Juggling his job and a small business, Ben is a 26-year-old fellow, whose friend encourages him to live a little and approach a much older woman at the bar one night. Spurred on by his friend and some liquid courage, he makes his move and ends with a fantastic story worth telling in this week’s sex diaries:
TGIF
It all started over drinks as most good stories do. There we were, me and my two best friends, sharing our third round of beers at our favourite hotel bar. Our topic of discussion that Friday evening was Ladi’s latest failed situationship with yet another one of his “little queens”. You see, Ladi likes his women to be young and wonderfully made, with minimal intelligence. So, of course, he gets bored with them quickly. “But how can she not know who Nnamdi Azikiwe is? Who doesn’t know Azikiwe, for God’s sake?” he groans in frustration while Harvey and I laugh. “Surely it’s a curse.” Same story every week. “See his mouth. Which yeye curse? The curse is you and your coconut head since you refuse to date with wisdom,” says Harvey, chuckling and slapping Ladi cheerfully on the back. “Please, is it wisdom that will whine her waist for me or sit on my face? No. So leave me alone o, Mr Monogamous, and focus on your own lifelong bondage with Sandra,” Ladi jokingly replies to Harvey. Harvey has been dating Sandra for three years now and in all honesty, is the only serious adult amongst us. “Come to think of it,” I say, “We’ve never heard any of these babes’ side of the story. Maybe you’re a disaster in bed and using Nigerian history as an excuse,” I say, contributing to the lively banter while a Wizkid song plays in the background. Ever ready with a comeback, Ladi says, “Ah, well thank God I’m having sex at all! Unlike some people,” he adds, giving me a meaningful look. He is right, of course. Between trying to balance my 9-5 job with my new dispatch rider business, it’s been difficult to find the time for lovemaking in the last few months. Besides, I might look like a muscular, good looking 26-year-old man on the outside, but on the inside, I’m still a shy 16-year-old boy who doesn’t quite know how to approach women. Thus, I usually just stick to sleeping with my female friends. “Chai, Ladi! Must you shout?” I exclaim, playfully pushing his head, just as our waitress brings our fourth round of drinks to the table. “You know I’ve been busy.” Ladi rolls his eyes. “Yeah, too busy lifting weights and forming fine boy for us. Anyway, you might get lucky tonight. That foxy mama over there has been eyeing you all night,” he says, nodding his head at the table of women sitting nearby. I turn and look.
Foxy Mama
There are four of them, all impeccably dressed, sporting big expensive wigs and even bigger rings on their fingers. All of them are at least in their mid-50s. Without having to ask, I know exactly which one Ladi is talking about. The one on the far right. She must have been pretty in her younger days; she still is. With her big breasts stacked high in a white dress, showing ample cleavage and caramel skin. She is not talking as loudly as the others and she is staring directly at me. “Not bad, hey?” Ladi says mischievously. “I dare you… In fact, I triple dare you to go and talk to her.” I hesitate. “Oh, come on, Ben! What do you have to lose? At least you’re not semi-married like Harvey here. I’d go there myself but it’s obvious she wants you,” he says. I look again and this time she’s smiling at me gently, an open invitation. I find myself standing (a little unsteadily to my feet), encouraged by the alcohol in my system and the lustful hunger on her face. As I get closer to their table, the tell-tale signs of age begin to reveal themselves. Despite all the makeup on her face, I can see the small wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. The slightly crumpled texture of her skin is a contrast to the supple nature of younger women who often take their youth for granted. She and her friends sit up straighter as I approach, reducing their voices to excited whispers. “Good evening,” I greet them, before extending my hand and asking her specifically, “can I buy you a drink?” She blushes like a schoolgirl, easily flattered, none of the rigidness you’d expect from a Nigerian older woman. “How about we have that drink somewhere more private?” she says, standing up as she takes my hand. I am taken by surprise by her confidence and can do nothing more than nod my head. Before you can say the words, ‘sugar mama’, we bid her friends good night and I gather my keys, phone and wallet from my table, promising Ladi and Harvey that I will call them tomorrow.
In The Hotel Room
I realise she has booked a room in the hotel and when we get there, she orders a bottle of wine, which we sip, making small talk on the loveseat in the room. I find out she is 54, old enough to be my mother. She smiles when she hears my age. “I like them young,” she says frankly while playing with my zip. “More vim and vigour.” Her skin feels surprisingly soft and smooth where I expected it to be loose and wrinkled, and I quickly become aroused as we kiss. Soon after, clothes fly off and a condom slides on, as we find our way around each other’s bodies. Her breasts are round and full when I put her nipples in my mouth. She groans desperately, pressing her body against my own. “Lie down,” she commands, pointing to the king-size bed. I quickly obey, linking my fingers behind my head as I watch her approach me. She mounts me, sliding down on my dick like she owns it. She gets straight to business, no time to waste on childish shyness as she bounces back and forth, moaning. Her boldness excites me, not bothering to try to hide her saggy stomach or dimpled thighs, just gripping the headboard and riding me. I come too quickly and she groans in frustration. “Forgive me, ma,” I say, already flipping her over, committed to making amends. “Let me make it up to you,” I whisper, as I spread her legs and proceed to eat her out. Down here, she hasn’t aged one bit. She tastes expensive and I soon become hard again. She opens herself wider, begging me not to stop as she moves her hips in small circular motions. Just as I feel her body begin to stiffen with an orgasm, I roll on another condom and thrust into her deeply, fucking her deliberately, in and out, the old fashioned way. “Oh, God,” she screams, wrapping her legs around me. “Deeper, baby. Please, go deeper.”
The Morning After…
We went two more rounds throughout the night, once more in the rumpled sheets, both of us lying on our sides as I took her from behind more gently this time and once in the shower, the water blurring my thoughts as she expertly sucked my dick. I have to admit, she knew exactly what she was doing. A powerful woman with a world of experience. I wake up the next morning, with a dry mouth and a pleasant ache in my upper arms from a night well spent. I am alone in bed, the only things surrounding me are the wide pillows, a pair of pearl earrings, and the best sex memories of my adult years. “Aha,” she says, coming out of the bathroom fully dressed, attaching her watch to her wrist. “Was beginning to wonder how to wake you. Get dressed, my driver is waiting downstairs for me. I can order an Uber for you if you need,” she says crisply, no longer the warm, welcoming woman from last night. Her face is bare and she has already put on a pair of big, white sunglasses, though it is clearly still a little dark outside, night reluctantly making way for morning. She opens her bag and brings out a small, stiff bundle of money. “Here,” she says, tossing it to me, as I still sit on the bed, shocked. For a second, I am offended and consider telling her that I don’t need her money. But then I ask myself what I had expected? Some love and tenderness? This is Abuja, “the centre of unity”, power and dirty little secrets. I take the money, standing up to look for my shirt. “Don’t bother with the ride, I came with my car,” I tell her quickly, swallowing my embarrassment away. “Oh great,” she says, already distracted with her phone, eyebrows furrowed impatiently. I get dressed and we walk out together quietly. When we get down to the lobby, I see a sleek black 4×4 Jeep waiting in front of the hotel. She begins to walk towards her driver, who has the car door open for her but then she stops as if suddenly remembering I exist and walks back towards me. “Let’s keep this to ourselves, okay, dear?” she says, quickly patting my arm before turning away again. And just like that, I have been dismissed. I feel a slight tug of disappointment in my groin as I watch her white, flowery dress disappear into her car. She never even told me her name.
*This article is based on real-life events. The names used are mere pseudonyms to protect the identities of the individuals mentioned in the article.
Sex Diaries is a Culture Custodian weekly series about sex, situationships, entanglements and everything else. It goes up every Friday.
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