Happy Valentine’s Day people… Hope you have the best one yet.

This is one of the awesome pieces we have for you today. Don’t forget to leave your thoughts.

Enjoy…val's14

Ogechi was nervous, as nervous as any new wife would be on her wedding night.

Except this wasn’t her wedding night. It was the night of Valentine, and her wedding had been last Saturday. Yes, it had been her traditional wedding, but still, it was a ceremony that had sanctioned her union to Benson Ogbu. Even though the groom hadn’t been present, what with all the engagements he had to tidy up back where he lived and worked in the UK. It didn’t matter to her that she had had to hand over the traditional cup of palm wine to Benson’s brother, Ikenna. After all, Ikenna was family, and it was said that when you married a man, you married his family too. It didn’t also bother her that she didn’t know Benson very well. Their courtship could be summed up in a few phone calls, after her mother had passed her photograph to his mother, who in turn emailed it to her son, who viewed it, approved and made contact. Then there was that awkward first meeting when he visited Nigeria briefly last year, a meeting that was chaperoned by their mothers (who were best friends and dreamed of having best-friend grandchildren). He liked her even better in real life, and she didn’t think he was bad-looking either. He had money, she had beauty. They got on well together, and even shared a few laughs and good conversation. He liked that she was so well-mannered, and she liked that he respected her wish not to tumble into bed with him until after their wedding. The most intimacy they’d shared was a few chaste kisses he gave her on the lips and the steamy phone sex conversations they engaged in when he returned to the UK. She was positive that that was enough.

“You are crazy if that’s what you think!” her best friend, Stacy had exploded when she confided in her the status of her relationship with her future husband.

“Oh come on, Stace –”

“Come on wetin? You mean to tell me that you haven’t had sex with this guy and you want to marry him?” said Stacy in an incredulous tone. The young woman had no inhibitions about sex, and had a plethora of ex-boyfriends as a testament of her active sex-life.

“What is so wrong with that?” interjected Ogechi’s other best friend, Maryann. “Sex is so overrated. And sex before marriage is very risky. That is why I have a purity pledge going with my boyfriend. We are not going beyond kissing and smooching until after marriage,” she finished piously.

“Eh, we have heard you, Sister Mary,” Stacy rejoined caustically. “While you are busy basking in all the glory of your purity pledge, perhaps Obinna is out there getting his dick the much needed relief it needs from another woman.” She waited a beat before adding cheekily, “Or man.”

“Hey! Don’t you dare talk about my man like that,” Maryann snapped, her eyes flashing. “He loves me and will never do anything to hurt me.”

“Riiiiight,” Stacey drew the word out in a sarcastic drawl, rolling her eyes at what she perceived was her friend’s naiveté.

“Abeg, you two, it’s enough,” Ogechi cut in with a weary tone that suggested she played the role of peacemaker a lot. “This is about me –”

“Exactly,” Stacey interrupted again. “It’s about you and your future as a wife. And you’re about to sacrifice it all on the altar of chastity.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, I’m all for holding off sex until you are mature enough to handle the responsibilities that could come with it –”

Maryann cut in with a disbelieving snort and an eye-roll of her own.

Stacey ignored her and continued, “But girl, I believe you should know the strength of the car you’re paying for before you let it into your garage.”

Ogechi let out a gust of laughter at the suggestive metaphor. In spite of herself, even Maryann let her face crease into a grudging smile.

“It’s true nah,” Stacey insisted. “He may look good on the outside, but what about what he has inside? I mean, for heavenssakes, you just can’t go into a marriage without at least knowing the size of his dick. Don’t you want to know if Benson is packing a hunting rifle or a tiny little plastic kid’s pistol? After all, he knows how big your boobs are. I’m not saying size would be a deal breaker, but don’t you have the right to know what’s down there?”

“Stacey!” Ogechi protested laughingly.

“And the sex itself – not everyone is great in bed, you know that? And the fact that he is good-looking doesn’t translate to him giving good sex. A lot of good sex is about listening to your partner and being able to respond accordingly. And a woman’s honeypot needs a good listener and an even better responder, if you know what I mean,” she finished with a lascivious smile.

“Yes, Stacey, even the nuns in a convent know what you mean,” Maryann interjected caustically as Ogechi exploded into more gales of laughter.

That was three months ago. She hadn’t heeded Stacey’s advice and given in to any urge to sleep with Benson. It wasn’t that she was untouched or a virgin; she’d had exactly two boyfriends/sexual partners in the past. Something, however, had changed for her when it came to the prospect of marriage. She was determined to wait. It helped that Benson was away in London, and wasn’t around to pressure her, however tacitly or explicitly, into having sex with him.

And now, she was his wife. In the eyes of custom, anyway. The traditional wedding was last weekend. The church wedding was tomorrow. Tonight was Valentine’s night, and she was in bed, waiting with a thumping heart for the man she was now to call husband.

Her decision to do this had surprised him, pleasantly so, she could tell. He returned to Nigeria this morning, and she had been at the airport in Port Harcourt to welcome him from his trip from Lagos. They exchanged a chaste kiss on the lips and she looked him in the eyes and said, “I want us to do it tonight.” And in response, he smiled a slow, sexy smile of acknowledgement.

Just then, the bathroom door swung open and he entered the room, his presence bringing her thoughts to a crashing halt. He was bare-chested and clad only in boxer shorts. Moisture from his bath dewed the skin of his impressive build, and as he walked slowly toward the bed, her eyes dropped to his shorts, and she stared intently at the crotch, as though somehow, her eyesight possessed the laser-like power required to sear through the material of the boxers and know what hung down behind it.

Don’t you have the right to know what’s down there? Stacey’s words resonated in her head.

Just then, she became aware that while she’d been sizing him up, he’d also had his eyes all over her too. Taking on an intensity that made her breath catch, slowly and deliberately, his gaze was going over her, from the crown of her soft fall of hair, over the lithe length of her lingerie-clad body, to the toes of her bare feet. When it lingered meaningfully in significant places, her blood pounded wildly in her ears. His gaze slowly retraced its path to her heated face, those lips curved into an expression she recognized, one that hinted at the fact that he was probably thinking something dirty.

The bed sunk in under his weight as he climbed unto it. He crawled slowly to where she was lying. Her heart started a rapid tattoo. His face angled closer to hers. His lips loomed before her face. Her eyes began to flutter shut as he came closer.

And then their lips met in a union that seemed to still her breathing. He slid one arm under her back and lifted her up and into the kiss, devouring her with a hungry intensity Ogechi felt to the tips of her toes. She twisted closer, her breasts flattened against his chest, her breath emerging in short, shallow pants that mixed with his. His tongue slid inside, and took hers in prolonged, erotic strokes.

Don’t you have the right to know what’s down there? Even in that heated moment, Stacey’s words just wouldn’t leave her be.

She tried to moan them away, and kissed Benson with reckless abandon, her hands clutching at his shoulders, encircling his neck. He murmured approvingly against her lips and kissed her back with as much ardour.

Don’t you have the right to know what’s down there? Don’t you have the right to know what’s down there?

Oh, for the love of God! She thought with some aggravation and started to pull away from Benson’s embrace. He resisted, but she was insistent, placing her hands firmly against his chest and pushing backward. He reluctantly allowed himself to be parted from her.

Then she dipped her hand downward, past the waistband of his boxer shorts, and into the still-damp interior. Her fingers skirted the pubic hair before grasping the semi-hard length of his manhood. At her touch however, it came further alive, desire pumping thickly through its veins and hardening it into a throbbing length that she sighed gratefully over.

Benson’s lips curved into a knowing smile and he murmured, “You like?”

“Oh, I like very much,” she gusted with a laugh.

“Happy Valentine, I suppose?” he said with a chuckle.

“Oh it already is, my love,” she returned. Silently she added: Yes, Stacey, it’s a Happy Valentine for me.

Written by Walter Ude.
Twitter handle: @Walt_Shakes
Blogger at www.mymindsnaps.wordpress.com
Comments
  1. Bev says:

    Whew!!!!! For a moment there I thought she would b disappointed.

    Like

  2. ozzy says:

    I agree with bev… Lool!! but our friends can really push us to do silly things… it’s sure a nyc val’s gift 😉 hahha

    Like

  3. Gloria A says:

    Lol…. Lovely piece

    Like

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