Showing pages tagged "romance"
Snr Smooth's moniker since his Junior class was “Smooth” even the teachers called him “Smooth”; he was that kind of guy, ruddy cheeked, dark like his favourite Guinness stout beer, Hercules built, barrel chested, a smile that charmed the other sex, and lips that sang sweet tales of danger and mischief to his peers. His eyes dazzled in the sun light glinting of knowledge and bad behavior which he always got away with and well-trimmed finger nails that you could put anywhere.
Legend has it that he got his name from Mrs Ada the English teacher in his first year after he had told her “you’re the best thing I’ve seen this morning since slice bread”, and instead of flogging him, she looked at the then youngin with admiration and uttered the words that will forever be his, “Smooth”. As he promoted in college, the name became “S” to his peers as a tribute to his sins, “Snr. Smooth” to his underlings, and “Smooth” to his superiors.
My first ideas of pollution came from Snr Smooth, he who was never out of his way when any avenue of imparting his lessons of lewdness availed itself. He considered it his fatherly duty to school me in the affairs of the world in which I was dangerously naïve of. Knowing no vice, I feared none.
Like a pupil true to his tutor, I soaked every word from his lips like gospel truth, and absorbed his dictates like the commandments. I was a lesser being where he stood. Imagine to yourself, a boy of eleven, small for his age from the legacies of malnutrition, acne covered face, and a shifty eye that bulged out of their sockets like I was being strangled. Yet I was the chosen protégé of Snr Smooth, he praised me highly before his peers as a being modelled after his intellect and tongue; and he said “You my boy have the gift of the silver tongue, you may not have the looks, but what man needs money when he can make a woman smile?”
My tasks at his hands were first elementary, I delivered letters he wrote. I watched his sleek cursive movements on rose scented papers, and crammed his wrist flicks to become mine and in no time, I could draw words on paper in such perfect manner that I graduated in post to his official letter writer. A post much coveted and created specially for me; a post which allowed me to learn words necessary for wooing, and gave me the impetus to speak sounds of adulation to the fairer sex.
At this time, all the tyranny and fears of girls in me was reduced to nothing but a trickle which still worries me even now. Memories of those dark days still flash in my mind, and I marvel at how far I have come.
Allow me to proceed with my remembrance of my first kiss, which I dare say Smooth had a hand in preparing me for. My lesson lasted every free hour of a fortnight as I had to conclude other chores before learning this art. I was instructed from appearances down to conversations, sitting positions and of course how to do the deed. In my mind, such a precious act should be performed together with the one who holds your heart, (Plangnan of my primary school days). The hands of fate however pointed a different direction. Snr Smooth had several ideas, and as the tutor, he shared his knowledge and strategems with me in bits. The thing is, Smooth didn’t want me to botch my first kiss so he made plans. His arrangements resulted in me having an unofficial first kiss, and an official first kiss, a conundrum that brought out in me my true Casanova. My unofficial first kiss was with a senior named Beauty, she wasn’t really a beauty but she had a beautiful heart and Smooth had a soft spot for her. In his words, “I won’t risk your first kiss to stories, we shall test your aptitude practically and correct all flaws, I want your reputation to grow".
It was on a dark Saturday night, cladded in hoods as dodgers hiding away from evening devotion, we huddled ourselves in the infirmary and so my learning began. She took me by the hand and placed her lush soft lips on mine. I never noticed, but Snr. Beauty’s lips were beautiful and made for more than just eating and talking; they also defied the harmattan that was cracking the whole school’s lips and heels. As she sucked on my tongue, the fervor made me feel a rise in tide in my nether regions; my breath was being taken away but there was palpitating life down there.
As I returned the favour with the energies of eager learning and floods of bliss, I added twists of my imaginations learned from Smooth’s tales and her eyes lolled and rolled with a tinge of surprise and excitement tingling and coursing through her body, bringing with it passions of pleasure she was well familiar with. As all the tyranny of pleasure ebbed out of my body, the agonies of fading delight overwhelmed me, I was left flustered in all areas with a lingering feeling on the verge of sprouting forth those liquid thrills common to our over excited sex at the point of reaching apogee. Life as I knew it had just taken a turn, the new knowledge in me surged and wanted more, driven by a desire for finding things hitherto unknown to me.
I received high praises from Smooth who had witnessed this initiation solemnly like the High Priest of Casanova’s temple, presiding over the sacred rites of passing the mantle to a new found and worthy disciple.
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