar girls, Isabella Okon killed and buried every of such things.
Mother did not feel too happy when she arrived from the market to meet Isabel, somehow she had a right to anger. Isabel isn't just any girl but one who could divert any man's attention, 'cept you didn't look at her the second time.
"I couldn't walk past her family honey. Three children for a homeless family is too much a load. I felt you may need an extra hand to help," Father had explained as he went through his meal that evening.
"But why not any of the other children Tunde?" Mother countered.
"She's the oldest. The other kids are twins. No one would let go of twins easily."
Mother said nothing more, though I could see questions in the twisting of her brows and twitching of her lips.
Sunday was uneventful for me save for Church in the morning; secretly, I prayed the day fast-forwarded into the next. The only memories from the day was catching glimpses of Isabel's body, memories I took lustfully with me in all clarity into the night until I drifted into the unclarity of sleep. I would wake up the next morning having had a wet dream. No.... having made love to Isabel in my dreams rightly put...Yes!
Soon, it was 8:00 am and Father left for work. About an hour later, Mother was off to see Iya Idowu - probably to tell her of the 'thief' that robbed her of her husband's eyes in her very house. Experience had taught me to expect her late on any of such outings.
"I'd be back soon," she said anyway, her 'soon' all I needed to hear to know she'd have a long day away.
"Go well Ma," my voice giving my happiness away almost.
From my room where I lay, I could hear plates clattering from far away in the kitchen. Noiselessly, I tiptoed to the corridor with my mind penetrating the kitchen door long before my eyes did, meeting Isabel bent towards the cabinet doing the dishes. Her buttocks jiggled in synchrony with every of her movement.
She turned just when I stepped into the kitchen, "You need something Bayo?"
I was lost in my lust when she turned to face me, with her partly wet blouse hugging her body tightly. But it was wet at the right places, enough for me to see the outlines of her areola and nipples pushing against the wetness of the blouse. Something familiar and peculiar to me stirred from between my legs.
"No. Urmmm...yes. I came for...don't worry, I'd help myself," I managed to say in a voice too blur.
"Okay."
I left.
About five minutes later back in my room, images of Isabel loiter in my mind, pictures of her hovering over my eyes in my lustfulness in slideshows. I close my eyes only to have those images plaster themselves on the orange of my inner lids. Then those images abandon my lids, trekking comfortably into the surface of my mind.
"You are an idiot Bayo! Did she not ask if you needed something? Have you forgotten Calabar girls and their famous 'sexcapades'? Instead of thinking if I'd survive you're dying over someone that needs me too. You're punishing me too much. Go to her now," it was my 'rock' rocking my mind with thoughts spoken by its pleasure-seeking voice. Sometimes this 'rock' did the thinking for me.
Seconds later, I had stripped bare save for my pant, tiptoeing slowly, steadily, guiltily, purposefully...towards the kitchen a time more. This time around, Isabel is crouched with her back to me rubbing dirt off the floor with a wet rag. The floor is not the only thing wet, her clothes cling to her young supple body tightly. I'm beyond control; I feel my hands peel my pants off. A second later I'm clutching on to the hem of her wet skirt pushing the fabric over her buttocks. She makes to twist away in her shock but slips flat on to the wet floor. My fingers fumble quickly shifting her pant to a side over her bare big round soft buttocks.
"Bayo!!! Please Bayo... For the sake of God... Stop...Please...B..aa. yyy...oooo..." she shouts futilely, rather too late as I make to slide my 'rock' into her 'cave'.
"Just this one time Isabel. I'm not hurting you," I grunted.
I meet a resistance at the entrance to her 'cave' but all that don't matter. My waist jerks forward until I'm buried inside of her warm flesh, pounding away my lust paying no attention to her shouts which were metamorphosing into defeated sobs as I pinned her to the floor with my torso. Right inside of her where I'm stuck, I knew this was never going to be my last time. A minute later I would feel a group of slimy 'tourists' travel from my testis past my 'rock' into her 'cave' as I grunted the words, "Just this one time Isabel!!!"
