Bimpe's Boyfriend ... End

Bimpe loved Souley. She’d loved him from the first day she set eyes on him: the impressionable black languid boy from Maradi, with tall dreams, a love for physics and a book full of pictures of racing cars. There was also that thing about how his big black eyes shone whenever they hung out at night in Biya Quadrangle under the starless sky. His eyes will brighten up, and become almost luminous as he talked about the weirdest topics like makeup, fashion, skirts, and wires. He hated wires the most, his second pet peeve was makeup, then skirts. He felt that wires created tangles in connections and that when they break, time and money are wasted on fixing what should not exist, in a wireless world. He imagined and worked on wireless solutions for all his projects in school and would think and rethink how to eliminate wires from every phase of his work and in some cases admit, the sheer impossibility of this made him sad.

He also seriously hated makeup. He believed that such belonged with geishas, Japanese women who performed using art, dance and music and wore kimonos and makeup. He opined that makeup added nothing to the African woman but was another colonialist invention to make her unable to wear her natural face with confidence without a “white” varnish. He loathed skirts for their creative design: he sensed the discomfort women felt having to cross their legs or keep it in a certain position while being clothed because the design makes it such that their underwear or vagina could be publicly displayed without them being on constant vigil. He also worried that lecturers being authorities, shut down academic creativity by insisting that academic work follow a particular process. Rebellion for him was a necessary ingredient in scientific thinking and progress.

He came to Yamo, with his hair bleached, cropped and dyed blonde, a tiny ring pierced into his right eyebrow, wearing rag jeans and four golden necklaces at once about his neck. He always had a black leather clasp with spikes around his left wrist and swore by Clarks shoes and slippers. He quit Islam for Christianity in his first year citing the boredom of the religion and the needless violence a la Jihad perpetrated in the name of its god. This made his father, the great sheikh of Maradi, Ibrahim Bako, disown him and insist he never sees his face insha Allah, till he dies. Souley was however in Yamo on the Nigerien Government’s scholarship and as long as his grades were good, he couldn’t be bothered.

This 5’’11 boy was a smartie: Bimpe’s way of referring to someone with erudite capacity. She loved the fact that under his dreamy face lay all that radical bent hidden in plain sight: A need to change the world; a need to define his own space. She loved him but Laraba Mina stood in her way. He had loved her before Bimpe and he hadn’t yet recovered from the physical abuse she had put him through. So that at 21, he would only form temporary sexual relationships: to deal with his sexual craving and to allow him to concentrate on physics and racing cars without distractions, but he wouldn’t let another woman or girl in.

He was incredibly lonely, she could see but also very afraid of trying again. He was however a wild thing under the sheets. Yes, she’d lost her virginity to him. It happened one evening when he came to visit Fanna Djibril, her hostel and Cyndi, her Béninoise roommate had gone home for the weekend. She’d prepared him Ndol, prawns and bobolo, which he wolfed down like someone hurrying to an important political meeting. Watching him eat her food with reckless abandon made her happy. As far as she was concerned, he was her man and making him happy and well-fed turned her on.

Shortly after he finished his meal, she invited him to sit on her bed, turned on some blues and talked about the upcoming campus elections and beauty pageants and she took the occasion to ruffle his dyed blonde hair from time to time. Then she placed his hand on her breast and began to kiss him. She’d hoped he’d be spontaneous but he wasn’t. She wasn’t one to wait for what she wanted. She kissed him feverishly and unbuttoned his jalabia and flung off her flimsy top to reveal round aroused areolae begging to be sucked.

She dipped his face into them and as if turned on by remote control, he reached for her right breast and began to suck on it hungrily, deftly flicking the other nipple with his free hand. Babyface and Des’ree’s “Fire” sang ad infinitum on replay in the room and he was soon taking off her thong to reveal her moist warmth, which he parted with his mobile tongue like a hungry chameleon. He licked the clitoris and deftly navigated her pinkish depths with two manicured fingers in an upward and downward thrust, stopping from time to time to dip his tongue deeper and deeper inside her vagina.

She felt herself bucking, speaking gibberish and telling him she was going to cum and cum she did in his mouth: molten, milky, wet, fiery goodness which brought out a different Souleymane, who bent her over on all fours and half-standing half crouching and pulling her hair with one hand and spanking her hard with the other, began invading her like a man possessed. He began slowly and expertly popping her cherry and after a few thrusts to get properly accommodated began to pound her vagina hard and harder each time. She initially felt pain and was about to tell him to stop, until quivering pleasure began to sweep over her as she creamed his length with her juice.

He called her names as he fucked her: “bitch, little whore, fucking slut” and asked silly questions like “Who owns this pussy now?”, which she answered meekly and surprisingly “You” as he spanked her harder, which seemed to drive her over the edge as she felt herself coming and shaking violently. He kept fucking her harder, taking himself deeper till she swore she could feel him in her stomach and when she eased forward, he’d slam home harder still which set up rivulets of molten fire, pain and pleasure inside of her. She had cum thrice and he was yet to. Nearly an hour and fifteen minutes after or so she thought, she felt him grab her hair tighter still and she felt like he was about to yank her thin cornrows off their depths as he released hot spunk inside his condom inside of her.

In about fifteen minutes, he was hard again and commanded her to kneel down and suck his penis. She was clumsy at it but she was eager to please him and he showed her how to do this properly: asking her to imagine it was a lollipop and lick it as such. It was a fat, thick and wide lollipop with angry veins all about it. The only gentle part of this assembly was his balls, his testicles and as she sucked his penis and he felt closer and closer to cumming, he pushed his penis deeper and deeper into her mouth, till she felt herself nearly gagging. Then without announcement, he released tiny, thick droplets, then spurts of hot sperm into her throat. It filled her mouth and started coming out of her nose.

She felt used, tired, abused, but lastly pleasured and happy. Her virginity was gone but she had her man with her, at least so she thought until a week later when she found him sprawled on the floor in the room with Cyndi’s pussy pressed firmly into his mouth amidst unintelligible screams in Frenglish from her otherwise very quiet roommate as her big brown breasts flopped carelessly in one liquid motion. She felt upset by seeing him like this but she also felt strangely turned on the sight of his aroused penis standing unattended, so she dropped what she bought from the market hurriedly, took off her top and panties and guided him deep into her warmth, riding him with her back to Cyndi.

They would have a long argument afterwards and at the end of a two-week impasse where Souley explained his proclivity and its origin to Bimpe; they agreed to have only Cyndi as the other girl in their relationship. Bimpe would henceforth refer to Cyndi as “whore” and even in their room, a mistress-slave dynamic was in flow, with Cyndi doing whatever Bimpe wished and knowing that Souley was Bimpe’s boyfriend and her: their whore. Tola