CHAPTER 7 – NO MORE GOOD GIRL
Ima closes her room door after Irikefe. His retreating footsteps taunting her. She returns to her bed and perches gingerly. What just happened?
Her hand instinctively travels down her thigh, encountering a slipperiness that produces a wave of goosebumps that sting with confusion and shame.
Her mother’s words had affected her more than she knew. “I can fuck whoever the hell I want. Maybe you should do the same…”
How close had she come to doing that just now? And with Irikefe!
She springs up on a whim, gets under the shower and emerges fifteen minutes later. Her movement is sharp. Almost angry. She yanks clothes from her closet until the perfect dress lands on the bed. Sleek, black and cut to hug her curves just right. Every step as she applies mascara is a beat of her heart. Hurt pounding against her ribs.
She is set. The mirror reflects a stranger. A confident sultry version of Ima she barely recognises.
The giant doors of the club part for her without any resistance. Like the night before, eyes assail her alluring and even more daring form.
Ima heads straight for the bar. The owner is there signalling instructions to the barman. He swivels and comes face to face with the one woman he knew he would meet again.
“What a pleasant surprise,” the Chief says, taking her extended hand.
“Same here,” Ima says, a smile playing on her lips, a hint of invitation in her eyes.
Even though he holds a chieftaincy title, it does not seem right to call him Chief. That conjures an avuncular image that does not fit with the youthful elegance in the gold safari suit in front of her. His gold wedding band flashes invitingly like a medal, sending inexplicable delicious waves down her spine. His eyes gleam. Worldly. Knowing.
If you must eat a frog, you might as well eat one with eggs, Ima thinks.
“Where is your sister?” The Chief says.
“She’s my mum,” Ima says and chuckles. “Tonight I go solo.”
“Oh my!” he says and looks her over. This time more purposefully.
“They’ll take you to my private corner. I’ll make the night worth your while,” he says. An unsmiling muscular man bows before Ima and leads her to the back of the hall where he opens the door to a dimly lit soundproofed booth, and waits for her to settle down on a leather couch before pouring a glass of Champaign that was sitting on ice on a glass table in the middle of the cubicle.
The champagne is liquid luxury. A burst of effervescent joy that tickles her senses and chases away the lingering bitterness of the evening.
The chief enters the booth. Ima’s head is swooning. He takes her by the hand and she stands to meet him in a warm embrace. There’s an instant explosion in her panties as she sniffs the back of his ears.
“Why did you come here tonight,” he breathes as she melts in his arms.
“I want to fuck.”
“I thought so.”
“Is it that obvious?”
“I thought your neck looked rather stiff at first sight.”
“Oh wow.”
“I studied Chinese healing. Come with me. I have your medicine.” He leads her out of the club through a back exit into a gleaming Mercedes.
“I hope you don’t mind,” he says and produces a blindfold.
Ima finds it amusing. Like something out of a movie.
“Do you want to go and slaughter me for rituals?”
He chuckles and says “Quite the contrary. Here,” he says and gestures for her to inch forward for the blindfold.
She hesitates.
“Don’t worry. Your mother’s boyfriend saw us together. So if you don’t turn up tomorrow you can be sure someone knows where to look.”
So Femi is here, Ima thinks. Explains why he was not at the restaurant earlier with the others. But how did this man know about Femi and her mother?
“I’m a barman. Nothing escapes our notice.”
Ima now knows that what transpired back at their flat had started out here. All the while she was worrying about her safety her mother was somewhere not so discreet exercising what she considers her fundamental human right.
“Put it on me,” Ima says in defiance and shuffles closer to the chief. He bends and plants a kiss on her neck before sealing her eyes with the blindfold for the rest of the five-minute drive.
He leads her into a lift. She counts the ding of the bell as they ascend each floor. They alight on the 13th floor. A strong and steady hand guides her forward. He makes her stop, and a soft click signals a door opening. A wave of cool air washes over her. The air here smells different. A melange of crisp linens and polished wood. She can almost feel the spaciousness of the room. He removes the blindfold. It takes a few seconds with the reintroduction of light for her eyes to adjust. She takes in the opulent surroundings. This isn’t just a room. It is an experience. A sanctuary high above the city’s chaos.
“I reserved this place from the first day I saw you. I knew you would like it.”
“Is that Indian or still Chinese discernment?”
He chuckles and pulls her to himself. He traces a hand over the curves of her hips and then ruffles her hair.
“Tell me, what name shall I whisper when the night gets interesting?”
“Everyone calls me Chief.”
She shakes her head and leans in for a kiss. “What a shame” she breathes and wraps her hands around his neck and sucks on the tongue he offers. He carries her like a fallen feather, light and precious in his arms to the adjoining room that houses a king-sized bed, crafted from deep mahogany, with the duvet as thick and plush as a cloud.
He lays her on the bed and gazes into her sad eyes.
“The mask you wear tonight is alluring, Ima, but the vulnerability in your eyes speaks a different story. Tell me what truly weighs on your heart.”
“God what did I do to deserve another philosopher!”
She digs her knee into the bed, manoeuvres her zip loose and peels her dress off over her head. The warm lights of the luxury suite fall on her impeccable figure. Her skin rivals the polished mahogany of the exquisite furnishing around them in its glowing.
“You sir, will remove my panties and bra.”
The chief is a worldly man who is not afraid to enjoy himself. He knows enough about the girl not to be too concerned about her present disposition. Talking is useless, especially because it has not worked with the egghead Oscar, going by the philosopher slur. He would go ahead and give her what her body needs. A healthy body usually brings about a healthy mind.
A gasp escapes Ima as he undresses and comes to her. He is a super fit man whose well-hidden physique makes Femi’s show-offy muscles look like yesterday’s news. In the blink of an eye, her remaining two-piece intimate attire is across the room. The bulge in his eyes when he beholds her stainless beauty causes her heart to sing. The next half hour sees her lose all sense of realism as he engulfs her only as a bar owner can. He drinks her like a bottle of Hennessy VS. Chews her like a plate of onion rings. Spins her like a turntable on a high pedestal.
Having never known anything like a climax for the atrocious brevity of all her previous experiences, she fears she will require CPR when he grips her throat and releases just in time for the explosion that rocks her body to take hold. When she settles back to earth, he lays her down conventionally and comes down three gears and lets her feel the most delicious sensations with practised in and out movements that turn her body into a quantum field of sensations she is only just discovering.
“Mummy was right,” she stammers softly on repeat as she teeters between hypnosis and consciousness.
He lets her sleep. Scribbles an instruction together with his phone number on a piece of paper and places it beside her pillow. Posts a man at the door to take her home when she wakes up. Returns to the club.
The following day at the restaurant Ima smiles at everybody. Laughs at the most stupid jokes. Lifts her mummy high in the sky when she gets approval to start a health foods section at FOOD IS READY. Turns up the music on the kitchen stereo and break dances to the trending Tshwala Bam by TitoM & Yupee.
Life. Is. Good.
The men are complete on the night shift today. Femi sits relaxed observing the two women and the haughty waiter, Irikefe, who seems to have a bone to chew with him.
He beckons Irikefe over when he has had enough.
“Come here boy,” he says and excuses himself from the group and takes Irikefe to a corner.
Irikefe stands frowning with hands akimbo.
Femi wastes no time.
“You know the Chief fucked your girl last night?” he says with exaggerated amusement, quaking his shoulders like a Nollywood comedian’s.
Irikefe blinks like a malfunctioning robot and looks towards Ima who is seated at a table all by herself and smiling into her phone.
“He drove her to a secret location in his Maybach, and returned her to you a different person.”
Irikefe’s hands look withered by his side. There’s a tingling sensation in his ears, the type you hear following the cessation of a thunderous sound.
“Look at her. Look at that face. What you see there is a thoroughly fucked face. Learn to recognise it.”
It is now Femi’s turn to move like a peacock in a parade back to his seat.
Irikefe’s legs are as heavy as tree trunks as he observes what can only be a true testament.
Just as Ima types on her phone…“You fucked me back to life my Chief. My mummy was right.”
TO BE CONTINUED.
FOLLOW @Centino__ on X AND TURN ON NOTIFICATIONS FOR NEWER EPISODES!