Make sure you are living alone or your family has gone out for their daily routine or on vacation because getting laid is a big, secret business. One Pablo Escobar would be proud of. I’m sick, you’ll say to them when anyone tries to get nosy about your insistence to stay at home. The dealings to getting any girl other than a commercial sex worker to lie with you is sometimes murkier than the River Nun. Worse is, if you think any girl, lady or woman will call you out of the blue to lie with her then you need to ask yourself these questions. Did someone other than me jinx her? Is my body Suya? Is she Potiphar’s wife? Am I Joseph and are we in fucking Egypt of medieval times?
Getting laid is not always as easy as movies and novels depicts: You text a girl and she comes to spend unchaperoned time with you, you engage her in a talk, she blushes at the compliment you’re sending her. Silence erupts, you lean in on her, your noses touch, your breath cease momentarily. Then your eyes blink to a close you both share a deep ravishing kiss, she nibbles at your lower lip, your hands begin their ministrations, touches this spot and that spot and finally you carry her in your arms, your lips still locked with hers. Up the stairs you climb to your room. The door flings open and you dump her on the bed, wild-eyed, buttons loosen, clothes peel of the skin, pants find room in a crumpled heap at the foot of the bed, you both fuck till you call out the gods within your bodies and speak in other tongues.
Clean the house. Get those love patterned sheets, neatly tucked at the edges. Scrub the tiles till you could mirror your soul in them. Take out the ash tray and the stub of cigarettes that litter around, bin those empty bottles of deodorants, arrange those books you never and will never read, open the curtains for a while and let the house breathe again. Wash the dishes, wipe debris off the gas cooker, the toilet bowl in the convenience should be bleached till it turns whiter than newly split yam. You’re not the strict attention to detail type, she will know this and appreciate you went all out for her. Don’t sweat it even if in the end you don’t get shit.
Shower, bath yourself with perfumed oils and wait for her coming as Christians wait the coming of Christ, the-I’ll-come-as-a-thief-in-the-night-kinda. Play some slow, soft music. By all means avoid trap music especially Migos. Resist the urge to play that Wizkid collection. And no Erriga! Nonso Amadi and Johnny Drille is fine, get a playlist of some J Cole, some Ladipoe, some Ric Hassani, some Adele, Ed Sheeran, Khalid, Bellion, John Legend and the likes to spice up the mood. I know you don’t like Drake, I don’t either but the girls love him so add Drake to the mix.
Call your guys, tell them to never set foot within a mile radius of where you live, except they wish to die a slow and excruciating death in 1000 ways. The last thing you will want when making out is an uninvited visitor.
She may come late or even text a message to cancel her coming with some lazy ass excuses: my mum wants me to cook beans, I’m peeling yam, or we’re having the funeral of Mama Nkechi’s dog. When next you see her tell her you understand she was busy saving the world and the invite is still open whenever she has the chance.
We’ve all been there; you guys start kissing and boom there’s power outage. And since the temperature is humid, the room gets hot and everyone becomes uncomfortable. Make sure there’s light when she finally come. If your village witches don’t want you to lie with a girl they first make you lose access to power. They will get in sync with NEPA officials to take away power and successfully put a knock to your generator carburetor. See, brother, a man cannot win judgement against his own clan, so you may want to pour a drink to the earth, throw some libations to appease the gods, days before she starts coming.
Leave the air conditioner on the lowest temperature possible—mortuary standard—and get her a cold Smirnoff Ice(I swear I’m not paid to advertise them) when she arrives. She will not want to disgrace her ancestors by asking you to turn the air conditioner off. If it becomes unbearable, excuse yourself, go into hiding and make a hot coffee or chocolate drink to keep your insides warm. Light some cigar or weed if that’s your thing.
The way to a woman’s heart is through her stomach. Almost all women are foodies and almost all don’t nearly eat enough when they’re out in a strange place. Offer her her favourite food—Oha soup—homemade preferably. If it was cooked by you the better, and let her in on that fact. A glass of red wine will be at her side while you watch and engage her in a talk. Bet9ja will replenish all, no worries.
The way through a woman’s loins is the ears. Fill her with your voice, she’s in your lair, your territory, an unfamiliar territory without the safety of her friends and family. She’s alone with two voices in her head, yours and hers, make yours count. You’ll be pushed to use pick up lines. Don’t. Awwwn, she will blush at the compliments you give her. She’ll smile and call you a pervert when you touch and make remarks about tearing to the hip the raggedy seams of her bum shorts.
She will bait you to start talking about yourself and family. Regulate your enthusiasm, edge close to her, refill her glass of wine, talk little, your eloquence will be swift not as Martin Luther or Obama but not as a fowl with a broken beak either. Then you’ll invite her to talk on the subject. Listen with interest, nod your head when she talks about losing a loved one and you’ll say, that must be a trying time for your family, just as you nod and say ride on sir to Reverend Matthew’s Sunday nuggets.
If she allows you to hold hands, entwine your fingers with hers, let her feel the warmth of your palms. Now she will be seemingly bored for lack of activity. Draw out that old photo book and show her awkward throwback photos of you when you were nine playing in the rain or at twelve having a tug of war with your meat at uncle King-George’s house. Initiate a game, a giddy one like Truth or Dare or play cards, checkers or chess, with the loser losing a piece of clothing and/or getting a shot of tequila. I’m not game for games she will say but she already gets a hint at where you’re driving at.
You’ll take her through a tour of the house, show her the bedroom so it will register on her mind, she may have imagined the script many times before coming over and knows how it could end. Keep your fingers locked with her, take her to the balcony, point to her the setting sun and say it’s yours. If she’s street, say it in pidgin, I dash you the sun. At this point, in the movies, white people’s movies, she will turn around and say oh Priye, look into your eyes, edge close to you, cup your chin in her hands, with her eyes fluttering to a close she’ll plant her pliant lips to yours. But you’re not in the movies, the chances of her initiating the kissing is slimmer than trying to reach a Nigerian politician in a non election year. Just take her inside and pour her more wine.
Inside you tell her about that corduroy skirt she wore the first time you saw her, how it has haunted you ever since. You will say, I saw your skirt in a movie recently, it was hitched around some hookahs waist while she was being taken from behind. She will giggle, call you funny boy and demand the movie’s name. Of course it’s a lie but you’ll provide a movie name, any movie name. Just say Egg of Life or Return of The Missing Virgins. Before the thought will register you’ll close in on her and speak proudly of how she smells of Jollof rice and fried chicken, pause to sniff and take in the air. By now you must have told her in details how Jollof rice and fried chicken is your favorite meal. Her brain will send a signal, she’s coming to the knowing at what you are driving at.
Not allowing her thoughts to hit home, hey, I’m enjoying your presence, you will say which may be a lie because girls are boring, many of them. An ear to ear smile will plaster on her face nonetheless, which not in essence is your reward, temporarily. Tell her many things; how she has the most unsettling effect upon you, how you cannot resist wanting her company ever since. After talking for so long you will initiate silence and let it stew. This is going to be tense like a taut g-string. Try to catch her eyes which at this point would be darting like a thief’s torch. If she’s local she will stare back at you and say what?! Don’t feel bad, it’s just her insecurities playing out. I want to fuck you right now, that’s what your homie will tell you to say. Don’t repeat this to her. Put your glass cup down theatrically, let her see you lick the wine off the corner of lips, you don’t have beards save a few strands so there’s no trouble with wine trickling down your beards. Wipe the debris off your chin with a kerchief.
Get serious now. Your fingers will move at their own accord and find room on her knee, drumming. And since she didn’t move to remove them, a little holding of the breath and a short prayer they will unerringly inch their way upward on the yellow street of flesh, one trailing the other. Stop! She will say resisting their advances. She will make a face, pout her lips and tell you to fuck off. You will tell her you’re sorry for behaving imprudently in your desires. This may or may not loosen her up to allow you the privilege of taking her. Let it be known the girl you’re with won’t be quick to pull down her pants. Once her minds made up it’s curtains. She may leave you with only kisses to show for your troubles. She may afford you room around the boobs. Don’t be greedy, accept the boobs offering with joy and trembling. Whatever is good for the boobs is good for the handler.
If she doesn’t resist your advance it doesn’t mean she’s obsessed with all things Kamasutra. It could mean she’s just open to foreplay, or just horny and/or on her period. You have the right and backing of the constitution to be disappointed but try not to sulk and show your disappointment if it’s the latter. My brother, such is life, if it throws you a bone, catch a boner.
Either bodily or in words she will tell you indirectly, disguised or veiled of her yearning to be cocooned in your arms. Unaware, she will testify to be touched at the fabric of her deepest yearnings. If she’s naughty enough to inquire about your size, tell her something Ngugi would say, Only he who has drunk from the Calabash can only gauge it’s size. At this moment it doesn’t matter if her IQ is in the single digit bracket or she’s as bright as a 25W bulb or look like Nicki Minaj without the ass. Heck, you’ll ignore the fact she’s a poor chubby imitation of Amber Rose, for the gods have smiled on you. You’ll feel like doing a victory lap or tell her how this meant to you and your generations unborn, but you’ll do no such thing. This is what you’ll do: You’ll busy yourself into slotting condoms in your back pocket while your anointed fingers and lips find the right notes about her body.
But because the devil works in mysterious ways he will throw a spanner into your works. You are about putting it, when you’ll hear a knock. She’ll jolt and stiffen up but you’ll calm her down and run to the door in your briefs. Your neighbor with a face like a punched vagina will appear before the door. Smiling, he’ll ask you to lend him your Android charger. You’ll tell him you do not have Android charger and that you’ve never seen one in your life. He’ll beg you to use your phone and place a call to his family in Guatamala. Impatiently you’ll hand him your Tecno K7 and tell him to go away and make call with it, you don’t need it, including the sim and the contacts. You’ll climb upstair to meet your girl and see she’s about putting on her clothes, halt the process and beg her not to. She agrees reluctantly, like the movies you’ll join her under the sheets to make love.
44seconds, 2 minutes or one hour later, it doesn’t matter, you’ve achieved orgasm, you’ve gotten laid!
