Thanks for the comments on my last post.
The recurring theme though seemed to be when I'll do a post..
Next week, insha Allah..
Pending then though, I have an intriguing guest post this week..
From my fabulous guest blogger, miss.fab
I totally inhibited my editing side on this one, just so you'll feel the raw emotion in her writing.
I was 8 when it happened. I remember this clearly because I had just celebrated my birthday mere days before. It was another typical birthday in my house: there was no cake from my mother, no presents from my siblings, no phone call from my father... not even the neighbors or my best friends came to visit. My 8th birthday, one that I'd looked forward to all year, had just occurred, and apparently nobody but me even cared.
He was 18 when it happened. He was much, much older than me, but that wasn't even the problem, you see. The problem was this: he was my cousin, my favorite cousin at that. He was my mother's sister's son, tall and good-looking and funny and intelligent, and all the girls in our apartment loved him. I didn't know many of my other relatives, and when my friends talked about sleep overs and camping trips and summer vacations with their cousins, I always felt immensely proud to be able to tout my very own "popular" cousin. He bought me a poetry book for my birthday; he was the only one who bought me a present.
There was no electricity in our house the night it happened. I remember this because we were all watching Secrets of the Sand in the living room when the lights went out. The obligatory grumbling and hissing and cursing of the fathers, mothers, and children of NEPA employees ensued briefly, and minutes later, we all trickled out to the balcony to enjoy the breezy evening. My aunt had just begun regaling us with stories from her recent trip out of town when people on the street began screaming "Ole! Ole!" My mother, thinking our neighbors were referring to the strong gusts of wind, joyfully joined them in shouting "Ole!", something you should never do, by the way, in case there are actual armed robbers philandering and terrorizing citizens in your neighborhood.
We all went inside after a while and my uncle went down to buy Indomie for the next morning's breakfast from our Mallam. Seconds later, he ran back into the apartment, panic and something that looked like fear written all over his face. There were thieves in the building, he said, and they were holding our two Mallams and the residents of the downstairs apartment hostage. Panic erupted in our house. We'd never been robbed before, you see. I remember thinking there was nothing in our house the thieves could possibly want, but my mother seemed oblivious to this fact. She shoved my cousin and I into his room, content in the knowledge that I was safe with him, and then locked the door behind her. The adults would stay and bravely face the thieves hands-on if they ever came upstairs, she said.
I often wondered in the months that followed why my mother didn't put me in the same room with my other siblings, but what would that be implying? She could not possibly have known what would occur next. At least that's what I told myself.
I was asleep when it happened. The first thing I felt was his cold, clammy fingers between my legs. My eyes shot open immediately, and for a second I wondered where I was. I was sleeping in a strange room, wearing clothes from the day before, and there was still no light. As the events of the previous night slowly returned to my memory, I again felt my dress being gently nudged upwards. Fear struck me. Timid, innocent little me, I had no clue what was going on. At first I thought I was imagining things so I gently turned on my side to face him and yawned magnanimously, closing my legs firmly shut in the process. I kept my eyes closed, surreptitiously peeking out of one eye every now and then and trying my best to keep still. Nothing happened for a couple more minutes, and I had just convinced myself I dreamt the whole thing when I felt his hand again. This time he seemed more urgent, more aware of what he wanted, and with a distinct nudge my legs were once again wide open. Before a cry of protest could even form in my throat, he was pushing my panties aside and stroking my privates.
This is for real, I thought. I'm not dreaming this. I can't be dreaming this. I honestly didn't know what to do. I didn't want to call him out, didn't want to embarrass him. He was my cousin, my blood relation. If I said a word, things were sure to be awkward between us at the very least. But was I just going to lie there and pretend to sleep while my own family finger-raped me? There I was, torn between a misplaced love for my cousin and a fear of the unknown. What was I to do? His fingers were stroking harder, his breathing was getting louder, and I for the life of me could do nothing but lie paralyzed beside him like a corpse.
And then the strangest thing happened. The nerves in my thighs pulsated with pleasure, blood rushed into my legs and my hands and my head, and my palms felt hot against the bed sheet. I remember thinking it was all too much; the pleasure I felt was almost unbearable. My heart beat faster; I felt myself get wet and my mind fill with simultaneous urges to jerk away from him and stay within the reach of his fingers.
Within minutes it was over. I lay beside him, filled with immense shame for what had just occurred. I remember wondering how I would face him in the morning, what I would say, what he would say. Would he still give me a big sloppy kiss when I woke up? Would he still tickle my tummy and play Minesweeper with me? Would I still have to call him Uncle Dapo, or would it simply be Dapo from now on? Why was I even forced to think these things? How had we arrived at this place? My own cousin, my favorite cousin, the one whose words I hung on day after day, whose stories I loved to retell to my friends, whose prowess in the church choir was nothing short of legendary, had just done to a child (me!) what a child of that age should never have to go through. I did not know whether to burst into tears and accuse him right there and then or just go back to sleep and pretend the last 5 minutes did not just happen.
But then, what did it matter? I had sinned also, that was for sure; this had to be my fault somehow, and even if it wasn't, I had just aided and abetted a crime, enjoyed it even, and I was going to hell for it. Ten whole years after this event occurred, and I still cannot fathom my young body's reaction to his touch. I could not possibly have foreseen what was going to happen, could not possibly have known he was going to betray my trust and my innocence like that. I did not even know my body was capable of feeling or reacting that way. I hadn't even grown breasts yet!
I was only 8 when it happened; he was only 18. We were both very young, one of us much younger than the other. One of us didn't know what was happening; the other one did. In the space of three hundred seconds, one of us lost her virginity and her innocence forever.
This story is fiction, but sadly, situations like these are much more common than most people realize. 1 in 4 girls is sexually abused before the age of 18, and 30 - 40% of all victims are abused by a family member. More than 20% of children are sexually abused before the age of 8, and nearly 50% of all victims of forcible sodomy, sexual assault with an object, and forcible fondling are children under 12.
There are many more statistics and preventive measures available online. http://www.darkness2light.org/KnowAbout/statistics.asp is a good resource for more information.
PS. Please visit miss.fab by clicking here to leave comments.
Thanks again good people!!
Thanks for the comments on my last post.
I did promise you a poet this week, didn't I?
Make una no vex..
Should have posted this yesterday..
But yesterday was.. Hmm.. Let's just call it a blog post for another day..
I present to you, Oluwatoyin..
Personally, I've always been impressed with her writing style..
She has a way of making otherwise complex issues quite simple..
I hate it
When he comes home late
Reeking, reeking rum
Hanging his jacket by the door
Throwing his smelly stockings on the floor
I hate it when he grabs my waist
Rubbing his rough chin on my tears
"Give me a kiss will ya?"
All I see are green veins
Swimming in his eyes like eels
He wouldn't even buy me flowers
Even when I bore him three angels
Sometimes I wonder how we did it
-how I did it
How my angels were conceived
Did I love him then?
I cannot remember.
Please click here to visit Oluwatoyin's blog, to show her some love..
Next week, another guest blogger..
I nearly shed a tear when I read her post..
Then I got angry.. Then I felt empathy..
It'll be interesting to see everyone else's reaction to it..
Enjoy the rest of the week, beautiful people!!!!
“So you’re staying here tonight then?”
“You’re staying here tonight.”
It wasn’t a question anymore. It was a statement. Perhaps even a subtle command.
Why was I so afraid? We had talked about it so many times before. We loved each other so it was okay. It wasn’t a one night stand. I wasn’t giving it up for nothing. It was going to bring us closer together. We were going to get married. So why was I afraid.. uncertain.. overcome with guilt?
“Ummm…I need to get back to Lola's* house. “
“That settles it then.”
He turned out the light and came to join me on the bed. I looked around the room. I looked round, taking in the flat screen TV, the black and red sheets, the walk-in closet.
He was rubbing my back. I couldn’t concentrate if he was rubbing my back. There I was, wiser than my age and a proud virgin, trying to…What was I trying to do? It didn’t matter because he was tracing circles on my back with his finger. We had been dating for six months and in that time there had been no pressure, so this couldn’t be wrong could it?
Nah.. There was no way this was wrong.
I could feel my resolve weakening with every passing second...
“I love you.”
“And I love you.”
He started kissing my neck. I reached for my phone and texted Lola* telling her I’d be back in the morning and that I would call her if I needed her.
And then…I stopped being afraid.
I'm sure he could sense it, he picked me up and carried me into his bathroom, placed me carefully on the sink counter and slowly pulled off my t-shirt. It was black…and tight.. I had worn it for him and now it was on the floor. It didn’t matter anymore.
I began to panic. What if I wasn’t doing things right? I had never done this before, with anyone. And he was so…experienced.
I cupped his face in my hands…
“What are you thinking?”
And then he did a very curious thing. He turned around and walked out. Oddly enough that only made me want him more.. it made me want it more.. I pulled off my skinny jeans and walked back into the bedroom clad in nothing but my underwear. I remember trying to be sexy, wanting him to want me..
In the moments that followed, I realized that I wasn’t a baby anymore. I was a woman.
I climbed into bed and reached for him. He responded, taking me in his arms and kissing me. They were sweet kisses. On my neck, my face, my shoulder, between my breasts…
A low moan escaped my lips. He knew it was working.
I had never gone this far with anyone. Not him, not anyone, ever.
He reached around my back and unclasped my bra. It fell silently to the ground. He traced a ring around my nipples, first the left and then the right. I moaned again. I could feel him pressed up against my thigh…He was as hard as they come…So he did want me. I relaxed a little. I reached for him, but he stopped me. Instead his index finger traced a line from my belly button, around my waist and into my panties. He pulled them off, lay beside me and allowed his hands to explore my inner thighs…
My mind was racing. "How did I let it get this far? Was I really naked in my boyfriend’s bed? Where was this going to lead? Would I just be a statistic to him or was he telling the truth when he said it would be special because it was with me?"
My body buckled. And then I felt it. A warm glorious feeling as he fingered me into orgasm. As I breathed heavily, I remembered his words from months before:
“Baby the day you’re ready, I’m going to kiss you, every inch of you. Make you pine for me, all of me. And then…and then I’m going to make love to you.”
This was it then? Overcome by a sudden boldness, I reached for him. I heard his intake of breath as I grasped his manhood with my cold soft fingers. He moaned my name and slowly turned so his body was facing mine.
He tried again. I looked him straight in the eye…
I felt bad. I’m sure he could tell because he held me just a little bit closer.
“Baby it’s okay. I mean it’s not okay but it’s okay.”
I laughed and kissed him as hard as I could.
“I love you.”
“I love you more.”
And then we slept. Naked in each others’ arms. Or he slept. I watched him, thinking how lucky I was to have a man who said things like “It’s okay.” and “I love you more.”
How so very lucky.. I was.
A new segment called 'Blog(s)ville Gist interview Fridays'..
And guess who they had debut in the first interview?
Yup! Yours truly.. :)
Click here to read the interview..
Gotta show my appreciation to Juiceegal as well for making it happen..
Well, I discovered a few more that tickled my fancy..
Thought to share..
Shout out to Miss B & Cerberus for hooking me up..
Thanks for sharing guys..
So apparently, Audi thought it was a good idea to place a billboard opposite a BMW dealership..
By the following morning, BMW had responded with a billboard three times bigger..
Then of course two similarly themed adverts criticising each other...
You can't beat these guys..
New guest blogger next week..
A new week.. And a new guest blogger..
With each kiss.. I felt my heart quake
His lips felt light.. They felt soft
He sucked on my lower lip gently..
He was kissing me
But I wanted to kiss him
His lips tasted like nectar
But I wanted more
He was showing me he was in charge
BUT I WANTED TO BE IN CHARGE..
So I struggled
My hands reached for his wrists
My lips pushed back against his
But e no gree
Pausing.. He pulled back.. and looked me in the eye
Eyes piercing, like he was staring into the depth of my soul
I returned his stare unflinchingly..
Shifted his weight, he pinned me against the wall
Holding my hands high above my head
This time kissing me hard and forcibly..
I felt my resolve to struggle, weaken as the adrenaline pumped
Just then he slowed down again
I felt my hands drop back to my sides, as he released them..
His fingers raking through my braids..
The band holding it together came off easily, braids falling freely around my shoulders.
He cupped my face in his hands..
His fingers tracing lines over my face..
He kissed my eyes
My nose, My cheeks
My ears, My neck
And then my lips again
Slowly he worked his hands across my shoulder
Undoing the buttons of my sweater letting it fall to the ground.
“Why is he wasting time?” I thought to myself
I struggled to take charge again.
Or maybe he just let me this time?
I pushed him back against the lone table in the room
Sending his hefty criminal law books, crashing in one motion
I guess Law School would have to wait.
I climbed on top of him, as his back hit the table
I was clearly in a hurry
He watched amusedly, as my fingers reached for his shirt
Fervently, I began to rip his buttons off
“Why the heck was he wearing such difficult clothes anyways? Who does that?”
Shirt off, my braids tickled his face as I bent lower,
He giggled as I sucked on his earlobes
He giggled again.
Feeling all tingly with anticipation..
I decided to take my time with his belt.
Slowly, I worked my way down from his neck to his belly.
Then out of nowhere.. WHOOSH!
He was back in charge again, pinned against the wall helplessly.
“How the hell did he do that?” I chuckled to myself
All this struggle for power.
Now that got me giggling harder.
I know you were as intruiged as I was, right?