YOUR UNCLES'
LOVE... Episode I
+18
Warning:
this story is restricted and does contain explicit sexual scenes.
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It was
normal for us to do it every night – though there were times we did it in the
day too, usually on weekends and holidays when Uncle managed to be free. But
mostly, we did it at night. Just as we would tonight.
As usual I
was in front of the television, looking at the screen but not seeing what was
going on there. The noise from it was a faraway drone which I couldn’t pick
apart to make out any meaningful words. Dinner was over, I’d washed the plates
we used and locked up the house for the night. It was only 8 p.m. but in that
house we slept early. This was because Uncle and I lived alone – his wife and
children were in Ilorin, where Aunty was permanent secretary in the ministry of
works there. Uncle, on his part, worked in a bank three blocks from my school.
At the close of work, he came straight home, ate dinner, and watched television
for thirty minutes, after which he will go into his room and spent another thirty
minutes there before coming out, clad in only
his boxer shorts, to call me.
“Come to bed,”
he’d say, and I’d switch off the television and follow him down the short
corridor to his bedroom. The room was always in darkness when I came – the only
illumination being what poured in from the security light outside atop his
window. He’d stretch his hand towards the bed, indicating I should go lie on
it. Then he’d slip off his boxer shorts and come to bed, and start on my
buttons. He liked to undress me. So he said.
When I was
naked, he would hold me briefly then lay me on my back. He preferred us doing
it that way, him on top and I on my back with my long legs splayed out – one to
the wall, the other to the edge of the bed. Because that was the way humans
were supposed to do it, he said; the other style was for dogs and beasts.
I would make
out his chiseled face in the semi-darkness as his swollen penis slipped into
me then began to move back and forth in an unbroken rhythm. Uncle was not
handsome, but his eyes were honey-coloured and gave off a captivating glint in
the dark; his lips were puffy – I liked their fair colour and the trim bar of
moustache arching them. I also liked the scent of his perfume: Havoc…
He’d jerk
now, thrusting faster moments before he collapsed on top of me, wheezing. He’d
stay that way for some time – not minding that his broad body was a strain on
my leaner one – after which he’d roll off me, shift my leg still against the
wall to join its companion at the other edge of the bed, then face the wall
himself.
I’d lie
there in the semi-darkness, breathing softly, studying the ceiling boards,
feeling my Uncle’s semen trickle down my leg.
“Are you not
going to go to your room?”
The question
usually came after fifteen minutes – I counted. It came gently, like I had an
opinion in the matter. But I long suspected that I actually didn’t, so I’d say
– as always, “I’m going now,” and sit up.
He’d might
then say, “Hope you’re not dating anyone in school, least of all that your
Chinedu.” Chinedu was my friend whom Uncle had barred from visiting me. I’d
said no. And leave his room – naked – my clothes a ball pressed to my chest.
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...EPISODE
II
+18
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It was thirty-eight minutes since Uncle went
into his room. I was still watching television. I now noticed it was tuned to
AIT and the programme was one of those Mexican soaps, something involving a
Diego and a Paloma. I followed it sometimes but didn’t like it much. Preferred
my Super Sports.
Uncle had
never been late calling me to his bed. Something was wrong. I switched off the
television and made for the corridor – to find out. More than midway through,
his bedroom door pulled back and he stepped out. I stopped, three feet from his
door. It was obvious where I was headed, yet he hadn’t called me. In the one
year since Uncle and I started this I’d never gone to him if he didn’t call.
“I was
coming to call you,” he said, his tone composed.
“Okay.”
Without
another word, we went into the room. It was lit. This was not right. I turned
to Uncle for explanation – perhaps. Any kind of explanation – if there was one.
He met my gaze, holding it. His honey-brown eyes glinted, softly…
For a moment
I harboured the thought that we wouldn’t do it tonight. And I was a little
disappointed. I was used to this. Whether I enjoyed it or not did not matter. I
was just used to it; there was no other way to spend this time of my nights but
this. Was he about to tell me we should stop, that it was wrong what we did?
Had Aunty found out?
“Sophia.”
“Uncle –”
“Solomon.
Call me Solomon. From now on.”
I could feel
the blood pumping in my chest , echoing in my ears. All adrenaline and anxiety.
So far three things had gone wrong this night. I suspended my breathing – until
Uncle hit the climax. This was very much like what we did every night, only
this time we were not on the bed; we were standing in the middle of the room,
clothed – he in boxer shorts and I in blue three-quarter jeans and with a flowing polo shirt although I was bra-less
and our bodies a foot apart.
“I have
something to tell you.” He stretched his hand, not to ask me to go to the bed
and lie nor to clutch my tiny nipples, but to touch my shoulder. I wanted to step back but my feet stubbornly
glued themselves to the floor. Uncle was acting strange.
“Have I ever
hurt you?” he asked, his voice laden with oodles of what I felt must be
sincerity.
“No,” I said.
My curiosity got better of me. I was delighted but wondered if my classmates
had uncles with an attitude like Solomon's, the thought was reflex because I've
always wondered about that. “No,” I said again, shaking my head for good
measure.
Uncle sighed.
He seemed relieved by my answer. “I never want to hurt you,” he went on,
turning me to face him squarely. His scraggly brows were slightly raised, his
puffy lips hung open, and his eyes danced in their sockets, rapidly taking in
every feature of my face. My chest hurt from holding my breath yet I couldn’t
exhale for the life of me.
“I love
you.”
The words
sounded hackneyed to me. Every character in every nollywood movies I've watched
said 'I love you' sooner or later; the cheap, stylized jargon of commercial
films
We
maintained our holds on each other’s gazes. I didn’t deem it necessary to avert
my gaze, for the words were meaningless to me. They were not new to my ears but
Uncle Solomon had never said them to me neither had I ever expected to hear
them from him.
They didn’t
sound wrong either.
Just
meaningless.
“Won’t you
say anything?”
“I don’t
know what to say, Uncle – Solomon.” I winced at the awkwardness of calling him
by his name.
“Say
anything. I’m your uncle, Sophia.”
I shook my
head. I didn’t know what to say.
Uncle’s gaze
fell. “Okay.” After a pause he said, “Think about it then? I guess you want to
go to bed.”
I nodded
frantically and slipped back from his touch. “Goodnight.” I exited the room,
leaving him standing there.
For the
first time in many nights I could remember, I was leaving Uncle’s room in my
clothes.
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... EPISODE
III
+18
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Break time.....
I stood under the mango tree at the edge of the school field, watching the boys
of JSS 3C play a half-deflated football with my class, 3B. My arm was raised to
curl my fingers around one of the low-hanging branches.
A hand that
ended in dainty fingers thrust a can of Coke under my chin. I received it with
thanks. “What else did you buy for me?”
“What else
did you ask me to buy for you?” Chinedu riposted with a lift of his brows.
I stuck my
tongue out at him and refaced the game. 3B had just scored and a communal moan
of disappointment issued from the players and supporters of 3C.
“Why’re you
not playing?” he asked, unwrapping the roll he’d bought for himself.
“Not in the
mood,” I replied, opening my Coke.
“Figures.”
Chinedu and
I had been friends since second term JSS 2. We were the favourites of the
integrated science teacher – which was what drew us to each other in the first
place, plus we had similar interests and disinterests: We loved sports – he
basketball and I volleyball, hated mathematics and business studies
but looked forward to English and computer science and – of course – integrated
science lessons.
He was
handsome – tall enough for a fourteen-year-old boy, with a big smile and his
best feature: eyes that turned up at the corners. A good many girls in class
ached to talk to him longer than was necessary or comfortable for him and we
got off on discussing them. In class our lockers were abreast of each other; we
did all our homework together, spent the breaks together if I wasn’t playing
football, and walked home together, with him seeing me off to our doorstep
before heading home himself.
Right now I
was thinking of last night. I love you. Still meaningless. But I couldn’t stop
churning the words in my head. They hung heavy in my chest, making my heart
flutter steadily. This was why he didn’t want me seeing any boy, even my best
mate Chinedu; he was in love with me. I stared down at my lanky frame wrapped
in our school’s cyan shirt-and-black-skirt uniform. Me.
My insides
warmed.
It felt
good, this love my uncle had for me. I could feel it coursing from my feet in
my kortina shoes up to my head. I didn’t know when I smiled.
“That’s your
first smile all day,” I heard Chinedu say, returning me to the present.
“Yes,” I
said, somewhat shyly.
“Are you in
love?” he giggled at the idea – no doubt thinking it ridiculous – but my answer
braked the laugh and cancelled the thought.
“Yes” was my
answer.
“Hmm…” his
gaze wandered around my face, then fell to the Coke and roll in his hands. He
didn’t ask me anything again.
Nor did I
wait for him to. I told her of last night with Uncle. And of the other nights
before.
By the time
the bell went for break end, I was smiling widely. So widely I didn’t see that
his chin was taut. Nor did I know that beneath those lowered eyes, blood
pounded.
......
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... EPISODE
IV
+18
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A firm knock
but not one designed to alarm. Knock, knock, knock, as if by a gloved hand,
which was the case.
It was
7 p.m. Uncle was back from work and watching television while I set the table.
I thought it was armed robbers
"uncle," I had shouted up the
stairs, "someone is knocking, are you expecting any visitor?"
"Get away from the window, Sophia,"
uncle clement shouted back, all hard-voiced and urgent. "Get away from it.
Now! Come into the kitchen with me. Sophia, do as you're told. Now!"
There was a third knocking on the door, a
more insistent knocking, an offended knocking, a you'd-better-be-opening-this-door-now
sort of knocking, before-we-get-angry sort of knocking. I scuttled backwards
towards my uncle who clasped me to his
bosom.
"It's alright, Sophia," he said.
"Everything's alright. Don't say anything to them, love. Just keep quiet
and let me talk?"
I looked
up at his face, his frightened face and nodded.
The knocking became a slapping-banging, as
if with the flat palm of a gloved hand, and then there began a firm kicking at
the bottom of the door. Not enough to damage it but enough to suggest damage
would be done if it wasn't opened. A voice shouted, superfluously: "Open
the door!" A policeman came to the
window and peered into the room, trying to see through the net curtains. I turned to the kitchen and saw more policemen,
three of them, standing in the back garden, hands on guns. My uncles' trembling
transmitted itself through to the me. I felt his arms shaking, his body
shaking, his legs shaking.
There was a moment's silence before the
front door burst open, the remains of the Yale lock spinning down the hallway
to fall with a ting, ting, ting on the hard red tiles. Five policemen walked
into the house, guns cradled, faces set, hard. Two stood at the bottom of the
stairs, looking up towards the landing, two quickly searched the living room,
dragging the sofa out of place to check behind it, two pushed past me and glanced around the kitchen pausing to
acknowledge the policemen in the garden.
“Mr. Solomon
Odego?”
Uncle –
despite his shocked countenance – acknowledged that was his name.
“You’re
under arrest…”
The rest was
a blur. I recall Uncle’s vehement protests, the words sodomy and abuse flying
about the parlour, the clink of handcuffs and – later – the screech of tyres
away from the house.
.........
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EPISODE V
+18
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I woke up
the next morning to see that I’d fallen asleep on the floor and that I hadn’t
locked up last night; the front door was ajar. I scrambled up to quickly survey
the parlour. Everything seemed in place; no thief had taken advantage of my
carelessness.
I’d have
begun preparing for school but it was Saturday, so I cleaned up and started on
breakfast – four fingers of plantain, three eggs, a milk cup-and-a-half of
oats.
I was at it
when he walked in. He hadn’t knocked so I hadn’t heard his entry until he
joined me in the kitchen
“Hey.”
I knew his
voice so it wasn’t necessary to turn around as I echoed “Hey”.
“How far?”
“Fine.” I
poured dry oats into the boiling water and started stirring, my attention glued
to what I was doing. Stirring.
“Seems like
you’re eating heavy this morning.”
“Taking some
to Uncle.”
“Sophia!”
My throat
was constricted and it was all I could do not to burst. The anger in me was
coagulating faster than the oats in the pot. And it bubbled too.
“You told
them,” I said, setting the pot down. “You made them take him away.”
“He was
destroying you.”
“He loves
me.”
Chinedu
looked pained. “Sophia, hear yourself.” His mouth hung open in mortified
shock. Before he shut it he added quietly, “You don’t know who loves you.”
“Doesn’t
matter. I trusted you. You’re my friend, my best mate.” I paused. There was
nothing more to say. I wasn’t much of a talker anyway.
I set about
preparing the rest of the breakfast – boiling the eggs, pouring half of the
oatmeal into a flask, pouring hot water in another and arranging these with
tins of Peak, Nescafe and margarine in a large Bagco bag, ready to go. I could
feel Chinedu’s gaze trailing my every move, trying to dig into my soul and
understand who I was, know what Uncle had really done to me.
All set, I
left the kitchen without a word to her, but that didn’t stop her from following
me.
“I’m sorry.”
“Mm.” I
stood, stiff as a sentry, at the door, waiting for her to pass so I could lock
up.
“I’ll go
with you to the station.”
“Don’t
trouble yourself.”
“Please.” he
reached for the bag in my hand. “Let me carry it for you.”
Reluctantly
I let him; we stepped out onto the veranda; I locked the door. “Let –”
I had no
warning. In a flash, Chinedu raised the bag above his head and smashed it on
the pavement. I heard glass shatter in the flasks, the eggs shot out of the
package a squashed mess and steaming water pooled on the veranda. The tins of
Peak and margarine rolled out of the bag onto the sand.
“Wha –?”
He was
shaking his head, tears of disbelief and disgust cascading down his cheeks.
“You’re not normal,” he blurted. “You’re not like the other girls in class. Why
can’t you cry? Why can’t you be angry with him? Why can’t you thank me? Why
d’you take his side?”
Since we
became friends I’d never seen Chinedu cry. He seemed self-sufficient, able to
handle himself without anybody’s help, even mine. Unlike I love you, this was
new and I didn’t like it. “Please…stop.”
“Perhaps you
hate me now. But that’s fine. That’s what I get for being a good friend.” he
spun round and hurried off in the direction of the street, sniffing and wiping
tears with the heel of his palms.
I felt as if
hot coals had been dropped in my chest, burning away at my heart, weakening me
from my core. As I watched him cross the street I thought how right he was that
I wasn’t normal, and how right my mind was now that I’d lost him forever.
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