The Lust Affair – A Misconstrued Story

The Meeting

I have always thought of Lagos as a crazy place. Funny enough, I was born and breed there for thirteen years but still every time I go back, I feel like I’ve been packed into the same box with everyone else in the world.

 This time, I came to Lagos for Marlians book and arts festival. As a freelance journalist, I have more time on my hands than the typical journalist, and I dictated my scenes. I was checking out the music, art and fashion scene when I came across the event is I thought, “Why not check it out?”. 

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 It was a three-day event and girl, was I glad I came? Well, I was until it was time to leave – Saturday night, the severe event was over, and it was time to dance and get freaky.

I found myself combing my way through the crowd of Zero Mannerz people; some going, some gyrating, exotically (if I may add)to “Opotoyi” in a bid to get out.

I was cussing out the spirit that made me wait to this stage of the event when I felt someone push me from behind; I lost my footing and slammed into the comfy, built body of a sweet-smelling figure.

I found myself being held steady with one hand on my shoulder by a man who was way taller than my height of 5ft1. Yeah, they say when you’re short everyone looks taller to you, but I know what a 6ft plus looks like thank you.

 I am not a fan of love at first sight, but I do drool over chocolate skinned guys wit well-sculpted jawlines, a perfect nose to go with the face, a pair of tempting lips and beard. I couldn’t see his eyes because he had shaded glasses on. He had dreadlocks, and I couldn’t resist asking “How old are your locs?” 

 Yep, that was the first thing I said to him. No Thank you, No Sorry. I’m sure he probably had on a stunned or angry expression at this moment, but I couldn’t see it, so I just stood there gazing at the most attractive figure I’ve come across. I would have probably stood there, lost in my imagination if he hadn’t replied.

 “Seven years” he replied as he removed his hand from my shoulder and made to leave.

 My brain finally got a booth, and I mumbled, “I’m sorry. Someone bumped into me.” “And you bumped into me,” he replied as he brushed a hand over his vintage shirt and checked out his white shorts to make sure I haven’t stained it I guess.

When you’re in my line of work, you learn to read people’s tune and tone, but still, it took me a moment to realize that although his voice was husky, he sounded bored and a bit annoyed. 

So I let him walk away without so much as a backward glance even as the feminist spirit in me screamed I go after him and shoot my shot. You never know.

Watch out for the next Episode

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