Ifeoma pulled the hood of her cardigan forward over her eyes, even though it did no good.
She peered down the street through the raindrops on her glasses. Where are these ‘KEKE’ (commercial tricycles)? It was dark and getting colder. And now it was raining, too. There was no kEKE in sight. ‘Wahala’. She sighed and tried to figure out if she had enough cash for a cab. As she stood there mentally counting her pocket change, a car pulled up to the curb and the passenger window slid down slowly. Ifeoma could barely make out a male driver, no passengers, non-descript blue Honda EOD …oh, not good, not good at all. Heart pounding, she stuffed her hands in her pockets and began walking away, quickly.
“Hey!” the driver called. Ifeoma ignored him, walking even faster down the empty street. The car followed her, slowly.
“Hey wait — Ifeoma!” She stopped in her tracks and spun around. “It’s me, corper Nnamdi Amadi.”
Still keeping a wary distance, she squinted into the dark interior of the car, and was pretty certain the driver was the man who had taught her English in SS3.
“Mr. Amadi?”
He laughed, “It’s been — what? five years since you graduated? I think you can call me Nnamdi now.” He leaned over to open the passenger door.
“Sheesh, girl, it’s pouring — hop in!”
Ifeoma hesitated for only a moment, before sliding gratefully into the warm, dry car.
“Oh, man, my clothes are soaked, I’m sorry, your upholstery…”
“Quit apologizing,” he said, “I saw you looking like a drowned rat out there, so I knew what I
was in for.” He grinned at her, and she couldn’t help but grin back. He didn’t look like he’d changed at all since she was in his class — same low cut hair, same easy smile, same kind brown eyes behind studious wire-rimmed glasses. She felt a quick rush of warmth to her face as she remembered what a huge crush she’d had on him. He pulled back out on to the street. “So, where are we headed?”
“Well…I live quite a way from here…” she gave him directions to her house.
He gave a low whistle. “And you always take the keke, this late at night?” He glanced over quickly, concern on his face. “I mean, not that you can’t take care of yourself, but it’s dark out there, and kind of deserted.”
“I know, I know,” Ifeoma replied. “But my car is in the mechanic workshop, and I was working on a paper at the library — it’s due on Friday, before second semester Break, and I’m kind of struggling with it.”
“Really? What’s your topic?” Ifeoma rolled her eyes. “comparative analysis of Wole Soyinkas works and that of Chinua Achebe on their views of the future .”
“Wow,” Nnamdi said, nodding thoughtfully.
“Ambitious undertaking.”
“Yeah, but I may have bit off more than I could chew this time.” She polished the water
drops off of her glasses with the edge of her t-shirt, which was slightly drier than her hoodie. “I have the outline, all of my note cards, the bones written down — I’m just having a hard time pulling it all together, you know, making it gel.” She sighed, her mood suddenly as dismal as the weather.
“Hmm…” Nnamdi mused, while they idled at a stop light.
“You know, my house isn’t far. We could go there, I could look at what you’ve got, see if I can offer any suggestions. We could even throw your sweatshirt in the dryer for a few minutes.” He grinned again. “What do you say?”
“Would you?” Ifeoma’s eyes lit up.
“Oh, that would be so great…I mean, I would really appreciate any help you could give me!”
“Absolutely,” he said.
“I remember you being a very good student, Ifeoma, an excellent writer. I’m looking forward to reading what you have done so far.”
Ifeoma blushed, and looked out the window,
“Thanks Mr. Amadi.”
He glanced at her again, quickly, then turned right, on to a street. “No problem — always glad to help out a former student. And please, call me Nnamdi.”
Ifeoma bit her lower lip, shyly. “Okay… Nnamdi. Thanks.”
Nnamdi drove through an older neighborhood, with small, well-kept yards and huge trees lining the street. His house was fairly small. They dashed from the car to the front door, laughing and dodging raindrops. He tossed Ifeoma’s hoodie in the dryer and gave her some towels to dry off and spread out on the couch so she could sit down. He introduced her to his Jack Russell terrier, Oscar — Oscar Wilde, named by a friend, Nnamdi explained, rolling his eyes — who was excited and delighted to have company visiting, but finally settled down, curling up on a cushion on the floor.
“Do you need to call anyone to let them know you’ll be late?”
Ifeoma shook her head. “Nope…my Gran couldn’t take the cold and the damp anymore in jos, so my parents moved with her to onitsha a couple of months ago. Since I’m in school, I decided to stay in Jos and get an apartment.”
“Ah, I see.” Nnamdi proofed and critiqued her work.
Ifeoma nodded, asked questions, and took notes…and remembered why Mr. Amadi had been her favorite teacher in secondary school. She wasn’t the only girl in her class who had had a crush on him. He was handsome, in a nerdy sort of way — tall and lean, with that wonderful smile. He was young, right out of the university two years ago…friendly, kind, great sense of humor — but also intense and passionate about literature, and he imparted that excitement and enthusiasm to his students. Finally, yawning, Ifeoma asked him to please drive her home. He helped her slip on her sweatshirt, now warm and drier than the rest of her clothes.
As he pulled up to her apartment building, he said, “You know, I could help you polish that paper a little more, if’ you’d like to come over again, maybe tomorrow?”
Ifeoma felt her heart pounding, her breathing shallow. “Yes, yes, I would really like that…I would appreciate it…um, I get my car out of the shop in the afternoon…what time would you like me to come over?”
They agreed about 6:00 would be good. They exchanged phone numbers, and Ifeoma programmed his number into her mobile. Just before she left the car, Nnamdi slid his arm around her shoulder and gave her a quick little squeeze. “Great, see you then..”
OK, this is really weird, Ifeoma thought, as she let herself in to her apartment. Why do I feel like I just made a date with my teacher? She stripped off her damp clothes, tossing them in he hamper, and stepped into a hot, steamy shower. She lathered the soap luxuriously over her soft skin. She closed her eyes, leaning back against the tile wall, feeling her Tips grow taut, imagining how Nnamdi’s hands would feel sliding down her sides, over her curvy hips, then behind her to cup her bottom, pulling her closer as he…
Ifeoma snapped back to reality. Jeez, get a grip. What would a guy like Nnamdi see in a shy, plain, inexperienced girl like her? As she dried off, she appraised her reflection in the mirror critically.Wavy brown hair…that was okay, she guessed. Piercing brown eyes — probably her best feature, but always behind her ever-present glasses. A scattering of freckles — not every guy likes those. And there’s just too much of me, she thought,frowning at her full bosoms and smacking her ample Buttocks in irritation. She towel dried her hair, pulled on a nightshirt, and climbed into bed. Ifeoma lay awake in the dark, tossing and turning, thinking about the little squeeze Nnamdi had given her shoulders, wondering if it meant anything at all. Her Tips felt super sensitive, rubbing against the soft cotton, and she brought her hands up under the covers to tweak them and pull on them, teasing them into aching little peaks. Still tugging on her Tips with her left hand, she slid her right hand into her panties, her two fingers sliding wetly over and over her throbbing femalecore as she brought herself to a quick, intense orgasm and soothed herself to sleep.
The next morning, she woke up late — her hair tangled, the sheets in disarray, and her panties pushed halfway down her thighs. She’d evidently had some wild dreams. And she could hardly concentrate in class.
At 6:05, Nnamdi opened the door to a shivering Ifeoma on his front yard. “Come in, come in,”
he said, ushering her out of the cold. They worked on the finishing touches of her paper over a bowl of noodles.
“Well, that was fun,” Nnamdi said, clearing the table. “How do you feel about it?”
“Pretty good, actually.” Ifeoma admitted.
“And really relieved — I didn’t think I would ever finish it…wow, and it’s only 7:30!” She looked amazed.
“Yep, you worked hard. I would give you an A.”
She smiled shyly at his praise. “So..big plans or the holidays?”
“No, not really. Since my folks and Gran moved away, it’s just me,” she sighed.
“I can relate,” Nnamdi said, nodding.
“Doesn’t feel much like Christmas this year.”
Ifeoma looked around at his tidy, almost Spartan, living room. “You know what? You need a tree.”
An hour later, they were back with a tree…a stand…a couple of boxes of ornaments…a string of lights…all the things Ifeoma insisted Nnamdi needed, and he had obliged because her bubbly enthusiasm was contagious. While he filled the stand with water and worked on getting the tree as straight as possible, Ifeoma ran out to her car and came back in with a couple of CD’s. She popped one in his stereo, and then Bing was dreaming of a White Christmas. Nnamdi laughed and shook his head, but after a couple of songs, the tree was decorated, the house smelled like pine, and he had to admit, it really felt more like Christmas. He scrounged up a couple of packets of hot cocoa mix, spiked them with peppermint Schnapps, and handed a mug to Ifeoma.
“Not as good as real cocoa,” he apologized, “but the Schnapps helps a bit.”
“Helps a lot!” Ifeoma giggled.
“Now all you need are some cookies.”
“Well,” he said softly, taking the mug from her hands and setting it down, “I think maybe I could use some mistletoe.”
Nnamdi took her face in his hands and kissed her gently. When she didn’t protest, he wrapped his arms around her. His kiss deepened, tasting of chocolate and peppermint, and Ifeoma’s knees felt weak. He pulled her close against his body, and Ifeoma felt a hardness in the front of his jeans, pressing against her belly. He shifted slightly against her, and she could feel it growing, getting stiffer. She broke the kiss, and came up for air, gasping slightly.
Her cheeks felt so hot, and she stammered, feeling silly, “Uh…w-well…thanks for the help…and the cocoa…”
She gathered up her papers, stuffing them haphazardly into her backpack.
“Ifeoma, I’m sorry,” he apologized.
“I didn’t mean to…”
“No, no,” she said, embarrassed, unable to look at him,
“it’s not you, it’s me…believe me, it’s me.”
Nnamdi touched her arm. “You don’t have to leave…I’ll behave, I promise.”
“Yeah, I really do have to go…class in themorning. Listen, I’ll call you and let you know my grade, ok?”
Ifeoma didn’t call, but she sent him a text message, “I got an A — thanks for all your help!”
He texted back, asking her over to celebrate, but got no response. A week later, at 5:00 on Christmas Eve, Nnamdi was flipping through the channels, and then there was a knock. Nnamdi opened the door to Ifeoma, grinning, cheeks pink with the cold, holding a plate of assorted homemade cookies.
“Wow, those look fantastic! So do you!” he laughed.
“Come in, come in…”
“I just wanted to thank you for all your help, you saved my grade. I’m sorry I didn’t call, I just –”
“Don’t worry about it, you don’t need to explain anything,” he assured her.
They’d had enough of junk food, so Nnamdi took her out for a real dinner at his favorite restaurant. They drove around and looked at Christmas lights for a while, then finally pulled back into Nnamdi’s driveway.
“Well,” he said.
“Want to come in for cookies? I happen to have some homemade ones. And I even have milk for real cocoa.” He wiggled his eyebrows playfully.
“REAL cocoa this time? How could a girl resist?” Ifeoma laughed.
He dimmed the lights and plugged in the tree. They sat, munching cookies and sipping spiked hot chocolate, listening to Ifeoma’s Christmas CD’s and telling stories. Suddenly, Nnamdi said, “Hey, I almost forgot — I got a gift for you. Hang on, I’ll be right back.”
He bounded down the hall, and returned quickly with a small package wrapped neatly in gold paper. “It’s not much, but when I saw it, I immediately thought of you. And I was really hoping I would see you again.”
Ifeoma’s eyes shone as she unwrapped a green leather-bound journal, the cover tooled in intricate leaf designs.
“Wow, thank you so much,” she said softly, “it’s beautiful.”
“I thought of you as soon as I saw it — the color reminded me of your eyes.”
She looked at him, surprised, and he cleared his throat. “I just wanted you to know, you are a talented writer, Ifeoma, and I hope you keep writing.”
Cautiously he reached out and brushed her hair back from her face. “You know, I have to confess something. When you were in my class a couple of years ago, you were what — eighteen?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, feeling like she could barely breathe.
“Well,” he said quietly, “even when you were my student and I knew it was wrong, knew I couldn’t have you, knew that I shouldn’t even think about it,” his hand slid from her shoulder, down to the small of her back, as he leaned in and kissed her forehead gently, “I wanted you. I wanted you so much. Do you know how hard that was forme?”
Ifeoma nodded, swallowing hard. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” She slipped her arms around his neck and whispered, “I have a present for you too…but you will need to unwrap it.”
He kissed her lips, her cheeks, her eyelids; he nuzzled her neck and his mouth was so warm.
“Ifeoma, baby…” he murmured, his hands slipping under her sweater, and then tracing up the smooth skin of her back. “It feels so good to finally be able to hold you…to touch you…”
She didn’t even realize he had unhooked her bra, and she was amazed to feel his hands cupping her bare bosoms, his thumbs teasing her hardening Tips. She made a little sound of pleasure, deep in her throat, and he pulled her on top of him, straddling his lap. His hands were in her hair, and his kisses were more urgent, more insistent. She felt his hardness pressed up against her, but this time she didn’t pull away. She circled her hips, experimentally, grinding her crotch against his. Nnamdi grabbed her hips impatiently, and pushing himself up against her, feeling her heat through her jeans. She rubbed against him again, and he groaned against her neck, his arms tightening around her; she felt a shudder run through his body, and suddenly he pushed her away, not roughly, but firmly.
“Stop, god, stop, you’re going to make me come before I’m even inside you!”
Ifeoma blushed, delighting in this information, in her new-found sense of power. He chuckled, kissed her a few more times, and gently removed her glasses and put them on the end table, next to his. Then he grabbed her hands and pulled her to her feet.
“Condoms, condoms are in the bedroom,” he muttered, while he steered her down the hall.
“Um, I’m on the pill…for my cycle…” Ifeoma said shyly.
“Good, good,” Nnamdi said, between kisses, “real good.” He left a trail of their clothing all the way to the bedroom: her sweater, his shirt, her bra, his belt, their shoes and socks…when they got to his bed, he tugged her jeans and panties down over her hips and tossed them on the floor, and his jeans followed in the heap.
“Looks like we both lost a strip poker game,” he joked, and Ifeoma giggled, a little nervously.
Nnamdi lay next to Ifeoma, nuzzling her neck and kissing her shoulder. His skin was warm, and she could feel the length of his hard rooster throbbing against her hip. His palm stroked down her belly to the soft curls between her thighs. Ifeoma parted her legs slightly as Nnamdi stroked her Kitty-Cat, easing her labia apart with his fingertips, and sliding one long, slim finger into her opening. He whispered in her ear,
“You’re so wet, so tight, I can’t wait to be inside you.” He rolled on top of her, pressed the head of his rooster against her slick slit, and thrust forward with his hips.
“Baby, you’re so tight,” he panted with effort, pushing a little more insistently… and met resistance… His eyes searched her face. Ifeoma was biting her lip, breathing shallowly, but she had a look of almost grim determination on her face.
“Please, Nnamdi, please…don’t stop.”
“Ifeoma?” She wouldn’t meet his eyes, and suddenly he understood and felt like a total bastard for not realizing sooner.
“Oh, honey, you’ve never done this before?”
She looked at him pleadingly. “It’s okay, I’m okay, just do it, please…”
Nnamdi felt himself wilting just a little, the urgency gone. “No, baby, not hurried like this.
You deserve better. I didn’t know. You deserve something special.”
“This IS special!” Ifeoma insisted.
“Nnamdi…you’re the best teacher I’ve ever had. I know you can teach me how. I trust you.”
She buried her face against his chest, mumbling, “Besides, it’s my Christmas present for you. I want you to be my first.”
He circled his arms around her, holding her for a moment. He ran his hands up and down her arms soothingly, then kissed the top of her head.
“Alright…but let’s back up a few steps.”
Ifeomad looked at him, questioningly.
“Well,” he said, “we were sort of skipping straight to dessert, without an appetizer or a main course.”
Ifeoma nodded, swallowing hard, while Nnamdi slowly began kissing down her neck, her shoulder, her collarbone, her bosoms… stopping to tease her Tips with his lips and tongue while Ifeoma sighed and ran her fingers through his hair. He continued his journey south ward, dipping his tongue briefly into her navel, then settled himself between her legs, bending her legs at the knee and pushing her thighs apart. His breath was hot against her, and he opened her Kitty-Cat with his thumbs, running his tongue from her untried opening to her tiny clit. Ifeoma gasped in shock — no one had ever done this to her before. She’d made out with a few guys in school, a few uninspired gropes in the backseat, dry humping, a couple of quick hand jobs. But no man had ever taken the time to focus on her, to devote himself entirely to her pleasure.
“Nnamdi…” she managed to squeak.
“Yeah?” he said, grinning up at her from between her thighs.
“That’s…wow…that’s amazing…it feels…” Ifeoma found herself at a loss for further words.
“Nice?” he murmured, giving her a long lick.
“Ohhhh god,” Ifeoma groaned, her knees trembling, and she felt like she was melting under his tongue like a scoop of strawberry ice cream.
“It feels a lot more intense than when I…you know…self-service,” she finished, embarrassed.
“Well, sure…kind of like, you can’t tickle yourself, you know…it’s better when someone else makes you feel good.” He licked her again, and she writhed under him, her Kitty-Cat opening for him like a flower.
“Just relax for me, Ifeoma, let me make you feel good…” He lapped her gently, teasing her femalecore, feeling it swell under his tongue. He laved little circles around it, experimenting until he found the spot that made her pant, made her push her Kitty-Cat against his mouth, her hands pulling a little at his hair. He smiled to himself, focusing on that sweet spot, feeling Ifeoma’s thighs shaking under his hands, while she moaned, “Yes…yesss…oh Nnamdi…right there…I’m so close…” He felt her clit throbbing, and sucked gently until he tasted a gush of her sweet juices as she came in his mouth. Ifeoma was floating, everything was pink and golden and fuzzy…and just when Nnamdi’s attention to her sensitive button became too much, he seemed to sense that, and shifted his attention lower, lapping intently at her opening. His agile tongue tickled and teased, and then grew more insistent, probing. It was gentle, but warm and firm, pushing a little deeper, and Ifeoma began to crave something bigger, and harder. Nnamdi moved up her body, cradling her in his arms, and his hand replaced his mouth. His fingers slid inside her, and she was wet, so wet — first one finger, then two — opening and stretching her a little more. Nnamdi kissed her over and over until her head was spinning, his tongue in her mouth mirroring his fingers, probing, teasing. His fingers brushed over a magic place deep inside her and she gasped in shock, arching her back. He pulled back from her just a moment, evidently pleased with her reaction. Smiling a wicked, knowing, smile, he resumed kissing her deeply, his fingers rubbing and rubbing inside her, the warmth and tingles spreading through her belly, and Ifeoma came hard on his fingers, her wetness gushing on his hand. She watched in a daze as he brought his fingers to his mouth, tasting her orgasm — then he kissed her, and she could taste her own pleasure on his lips and tongue.
“Now,” he said softly, “I think you are more ready for me.” He rolled on top of her, nudging her legs apart with his knees, as her Kitty-Cat was still throbbing from her intense climax. Ifeoma glanced down, and his joystick was so beautiful, curving upward toward his belly. She grasped it gently, and he closed his eyes, breathing shallowly. She stroked her hand up and down his shaft a few times, marveling that the skin was so soft, but his Attention was so hard. A tiny pearl of liquid appeared at the tip. Fascinated, she dipped her finger in it, tracing his pre-come all over the swollen head of his rooster, painting it with wetness and making it shine.
“Honey, please,” he groaned, “I’m trying so hard, but I only have so much control.”
“Oh…oh! I’m sorry!” she apologized, quickly.
“It’s okay,” he assured her, kissing the tip of her nose. He slipped his hands under her to cup her Buttocks and lift her hips a little.
“My hands are kind of busy,” he said, squeezing her cheeks a little for emphasis, making her laugh and breaking the tension. “So you guide me in, baby.”
She pointed his rooster toward her Kitty-Cat, rubbing the joystick up and down her slit a
little, until she could feel him slip inside her again. This time, when he pushed, there was less resistance, she was so wet, so open. “Deep breath,” he whispered against her lips, and he thrust once more, harder. Ifeoma gave a sharp little gasp of pain, but it was over so quickly. Nnamdi kept his body still, kissing her face all over, her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead.
“Are you okay? Did I hurt you?” he asked, concerned.
“I…I think it’s okay. I think…it’s good…” Ifeoma breathed, her arms around his neck. She began to move a little, experimentally, her hands sliding down his back. He buried his face against her neck, and moved with her, letting her set an easy pace at first. But soon, he began thrusting with a purposeful rhythm, and she felt his muscles tensing. His eyes were closed, his expression intent, and through clenched teeth he growled, “Yesss…Bleep…your Kitty-Cat is so hot, so sweet…Ifeoma, baby…I’m going to come…”
She felt his rooster swell even bigger, it felt even harder inside her, and her eyes opened wide in amazement that she could feel every pulse, every throb, as he filled her with his come. Slowly, Nnamdi relaxed. His eyes opened again, regained their focus, and he cupped her face in his palms, kissing her tenderly. “Thank you Ifeoma, what a special gift. I feel honored that you chose me to be your first.”
“I want you to be my second, too…and my third,” Ifeoma giggled, “but I think we’ll need some cookies first to get our strength back.”Uh He circled his arms around her, holding her for a moment. He ran his hands up and down her arms soothingly, then kissed the top of her head. Then he kissed her, and she could taste her own pleasure on his lips and tongue.

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