WIP - Different from any woman he’d known
When his father had been posted here from Lagos, most people had considered it an affront. It was said the Prelate was offended by some of the work his father was doing outside the church, and the fact that he raised the money from his members. His father had taken the transfer quietly and had not been deterred by his smaller and less prosperous congregation. It was around the same time that Babs got his current job, which not only allowed him more time but also some clients that he could introduce to his father’s charitable works.
As they passed by Atakumosa Market, okadas horns blared with abandon, most of the drivers riding dangerously fast. One swerved very close to him and he jumped out of the way with the young rider’s apologies ringing in his ear. It was a good thing he wasn’t such a stranger in Ilesha, or he would’ve fled back to Lagos. He usually came down several times a year, though usually for only a day or two at a stretch. So he was somehow used to the craziness that was his father’s parish, and it felt good not to have to stand on ceremony. He rubbed at his unshaved chin, his palm grazing over rough stubbles, and smiled. Since his leave began on Christmas Eve, he’d been taking it easy, dropping his city airs and enjoying the local flavor.
Part of his distraction in this backwater was supposed to have been Dunni but after a week and seeing Dunni just once, he was thinking it may be time to step up the chase. He had asked her cousin for her phone number but Folarin had been giving him the runaround since. Maybe he needed to find out where her parents lived and take this thing to her doorstep. This wasn’t something he’d done before, pursuing a woman under his father’s nose, but since Boxing day in the church office, it was clear Dunni was different from any woman he’d known.
He recalled the last time he has seen her, she had certainly looked gorgeous. Dressed in rich pink lace and gele, she had looked nothing like the fierce but casual amazon he’d first met on the waterfalls trek or the American tourist he’d glimpsed at the Iddo station in Lagos. Instead, she had been beautiful with exquisite make-up, in a gown that hugged all her curves. The dress was low cut, and under the incandescent bulbs in the office, the dark skin of her shoulders had contrasted with the paler tops of her rounded breasts, both shimmering like polished metal. At first, surprise had stopped him in his tracks, as he adjusted his perception of her as only meant for a summer fling. Then he pushed the thought aside to move closer when she spoke and he heard the same Dunni, the voice had started off riled at his blatant appreciation of her curves. Desire had rose in him then, hot and fast, heat spreading from where she placed her hands on him.
She was trying to push him away, but when she’d come so close to him it was almost a hug, he’d perceived her attraction to him clearly. What he’d only suspected during the trek was confirmed by her husky voice as their bodies touched and he couldn’t resist going in for a kiss. He’d planned a short one, and that first one had been. But one had turned to two and then three. Her lips were soft and pliable under his, matching him stroke for stroke. Withdrawing to tease her about missing him, he’d been intensely turned on by her hoarse comeback. The confident challenge had fired every male gene in him, raising his temperature to scorching levels that only the coolness within her mouth could quench. Finding that she was lighter than he thought as he carried her to the desk, he was ready to take her there and then. That was until she brought him back to his senses by demanding for his name.
It was just as well too because that woman had interrupted them almost immediately. He had recognized the woman and greeted her, wondering what she could have to do with Dunni. But as he’d walked away still burning with lust, his thoughts were occupied with how he’d almost lost his head over a woman. He couldn’t believe that he’d seriously considered, even for a moment, having sex in his father’s office, and with parishioners milling around outside the church! It still baffled him but he wanted to believe it was just the thrill of a new and worthy quarry.
“Hey, man,” Kingley said, cutting into his thoughts. “Are we there yet?”
“The suya spot?” Babs aked. “It’s not far away now. Can you see that ‘it-was-white’ pillar on the other side of the roundabout? Next to the bank?”
“That is not a church?”
Babs shook his head. Kingsley’s assumption was an honest mistake because there seemed to be one in every street here, just like in Lagos. Though his father was a priest, or maybe because of it, Babs often wondered why people needed so many churches. The cathedral his father managed was rarely full except during ceremonies and yet new churches sprang up every other day. As they drew close to the roundabout, he noticed some commotion around the central statue on it. About five people thronged the lower dais upon which the statue stood. A few more steps later, Babs recognized her.
“Let’s cross over.” He motioned to Kingley.
Babs did not answer; looking both ways to be sure the road was clear and crossing hurriedly. The scuff of leather on the worn asphalt behind him indicated his friend was following. Babs made his way to the short man wearing a uniform of a dirty white top with green epaulettes over matching trousers. The traffic official was hollering at the top of his voice.
Remember that this is work in progress, I'd really appreaciate any feedback and corrections.
Happy Monday everyone and wishing you all a great week.