When I was a kid, I was told every spinster is a virgin and she who does not keep to her virginity before marriage will be rejected by the groom’s family and thusly disgrace her family. I’m a grownup now and in fact, all the spinsters in my neighbourhood are all virgins, grooms’ families reject the deflowered among them regularly and the deflowered brides’ families return home disgraced; every lady complies to the common sense now. I was told that teachers are good role models; their goal is to secure our future and all the girls that went to our male teachers’ houses went there for lessons and tutorials. I’m a teacher now myself, and indeed, all the SS3 girls that come to my house on weekends and evenings come for tutorials, don’t they?
I was told that government is the greatest authority, they’re on ground to make our country better and ensure sportsmanship and orderliness among the people, I’m a grownup now, and indeed, PDP government has made our country so brilliantly better over their sixteen years of governance that orderliness has become the order of the day and every citizen demonstrates attitudes of honesty and sportsmanship. I was told that if we read our books, our shoes will be neat and make great sounds (bàtà wa ádún kokokà) when we walk and whoever does not go to school will be servants to those of us who did. I’m a grownup now, I have passed through both NCE and Degree, my shoes echo ko-ko-kà so loudly rats flee, and all the people who engage in vocations without formal schooling are now my servants. Name them, Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, Walt Disney, Steve Jobs, and so on.
I was told that judges don’t get compromised and they dish honest judgments out, when my father’s assassin was taken to court, honest judgment was passed; he was freed. Policemen are our friends and we should trust them they told us. Indeed they are, aren’t they? They are such nice friends to have, and very-very trustworthy; you could even keep millions with them if a bank is too far. I was told that adultery is a sin and whoever engages in it will die. Indeed, only minority of people nowadays engages in extramarital and premarital sexual activities and most of them are either dying or dead.
I was told lecturers at the University are God’s ambassadors who will help us get to the career of our dreams and will be bent on assisting us get to our destinies. Indeed, so true, God’s ambassadors they are, they are representing God well, helping us get closer to the career of our dreams and bent on assisting us to fail. Ooops! Mistake, pardon me, assisting us to pass and reach our destinies rather. I was told that mosques and churches are God’s houses; they are places to go to confess misdemeanors and declare the beginning of holier and godlier lives. I’ve grown up and I’ve noticed that sometimes, expensive footwear disappear at mosques’ entrances, phones disappear at churches and chargers alone are left behind; Angels must have taken them as tokens of worship, a lie? And those half naked girls dancing shoki and shakitibobo in churches are indeed ready to begin holier and godlier lives.
The newlyweds got undressed, it was a stressful day dancing and thanking people for their attendance, but Bro Matthew was a virgin and was curious to see what sex feels like, finally. He wouldn’t suspend it. The room was dimly lit. The overhead that remained on was of coloured bulbs. Corsets, suit and its trouser, wedding gown, shoes, tie and all littered the rug and as Sister Theresa lied on her back in total nudity, Bro Matthew swallowed consistently with his Adam’s apple running up and down restlessly. It was dim but Bro Matthew could see clearly enough the profile and was crazily aroused, the mouth of his tool spitting lubricant fluid already. It was his first time of seeing a nude woman and was grateful it was. All his life, he had led a holy life and he had asked God to bless him with a wife of similar ilk, and God has answered his prayer, Sister Theresa was the choir mistress of his church and nobody was more decent than her. Whenever she sang, one would feel the presence of angels dancing; no earrings, no high heels, no makeup, just pure devotion and a true modest life.
Bro Mathew crawled over her; nobody needed to teach him that a handset was meant to rest over a cradle, he knew where to put the spitting tool. His two hands stood as pillars beside Sister Theresa’s ears and his deep breath came close to hers. The ticking of the clock was audible but unnoticed. Thunders clapped softly and heavens rumbled outside but no rain fell. The left hand soon went off, down, probably to guide something into something.
“I’m so afraid,” Theresa mumbled.
“Why?” asked Bro Matthew. “We should be happy. Or should we pray first?”
“No. I’m happy but… pshewww… I—I’m just afraid, I’ve never done this before.”
“I know… me too, but don’t worry dear, I’ll be gentle.”
“Okay, be gentle please.”
“I’ll be gentle. Can you open your legs a bit?”
She opened them a bit, in fact, tiny bit and Bro Matthew tried to insert the plug, all to no avail, the legs were only slightly opened and the tool didn’t go through.
“What’s happening?” asked Sister Theresa.
The light was dim; one couldn’t have seen the smile of mockery on Sister Theresa’s face.
“Open your legs a bit more, please.”
They were decent people, kissing or hugging did not occur a part of the deal, maybe later they would try those out, but for now, breaking the hymen was the issue. After minutes of failed attempts, Bro Matthew penetrated successfully; sweating profusely and he did a bit before he gushed like five liters of ages-stored thick cream into his bride. He rolled to a side, escaping the nails of Sister Theresa that have been dug into his skin throughout the process, and the cry-seeming moans that got him worried.
Bro Matthew went out of the bed and flicked on the switch on the wall, it was now the time to peep over his wife’s nakedness whenever he wanted to, he felt proud but… wait—didn’t they say there will be blood?
“Theresa, there was no blood!”
“Blood? Ah, that! We don’t bleed upon being deflowered in my family. I don’t know, mummy said it’s genetic. Besides, it’s not an uncommon thing not to bleed when deflowered. You see how tight it was, didn’t you? That’s virginity,” (just like Sister Aisha had told Bro Saheed two weeks ago on their honeymoon, beside my house).
Silence… She started crying.
“Why are you crying?” Bro Matthew was concernedly confused.
“Now that you’ve deflowered me, you don’t trust me again?”
“No—no—no, it’s not that, I do trust you, I love you so much. You’re God’s reward to me for my chastity.”
The switch was flicked off again and three hours later, Bro Matthew resumed it, and like before, he skidded through the biological tunnel tightened by clapping of thighs closely together and refusing to open the legs wide because it pained Sister Theresa so much even though there was no friction there.
Join me in congratulating Brother Matthew, he has married a virgin. Indeed, it’s so true that if you keep yourself abstinent, you’ll marry an abstinent woman/man, faithful marries faithful, honest marries honest, pretenders marry pretenders, that’s how it happens, right? Okay, I wish you best of luck. Excuse me, I want to take a nap, do take care.
With all sense of humility from Virgin Lord eBay, to you.
(Holier Than Thou School of Thought)