Hives and Other Drugs

Tagging him rich was belittling; he owned money. He carried bundles around - wads he never actually sat down to count. He had no such time. His boys did that for him. Coloured men were his friends: Mr. Browne, Mr. Whyte and Mr. Greene. He knew people. He owned no organization yet his busyness boomed. He was not an armed robber or a hired assassin or a contractor. He was a salary earner who amassed wealth from under his table. His well-wishers took him out often; to acquaint him with more people …people of considerable and contemptuous works of life, including the ones who wore white garments and carried wrongly carved wooden crosses. “Mashababrikatetemalo ooooooo”, one of them said as he jumped around on one foot, while acting in the same way as Nneka the Pretty Serpent. “Awon ara ile e o fe jeki o nisimi. Won fe ri irawo e mole (Your family members do not want you to have peace. They want to bury your star)”, another said looking down while he played with his narrow-mouthed g...

We had been fucking for four months. Boyfriend, girlfriends or side peeps, we did not care. We did not pry in each other’s lives and we did not take things farther. I loved him and he said he loved me. Everything was normal and uncomplicated. Then he had to leave and I became lonely. We talked every day and practically every minute but I was still lonely. I needed him there but it seemed like he was never coming back. Then I made a beautiful mistake. I had made two friends. A producer and his joint. We smoked up and cooled down. Then we took our clothes off in ecstasy and committed a sin against my lover. We made love and we climaxed. I had never climaxed. Probably because things were different with the producer. It was passionate, unlike what I had had with my lover. My lover dominated me while the producer united with me. Our mutual friend had enlightened us. He told us that we needn’t worry or care about the circumstances that held us apart. He told us to lea...

You know when you have to wait months to hit that thing and then you fuck up. As in eh, when you mess up seriously! Yeah, that *I wanna die feeling* happened to me o. Choi! Met this girl, can’t even remember how we met. She was sha on ma bbm. Correct babe, boobies to die for, light skinned hottie, better yansh *wipes sweat* And yes she was in lust with me. Sexy slim toh bad, the ladies are (ok were) tripping. Back to the story. The girl wanted the D, so p-setting was really easy. I didn’t have to convince her unendingly. She wasn’t in Lagos at that time. She was somewhere in Delta/Edo. And then you know, the sexual frustration grew cos we didn’t see. We exchanged messages, how much we wanted to bang each other ...that kinda thing. She had the dirtiest mouth, I literarily moved around with a hard-on. I made mouth mayne. DAMN!!! Telling her I would do that, how I would keep hitting it for 25minutes non-stop. The multiple orgasm I would give her, oh la la.  She wanted...

You know as a kid, many things are unclear - why your mum gives you this really scary look when a family friend offers you refreshments, why your older siblings made fun of things you said, or why your dad kicked against your going to your girlfriends’ house to play because of their big brothers. All these puzzled me too but one particular thing puzzled me the most – why my parents played so rough and real dirty. Then, we watched WWE in my house and it seemed fun until my parents decided to start their own wrestling entertainment in the house. It was usually bloody and they spared no objects or assets. From shoes, boxes, heels, wrenches, knives, stools to televisions, iron rods and what not. They smashed things, threw valuables around and scattered our home. My father would pull my mum’s hair and slap her silly while my mum would bite close to my dad’s testicles and scream her lungs out. It was beyond depressing to watch this. I would sob, cry and wail. Small me would run...

I remember that evening… I had been expecting him for two weeks. He showed up with four wraps of the good stuff. All rolled up, moulded to perfection. We would smoke one and I could have the rest. He liked me that much. We decided to smoke outside, so we could keep our business our business and have our usual ‘drive about’. We smoked in his car while he drove. We were in our own movie, more like a music video. Seemed to me like I was Warren G and he was Nate Dogg. I felt gangsta and he looked laid back. We were listening to Brymo’s ‘Good Morning’ and he was driving and singing from his soul. ♫♫♫♫ “Good morning Omoge, Baby mi, how you do? Tori o fine gan, I’m singing this for you. Ma she mi lese, tell me how you do. Sun mo mi Omoge, this one is for you…” ♫♫♫♫ I hoped he was singing to me. But I knew he wasn’t. I looked at him, I was sad. I loved him but I had no idea what he felt for me. I had learnt to think about this for short seconds. And so I snapped out of it...