Recently, I decided to have a boyfriend. Just maybe to keep me company on WhatsApp, or maybe to have someone I could, you know, have sex with.
But it didn’t happen the way you think.
Let’s call him Richy (real name, because I know he’ll never read this). He’d been on my matter for a long time, asking me to be his babe or friends with benefits, but the Naija girl in me kept saying no.
Then one day, and it is funny how I’m saying “one day” like I’m in storytelling class with children, blessing their ears with folktales abi folklores (how do they even spell this shit? Never mind).
I joined a hackathon.
NEPA being NEPA, I swear, they’ll ask for bread and be given stone. Or should I say “thunder fire them”?
They seized light for three straight days. My deadline was just hours away, and since I was paired with Kenyans, Omo! I’m never marrying a Kenyan, mark my words. The pressure was mad. They lacked patience, cut me out of the project, but by God’s grace, they later brought me back to make the pitch video using one of my AI software subscriptions.
So, guess what I did?
I called Richy.
As a good man, he told me to come over. Who will say no to steady light and free internet? Abeg, the software developer in me would curse me if I said no.
I got to his place and pretended to be working. He ordered food for us, acting sweet. I decided to sleep over. Coochie has to be scratched and eaten well enough.
That was when I knew I had fucked up.
His dick was so small, like a little child’s. Maybe because he’s fat. Sorry, Richy, not to body-shame, but damn. I wasn’t going to suffer that kind of emotional damage, at least not for my sanity.
Luckily, my guy knows how to please a woman with fingers and toys. He sanitized the toys. He has all the BDSM kits. I was tempted.
We started with the rabbit vibrator. Damn! No man has ever taken me to heaven and back like that. I was floating, wanting more. With a dick in my G-spot, fingers on my clit, whoever invented the rabbit vibrator, God bless you. Toes curled, juice dripping, nipples hard enough to crack a kernel.
He wasn’t done. He brought out the rose vibrator.
Fuck.
I couldn’t take it anymore. I started hearing voices that weren’t mine. I was crying, whimpering, and begging for more.
Me? Beg for more? Never. In the history of bad sex or small dick, you’d never see me beg. Even when the sex is good, nah.
But there I was, promising to cook for Richy and everything.
Sadly, I still didn’t orgasm.
You might ask how that’s possible after all that. Simple: alcohol. I don’t enjoy sex when I’m tipsy. That night, the machines did the work, but still, no orgasm. I was frustrated, I swear.
As for Richy, he just played with my nipples, touched himself, and came. I guess that’s his version of sex. He’s too big to be on me, so he just jerks off. Maybe I should introduce him to gym membership.
I’ve never gone back.
He’s a nice guy, truly. But he’ll meet the girl for him, and that girl isn’t me.
I hope you enjoyed reading.
I’d love to hear yours.
