I watched her.

I couldn’t tell if she was ignorant of my presence or simply preferred to make it seem so. She was sprawled out on the bed, beside the window, from where the midday New York Sun peeped.

While the sun peeped, I gawked. She was silent, lying in the nude, enjoying the sun, legs resting on the wall.

I was lost for words – not the verbal expression, but the physical experience. My throat was parched with longing and my mouth, slightly open with awe while my eyes glazed with lust…those were not the only things happening to me, but the occurrence in my groin wouldn’t let me recall other aspects of my experience.

It was not long before she smiled at her nude legs. They were beyond beautiful. One could rightfully assume they were mythic.

Clearly, she loved them. Her face ripened into a smile, her eyes thinned into tiny slits on her face and her teeth showed the perfect grin of appreciation. She lifted her phone, stilled it and snapped the picture. The scene was perfect – picture perfect!

I gawked at those nude legs resting on the wall while her back enjoyed the warmth of her bed. From the top – her toes – the image flowed down easily with mathematical exactness to her knees and then…from there, as if the midpoint, mathematics failed. It failed to explain it…as her thighs suddenly spread outwards on opposite sides like the fins of a beautifully-crafted fish.

I gasped.

Beyond her hips, I thought, is she getting moist? Would the moistness be enough to relieve my parched throat? How would I drink of it, if I could? Would I use the tip of my war, soft tongue to trace her tender inner thighs from her knees up? Or would I abandon such for biting her neck while my fingers deeply crawl up her inner thighs to go explore her nectar?

Suddenly, my fingers got weak and my dazed mind, blank. I had struggled for so long to be led not into temptation, yet, with such a prim and proper picture before me, I recalled that even the great Achilles had a tendon.

She was proper in her position…proper in her role as a temptress and so properly without clothes.

My phallus throbbed. Then I noticed something. She was staring at me with a smile…that kind of smile that elicits sin from the righteous.

What are you thinking?, I wanted to ask her, but then, she found her voice first and whispered:

“What are you thinking?”




You are sitting opposite me. You are quiet but your eyes speak to me. You weigh me in every way in your mind, though your lips refuse to voice your thoughts.

Imagine… I refuse to let that unsettle me. I walk towards you in your comfy seat and ask: “What if I touch you in certain ways?”

Imagine… You don’t speak. I decide to not continue with words. Instead, I rise to the door, lock it and return to you. I pull you by your legs so you sink into the seat a little more. This new position has your back prone on the cushions and your thighs parallel to the floor keeping your heels pinned to the floor.

Imagine I ask, ‘How do you like it? What would you like first?’ You don’t answer. It is as if you are stunned by what I have done so far but you stare at me, your eyes expectant, wanting me to carry on. I stand above you, then, using my forefinger, I run a straight line from your full lips, slowly, down your neck, then, onto your top, down between your full breasts, to your tummy, navel, belt, jeans…


You still don’t speak and I refuse to stop, disregarding any thought that this may be improper; to do this the first time we are meeting in person despite years of friendship over the phone. I unbutton your top and spread your blouse apart, opening you up to me so I can see your smooth skin. I undo the clip of the bra and let loose your full, heavy breasts. I trace my finger tips against the sensitive skin under them, trailing up towards your dark nipples, around you areola. I leave them and move downwards, concentrate on undoing your belt, pull down your jeans and your sexy panties. I admire my work; watch you lay there, naked from the waist down and mostly naked from the waist up. I look down at you with the confidence of one whose nudity is yet to be discovered by a desiring partner, while you lay silent, naked, before me. I run my forefinger from your chin once again, this time, slower, gentler. I pause at your chest and inspect your exceptionally full twins. As I caress them, I watch your eyes, glazed in desire look down and stare, prompting a bulge in my jeans. I, who never shows any form of PDA – public display of anything, suddenly have a part of my anatomy showing off. You look into my eyes with the confidence of one who has succeeded in conquering an admirer with her assets. No words are spoken.

I kneel between your legs and look deeply into your eyes. Then, I kiss you lightly. I leave your lips for your right ear. I nibble on it gently, then, using the tip of my soft, moist tongue, lick down your neck from the ear. I bite it lightly in different spots. Your breathing becomes shorter, quicker, more tense. I knead your adorable puckered nipples gently with my fingers, while still biting different spots on your neck, between your ear and shoulder. Then, slowly, I pause and smell your neck. “Hmmm… You smell good.” I move gradually down to your chest, kiss it tenderly, then move even further down, smell your sweet wet spot below, while still playing your nipples lightly with my fingers. I take in deep breaths to inhale the essence that is you only interrupting that with light bites on your inner thighs and kisses down your abdomen. I lick around your navel, suck on it then, using the tip of my wet tongue, continue to draw a line downwards. You seem to tense up more slightly distracted as if worried but then you relax when you hear me say, “Hmmmm… You smell great.” Then, as if confirming that, my tongue mows through the shrubs of your pubes, down through the now-wet alley, sucking on the fleshy appendage over your clit, and seeking that clit-button of yours. In one swipe of the tongue from your puckered tight hole below moving up, I taste you, the very unique juice only you can produce. I lick you some more, all the while still kneading on your breasts. I use my tongue to separate your lips – first the majora, then, the minora. I lick and plough with my tongue, and you, breathing more intensely and spreading your legs willingly pour me more to drink. Then, I get to the orifice, where I drink in more of you and I suddenly push my warm, moist tongue into you. I tongue fuck you gently, while I drag a hand to caress your clit. Then, suddenly, I push a finger into you…and then, another. I finger you slowly at first then, faster, while my tongue returns to lick and suck on your clit and juices. You grind on my face, seeking more…more of me, which I give happily, harder. In a gradual rise, your moans increase, your first sounds since we began, until you reach your first peak of pleasure, cumming hard, your body tensing in orgasm. And just as you ride the crest before you can catch your breath, I pull down my jeans and boxers and push my cock into you in one move “Augh,” you gasp audibly.. I continue pushing into you softly while I bring my lips to meet yours. You see my lips and chin glistening with your juices and you kiss me deeply, tasting yourself, drinking every part of your juice from me, while releasing more onto my cock. I pump into you, fucking you steadily. Your eyes roll back in immense pleasure, your gorgeous twins ripple and shake in the most beautiful, scattered way. As the our pace increases, our fucking more intense, I bite your neck hard, leaving a twin mark to the the one I made before, under your left ear. I bite it, lick it, bite it some more. You moan. I fuck you more.

Harder, faster, rougher.

I whisper into your ear. “You naughty slut…sexy bitch.” The words inspire a round of naughty grinds and moans from you. And I push in…harder…faster…rougher… You suddenly close your eyes, edging towards yet another release.

“Look at me!” I order you. “Look at me bitch!”

You force your eyes open, yet they can only make it half-way. You stare into my eyes as I pump you into another release. You see me looking down at you at your moment of greatest vulnerability, a moment few have ever seen and most will never see. You see me looking down at you as you offer all your submission. The look of your drunken eyes, quaking boobs and juicy cunt shove me to the edge. I close my eyes with pleasure. You grab my head.

“Look at me!” You order speaking legibly for the first time. “Look at me as you fuck me!”

You can tell I am about to shoot my load. As I force my eyes to look into yours, you also have that moment most would never have – I, on my knees, conquered by your all too-juicy pussy. You see me reveal my weakness in nudity before you and you grab me by the face, itching for the hardest pumps of the moment and smiling the smile of heavenly pleasure, conquest and vengeance all at once, at seeing me in this state.

Suddenly, I jerk inside you, my movements more frantic, you hold on to me tighter as you feel the warmth of my release rushing within you. Feeling me inside you, speeds up your orgasm and as you do, I pull your head backwards and bite your neck severally, in different spots.

You scream out your pleasure and as you stay at the precipice, your juices flow freely from you. As you catch your breath, you grab me securely within your arms, quaking from several shots of pleasure. After a few moments, you gradually open your eyes to this world and my smile.

“Keep this between us, would you?” I ask.

“Keep it coming back, would you?” You respond.

An agreement is formed.


dirty linen

I grew up in Nigeria. My dad often advised with the popular aphorism ‘do not air your dirty linen in public’. In fact, after using the borrowed words from the Europeans, he often added, it was not the culture of our people to do so.

Nevertheless, growing up in Nigeria showed otherwise. For those who have been blessed enough to live in Nigeria and perhaps some other spot on the globe, you would agree with me that in Nigeria, it is very common to find clothes aired outside, where all can see. This is alien in advanced nations.

In fact, in Nigeria, if you live in the ‘yards’ or have passed through such abodes, you would find that these ‘aired clothes’ are often more dirty than clean.

Hence, as a growing child with several questions that never left my lips, you would appreciate the confusion I battled with when overseas, I never saw dirty linen aired in public; yet, back home in Nigeria, it was commonplace, though my dad, in using the aphorism, often said that was alien to our culture.

Many years growing up thought me the old man meant it literary. In any case, let us assume for once, it was meant directly. If that be the case, is it okay then, to say, in Nigeria we air our dirty linen in public very often? In fact, it is our primary nature!

The tale of abducted young girls in Borno State has helped us invite the world to view our dirty, torn boxers and slacked panties hanging outside for all to see. It is an eyesore! First, we refused to actually state how many girls were abducted. When we gave a figure, we had our Armed Forces tell  us the girls had been rescued in a matter of hours. What followed was even more traumatizing.

Not only was it a lie from the military, it turned out that the number of the abducted continued rising. Then, we failed to give their names, explaining that we didn’t want abducted children stigmatized (despite the fact that they were/are still yet to be rescued). When the names finally appeared, the released names were less than the number said to be abducted.

It did not stop there! We managed to throw in the mutiny of soldiers into the circus of events. We had the Presidency inform us of intents to visit Chibok. However, that never happened and the reason was because of the insecurity in Chibok (so, they said). I recall Ms. Sesay of CNN in an interview, asking Doyin Okupe about this and he said there was never an intent for the President to visit. In fact, he added it must have been incorrect news just circulating around and she argued that she had been personally told by two top officials of the Nigerian Government. That must have been a classic dirty-linen-public-airing moment!

If I stop at this point, you would agree I have left most of the juicy parts or perhaps, if you have a perverted mind, you can say I have left out all the dirty crack stains on the aired G-strings and Boxers. However, the point is this:

We have succeeded in showing the world our lack of order. Yet, the definition of a Society has the word ‘order’ in it. So, one wonders, is this Nigeria really a society? Our records are conflicting; our lies, very flagrant! We have shown that our Leaders would rather designate their duties to anyone else, but themselves; though, when it comes to traveling overseas and handling any areas that have to do with billions, they would find themselves very capable of such!

We now show the world our greatest form of dirty linen: every man caters for himself! If you doubt that statement, then look around any Nigerian household. Feeding is fully the responsibility of the human. There are no welfare packages for anyone, be you young or aged. To have running water, you install your borehole apparatus. For security, you get your ‘Ma-guard’. For petrol, you either own a petrol station or befriend one who owns one or at worst, seek out a worker at a petrol station as a buddy. For education, you seek a private school and still, include the help of private tutors for your ward. Ah! How about health? Everybody is a Doctor or Nurse here, self-medicating as you have little or no choice. Now, I hear our military is so ill-equipped that our young boys are now the ones killing their fellow men in the bid of survival and to rescue our abducted girls.

The thing about linen aired outside which I so find fascinating is, it often gets to the point where such would have to be taken indoors. However, in the case of Nigeria, no one seems to realize that. We now have teens who are ‘killers’ in the bid of fighting terrorism. The profligateness of weapons to untrained youths is alarming, yet, our military is complaining that they are unarmed! What happens when these ills ‘come inside’? Or better put, what happens when the targets are no longer Boko Haram but ourselves?

Or do we forget, with every aired linen, the sun sets and the owners of such must gather them all and take them indoors? Sadly, the sun is beginning to set on Nigeria. So, what happens next?


Hey there, Bill.

You hate religion. You particularly hate Islam. We get it. Your liberal bigotry against Muslims and Islam is no secret. For a while now I’ve just avoided watching your show, which kind of stinks because for many years I was a great fan and really loved it. I wasn’t even bothered when you called out Muslims doing stupid, criminal or horrific things. You do that with a lot of groups, and it’s important to do. But I stopped watching when it became clear that you loathed a faith I was devoted to.

On your show you recently discussed the kidnapping of hundreds of girls by Boko Haram, followed by the new sharia laws in Brunei, and rounded out the segment with a nod to your buddy Ayaan Hirsi Ali—quite the trifecta of examples to support your conclusion that Islam itself is, as you said, “the problem.” Your reasoning is essentially that Muslims are doing many horrible things around the world, and they all believe in Islam, so naturally Islam is the nonnegotiable culprit.

Let’s ignore for now the numerous logical fallacies in your premise and instead follow your exact line of reasoning. If we are to accept your rationale, we have to also accept that, if many Muslims are doing good things around the world, and they all believe in Islam, then Islam is responsible for the good that they do. We also accept, given that Ali’s criticism of Islam is based on her personal experience, that the positive personal experience of other Muslims, including converts, are just as valid reflections on the faith.

For the sake of argument, and being as generous as possible, let’s say Islam has been a force of destruction for 50% of Muslims and a source of empowerment, peace and comfort for the other 50%. Where exactly does that leave us? Whose experience of Islam is legitimate? If Boko Haram is, in your estimation, an authentic expression of Islam, what do you make of the hundreds of Nigerian Muslim families who were sending their daughters to school? Why isn’t their dedication, like Malala Yousafzai’s dedication, to girls’ education an authentic expression of Islam? What do you deduct from the fact most Muslim women in the world are not circumcised? Are they just doing Islam wrong? Are all the good, peaceful Muslims doing Islam wrong?

You noted that women are treated at best like second-class citizens, but most often like property in Islam. The first Muslim woman, Khadijah bint Khuwaylid, a successful businesswoman, boss-lady and wife to the Prophet Muhammad, and the other Muslim women of his time would have snickered at you. Women of the region were chattel before Islam, treated and traded as such, until the Quran freed them through revelations such as “O you who believe! You are forbidden to inherit women against their will.”

I could tell you that Islam was the first system to establish women’s property rights, inheritance rights, the right to education, to marry and divorce of their free will, to be religious scholars, business owners, soldiers. I could tell you that while Christianity was debating the status of women’s souls and declaring them a source of sin, Islam had already established authoritatively the spiritual equality of men and women and absolved Eve, and womankind at large, of sin. I could tell you that the world and history is full of highly educated, successful Muslim women who are empowered by their faith, not debilitated by it. I could tell you terrorism is categorically forbidden in Islam, and that between 1970 and 2012, 97.5% of terror attacks in the U.S. were carried out by non-Muslims. I could tell you that female genital mutilation is never mentioned in the Quran; the only reference to it is found in a weak narration, and scholars find it objectionable to the point of being classified as impermissible.

Nothing I tell you would matter, though. The facts are irrelevant. That’s how bigotry operates. It’s both telling and troubling that you referred to these issues as “the Muslim question.” The reference didn’t escape me and it’s hard to believe it was anything but deliberate. I would be curious if your proposed solutions mirror those offered for the “Jewish question” in Europe. Bigotry sometimes does that, too.

So while I support you in continuing to expose Muslims and others who shock the conscience of decent people, who destroy lives, and who wreak havoc, I caution you on the anti-Islam rhetoric. You have a massive following and are successfully leading a movement to demonize Islam in the liberal left, a place many American Muslims call home. You are leading people into rocks and hard places when you posit that Islam is the problem. You are putting Muslims up against a wall and pushing those who fear us further into spaces where little choice is left. As the mother of two American-born daughters, and a Muslim who calls the U.S. her home, I worry deeply about the solutions your followers may propose to your “Muslim question.” You should too.


Galileo taught us that the earth is spherical. Yet, in all his wisdom, he and all other scientists after him failed to explain why a spherical earth has so many corners in it. People in these corners never have their names mentioned, never have their stories told, never have their faces seen.

However, every once in a while, their ordeals make the news. Only at moments like that, do we realize, such people live, such corners exist; such ordeals are possible.

Today, one of such corners is Chibok. One of such faces is that of a little girl. One of such ordeals is being kidnapped by your fellow countrymen and sold into slavery in this 21st century.

It is cruel. It is unforgivable. It is unimaginable. Nevertheless, Words, are always inefficacious in the duties of expounding on the magnitude of grief felt or empathized. Yet, despite their flaws, a Writer lacks other tools, especially at moments like this. Hence, if our present inept tools allow us only a set of words, then, by all means, we shall write those words:



I have been accused of being out of touch with reality for mixing or comparing the terror of Boko Haram in Nigeria with the plight of homosexuals in Nigeria. However, I am sorry, if you cannot see the connection I can see it clearly.

My point is that what Boko Haram is doing today in Nigeria is terrorism just as what Nigeria is doing to her minorities ( the homosexuals).

The activities of both the Bok
o Haram, the Nigerian government and whoever supports the persecution of homosexuals in Nigeria have the same feature: domination of one group over the other through fear and terrorising them to succumb or adopt your own way of life. Boko Haram wants all of us to become Muslims or we all die while the Nigerian government wants all homosexuals to become straight or end up in prison for 14 years. Do you not see the connection there? I can see the connection clearly.

To homosexuals in Nigeria, the Nigerian anti-gay law terrorises, dehumanises and puts them in daily danger and constant fear for their lives and exsitence and that is exactly the tactics of Boko Haram. They are using numerous tactics including kidnapping, looting and suicide bombing to make us agree with them and be what they want us to be and not what we want to be. This issue strikes at the heart of our fundamental human right to freedom of choice, association, life and being who we are and not what others want us to be.

You cannot condemn one terror leaving the other: they are all in this together. You cannot condemn Boko Haram and yet continue to condone the persecution, imprisonment, lynching, victimisation, blackmailing and all sorts of terror against homosexuals in Nigeria. It does not work that way. You cannot have it both ways. If a Muslim wants freedom of religion in the United Kingdom, for example, s/he must also grant that freedom to Jews and Christians and to everyone else, no matter how repugnant their belief maybe to s/he. What Boko Haram is trying to achieve is impossible; and that is, making every single Nigerian a Muslim and abolishing out the Western system of education but then that is exactly what Nigerians and the Nigerian government is trying to achieve: to forcefully convert all Nigerian homosexuals to being straight. This is ridiculous!

People are born gay but even if they are not, what is wrong with that freedom of choice? What is wrong with the choice you made to become a Muslim, a Roman Catholic, an Anglican or even an atheist?

Democracy is not about domination. It is all about majority for the protection of the minority. A man is strong and his strength comes out fully when he uses that strength to defend the weak, the poor, the helpless, the minorities and in fact, whoever is need of that power. That is exactly the reason the West has been saying ‘Hey, you are getting it wrong! Do not victimise your brethren for what they do not choose. They are are your brothers and sisters and blood’. But then most Nigerians including the Nigerian government turned around to accuse the West of meddling in Nigeria’s affairs.

I do not agree the West is meddling in our affair. They are telling us the right thing. What our brain failed to comprehend, theirs comprehended it quicker. The same brain they used to invent aeroplanes, computers, trains, cars, television, underground travelling system, etc; which our brain was not able to comprehend, is exactly the brain they are using today to tell us to stop because they had already invested millions, time, manpower and efforts before coming to the conclusion that the persecution of homosexuals is not right. There is nothing wrong in saying that someone is more brilliant than you. In fact, it is a virtue to acknowledge that and that is exactly what Nigeria needs today. We must be humble enough to accept that we got it wrong before it is too late.

Even the West we are accusing of meddling in our internal affairs is the same West the Nigerian government has called upon recently to help in the fight against terrorism. Well, if you cannot accept what the West is telling you about homosexuality and even telling the West to their face to shove their aid up their ass, how on earth would you turn around all of a sudden to ask the same West for help to fight Boko Haram? Has someone sold her shame in the market place or is someone not thinking before talking. You cannot have it both ways. If you believe that you are very healthy, then, why consult a doctor; knowing fully well that a healthy man has no need of a physician? If you know the law, why consult a lawyer? If you, as a nation, have it all under control, then, why ask for help?

In fact, whatever Nigeria thinks about her internal affairs and sovereignty, the concept of globalisation has suddenly made the world a little village and what happens in Nigeria is not just a Nigerian affair but the mondial affair and the West is therefore justified in guiding Nigeria to the right path and Nigeria in the spirit of humility must accept this guidance. The world cannot keep their hands akimbo while Nigeria is busy persecuting her own minorities. But why on earth do you think that the West should leave Nigeria alone when they never allowed Hitler to have his way?

I still recall clearly the words of Israeli Nobel laureate Elie Wiesel: “We must take sides. Neutrality helps the oppressor, never the victim. Silence encourages the tormentor, never the tormented. Sometimes we must interfere. When human lives are endangered, when human dignity is in jeopardy, national borders and sensitivities become irrelevant. Wherever men and women are persecuted because of their race, religion, or political views, that place must-at that moment-become the centre of the universe”.

The situation in Nigeria is so sad from every angle. From the angle of Nigerian homosexuals, it is sad and from the angle of ordinary Nigerians it is still sad. Nigerian homosexuals are living in fear for their lives for being a minority in a very conservative country while ordinary Nigerians are living in same fear for living in a country where few nut-heads are working very hard to convert all to Islam. But I must add that the Nigerian government should be blamed for all this mess. By their policies, they installed and instilled in the mind of ordinary Nigerians the ugly concept of hatred and persecution of the minorities and those different from the majority. Today we are reaping the bitter fruit.

Nigeria fired the first shot and once you fire the first shot of hatred you cannot stop it. It must complete its target. Nigerians hate homosexuals and I have an issue with that. Also, Boko Haram hates all of us and I do have issues with that too. Therefore, the solution lies in one concept: equality for all and the protection of the right of all without discrimination.



*Chukwunwikezarramu Okumephuna is a law student at the School of Oriental and African Studies, University of London.



The Maitre d’ bowed to them. “Mr & Mrs Gold?”

“Yes,” he replied.

Though the Maitre d’ could guess correctly they were not married, in this posh Italian restaurant in the south of France, the staff were well-trained in old-fashioned civility.

“What shall it be, Mr. Gold?” The Maitre d’ asked him in accented English. “A table for two or would you rather something different?”

“Table for two please,” he requested with a polite tilt of the head.

“Very well,” the Maitre d’ offered, turning to a table Captain. “Please show the lady and gentleman to a table for two.”

The restaurant’s personnel had everything in place. Even the aroma was crafted to perfection. Every stroke blended perfectly with the smell of scented candles that it seemed painted by Rembrandt. Together, they followed the table captain to a table in the corner.

“Table 69,” the table captain announced, gesturing them to the table for two.

He handed the table captain a tip and drew her a chair. Once he got around to sitting down, she shot at him.

“So why do you write all those things? Can’t you write something decent, like a real writer? Must they all be raunchy?”

He replied her with a direct stare and a faint smile. Then, delicately, he dropped his eyes to her fully puckered lips before concentrating on her silk lemon dinner dress. The neckline of the dress from the neck to chest formed a perfect V for victory; which revealed most of her cleavage. He peered at them briefly, then turned to her nipples and caressed them passionately with his eyes. The nipples grew in boldness, slowly and steadily, like a pair of snails stretching out of their shells.

“Stop it,” she croaked, her breathing, a bit tensed. “I refuse to be one of those girls in your novels.”

He met her eyes, then, smiled.

“Bet you are feeling lucky now,” she continued, a bit flustered and her breathing still revealing a mild pant. “You got a table in the corner, where no one can see us.”

“For a different reason altogether,” he said wryly. “It’s just that sixty-nine is my favourite number.”