2Kolami 5: Egress

 If you haven’t read 2Kolami 4: Vagary [click to link]

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“Who we are is of little concern. It’s what we do that matters”

-Fola’

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e·gress (n) /ˈiːgrɛs/ the action or right of going out of or leaving a place.

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It took a full minute for Akinde’s words to sink in. Even then Kolami stared at the older man as though he had just proposed assassinating the president Continue reading

2Kolami 4: Vagary

If you haven’t read 2Kolami 3: Reaction [click to link]

Ahead to 2Kolami 5: Egress [click to link]

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Don’t forget to follow @theKolami @folakolami on Twitter for instant updates. Or just follow/subscribe to the blog.

-Fola’

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va·ga·ry (n) /ˈveɪg(ə)ri/ 1. An erratic, unpredictable or extravagant manifestation, action or notion. 2. An unexpected and inexplicable change in a situation or in someone’s behaviour

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That couldn’t possibly be right! Kolami’s mind screamed at him. He clearly remembered handing the jacket over to the doorman at Country Kitchen after taking Balogun’s phone out. Yet there was no doubt in his mind that it was the same one. It didn’t seem fair, or humanly possible for that matter, for anyone to own an identical pair of ugly corduroy jackets.

He had to be dreaming Continue reading

2Kolami 3: Reaction

If you haven’t read 2Kolami 2: Existence [click to link]

Ahead to 2Kolami 4: Vagary [click to link]

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Be sure to follow @theKolami @folakolami if you’d like to receive updates on Twitter.

Welcome to the capital city.

-Fola’

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re·ac·tion (n) /rɪˈakʃ(ə)n/ .1. Something done, felt, or thought in response to a situation or event .2. A chemical process in which one substance changes into other substances

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From where he stood on the landing at Yellow House, Kolami stared into the distance. His gaze went past the deserted Moremi hostel to the hills beyond. There was something about nature and landscape that always captivated Continue reading

2Kolami 2: Existence

If you haven’t read 2Kolami 1: Paranoia [click to link]

Ahead to 2Kolami 3: Reaction [click to link]

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ex·ist·ence (n) /igˈzistəns/ the fact or state of continued being; life

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“What is fiction if not truth perverted” – F.

-Fola’

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The Sunday morning crowd milled about in the large open space just outside the imposing stone-finished edifice that was the church auditorium, buzzing like bees at a hive Continue reading

2Kolami 1: Paranoia

If you didn’t read Kolami 25: Sleep [click to link]

Ahead to 2Kolami 2: Existence [click to link]

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So here I am driving down Road 1 and out of OAU campus. I’m heading downhill, looking at the school gate. I can’t wait to be back in my room with my cool new Havit headset and my pillows. My warm, furry friends. Maybe I’ll buy a bottle of wine to celebrate finally submitting my thesis. Something fruity. By myself.

Suddenly I become aware Continue reading

Mr Shaun’s Women Pt 4 REPOST

If you haven’t read Mr Shaun’s Women part 3 [click to link]
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So here’s the last part of Mr Shaun’s Women.

-theFiliac

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“Let he who is without sin cast the first stone” – The Holy Bible

We were together just once, Mr Shaun’s daughter and I. And it wasn’t only because it did little to satisfy my hunger for the older lady Shaun; it just didn’t feel right. As it turned out, my conscience was still kicking, even as it took its last few breaths.

Luckily, I had just been a passing fancy, a momentary crush; as fleeting as a heartbeat, one of the many I concluded she must have had. The spoilt little girl was over me the second I climbed off her.

She went back to her nasty ways, calling me names when she wasn’t totally ignoring me. It would have greatly angered me if it hadn’t deeply pleased me.

Mrs Shaun apparently was out of town for a while. Mr Shaun’s daughter had been away on holiday and only just returned in order to resume for school in about a few weeks. She was a student in a university nearby and would be going to school from home.

I could immediately see how that would get in the way of what Mrs Shaun and I had. We would never have the house to ourselves again. She would not dare to be seen in public with another man, which meant hotels were out of it.

A few days later, while I was still mourning Mrs Shaun and trying to bury myself in her stead under all the work I could find to do, Mr Shaun called me into his office. He looked and sounded excited.

“My daughter’s coming home today.”

I raised an eyebrow at the emphasis Mr Shaun put on the words ‘My daughter’. I remembered he had two of them, but clearly, this one was special. Perhaps she was the younger—the youngest of Mr Shaun’s women.

“She got into the country yesterday,” he said. “Her flight from Lagos is by 11.45. I’d like you to pick her up for me. Take the Range, I’ve told her to look out for it.”

I wasn’t keen to be around another one of Mr Shaun’s spoilt and obnoxious daughters. I was going through withdrawal, the last thing I needed was another Mrs Shaun lookalike giving me reason to want to harm her physically; since I couldn’t do it with my fist, I would turn to the only other weapon I had.

The long drive out of town to the airport with nothing but my own thoughts was refreshing. It gave me plenty of time to indulge in my new favourite pastime, self-loathing.

I was a good man once, you see. A short while ago I would have been the first amongst a multitude to cast the first stone at an adulterous woman. I couldn’t even imagine sleeping with another dude’s girlfriend, let alone cheat on mine.

And just like that, I had become this person. I couldn’t even blame it on alcoholism, peer pressure or drugs. I had never given into any of those. Until I met Mrs Shaun. And I couldn’t darn well blame it on her now, could I?

….

Someone rapped lightly on the passenger’s side window of the SUV as I sat lost in my thoughts. I had shut my eyes in half-sleep; those seats are mad comfortable. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the harsh sunlight pouring in. I frowned angrily.

What silly joke was this? I pulled the window down and stared at the girl.

“Ibironke, what are you doing here?” I asked harshly. I was not looking forward to driving back to town with her along for the ride.

The girl looked at me in confusion for a long moment, then she smiled a beautiful smile. It was Mrs Shaun’s mature smile, with Ibironke’s perfect teeth and gorgeous lips, and Mr Shaun’s caring, sincere eyes.

It was impossible not to love this one.

“I’m sorry, I guess nobody told you. I’m Ronke’s twin sister.”

I had never felt so embarrassed in my life, especially since she had repaid my mean brashness with sweet kindness. I jumped out of the car as quickly as I could and helped her load her boxes and bags into the back of the Rover.

“I see you’ve met my sister,” she said as we drove out of the airport. It was just as well since I was still feeling too stupid to start a conversation. Thankfully, she had a forgiving spirit.

“Yes,” I said meekly.

“She can be such a handful sometimes.”

We shared a knowing laugh.

“So you’re dad’s new PA. He has told me a lot about you.”

“He has?”

That was when I realized Mr Shaun and I never spoke about his family or mine. Probably because the first time he asked about mine, I was too ashamed to tell him I hadn’t seen or spoken to them in years. It’s not something I like to talk about, and Mr Shaun was reasonable enough not to push.

“Yeah, he says you’re really hardworking. That you’re different from all the others and he trusts you with his life.”

It felt as though someone strapped a mechanical claw around my heart and squeezed. The pain those words caused me were physical; my heart bled. And even though the air-condition was on, I suddenly couldn’t breathe. I turned it off and pulled down the windows.

“Hope you don’t mind,” I croaked.

“It’s okay. I love the feel of the wind in my face.”

They sounded like words from a love song.

“What’s your name?” I asked.

“Ibidunni.”

Such a lovely name too.

“And forget not that the Earth delights to feel your bare feet, and the Winds long to play with your hair.” – Kahlil Gibran, The Prophet

….

In the days that followed, I became increasingly drawn to Mr Shaun’s awesome daughter. It was clear to anyone who was interested to see, that she was Mr Shaun’s love, and why.

She was also an Economics major and her father was only so glad I could help out with her school work on the weekends, even though it was really just an excuse to spend time together; her grades were nearly as perfect as she.

I taught her a neat little trick for working with numbers though. She was so thrilled when she got it that she hugged me close in excitement and pecked me on the cheek. It was an innocent enough hug-and-peck, but I swear we both blushed a little when it was over. There was awkward silence for a few seconds then we both started to laugh.

Neither of us knew exactly how it happened, but we started to really like each other—like really really like each other.

Her evil twin sister didn’t care one bit about what was budding between us. By now she was used to the sweeter version of her being everyone’s favourite. Ibironke was content as long as she got to be bitchy to everyone and do as she pleased. She also got a lot more stuff; sort of like a bribe, I guess.

Even though Ibidunni and I were home alone a number of times, I did everything possible to make sure we didn’t have sex.

But we’re only human. Ibironke was always going off with boyfriends and coming back late at night drunk and reeking of fornication. Naturally, one day it just happened. It was passionate and gentle; nothing like I had ever felt or imagined.

I was afraid the lovemaking would make things weird between us, rather it drew us closer. We didn’t do it often, but every time we did, it was more special than the last.

Once again, everything was perfect with the world.

I went to the house one Saturday afternoon to drop off some things I had picked up for the kitchen at Mr Shaun’s request. Ibidunni opened the door, she had been expecting me. She looked lovely in her thin strapped top and shorts. I had barely had time to take in her gorgeous legs when she jumped me with the familiar warm hug, and we kissed.

I shut my eyes and smelt her hair as I allowed myself get swallowed up in her lingering embrace. It was the most wonderful feeling in the world, that hug. Then I felt the vile presence and opened my eyes.

There stood Mrs Shaun, back from her extended trip to the South, with a look of Death on her face and fire in her eyes. She looked so old and tired; nothing like her fresh, young daughter. What had I been thinking?

“What’s going on here?” she said coolly, causing her daughter to let go off me as speedily as she could manage without looking too guilty. ”Take those bags to the kitchen and get Mariam to start with the cooking.”

“OK, ma,” Ibidunni answered dutifully and went off sheepishly with the bags.

Mrs Shaun stared at me for a full minute before turning and walking away silently. She was a smart woman. This was not the time or place to thrash this out.

On Monday I got the call. I had known it would come, when the twins would be away in school. I went straight to the house as Mr Shaun instructed. I didn’t even press the doorbell before Mrs Shaun pulled the door open for me to enter. The moment I shut the door behind me, she slapped me hard across the face.

“Are you insane?” she screamed. “What do you think you’re doing?”

I stared at her without saying a word. I was so angry at her I was deathly close to calling her bad names.

“Where have you been?” I simply said.

“That is none of your business!”

“Then it is also none of your business who I fall in love with!”

“Oh my God!” Mrs Shaun put her hands to her head. She couldn’t believe her ears. I couldn’t believe my ears. Did I just say that out loud? ”My daughter! You’re in love with my daughter?! Have you no decency? No shame? No regard for a man who took you off the streets and took you into his home?!”

“Maybe you should ask yourself the same thing.”

She swung at me with her flattened palm once more. The first slap had stung badly, I was not about to suffer a second one. I grabbed Mrs Shaun by the wrist and flung her forward. I merely wanted to unbalance her a little, to warn her not to raise her hand at me again, but in my anger I had forgotten how lightweight and fragile she was.

Mrs Shaun went flying into the marble wall head first.

I heard the thump and then the beating of my own heart, threatening to break out of its cage. I watched her as she staggered towards the living room; everything was in slow motion now.

I followed her, not sure what to do, hoping she was alright. Eventually, she stumbled into the couch. Her hand came away and I saw the huge gash on her forehead, the blood was just starting to pour out.

“I’m sorry,” I said, “Let me take you to the hospital.”

“Don’t touch me!” she yelled.

“I’m sorry, It was an accident.”

“Tell that to the police!”

“Mrs Shaun….” She had never let me call her by her first name. “Please, don’t do this.” How could I possibly explain assaulting Mr Shaun’s wife to the police? They wouldn’t believe me if I told them she slapped me, and why. Nobody would; not even Ibidunni.

But I had bigger problems.

Mrs Shaun picked up her phone and dialled a number. “Oh my God, Honey!” her voice had suddenly gotten teary and she was sobbing heavily, there were tears streaming down her face now—blood and tears. She was talking to her husband. “No, I’m not okay!” she hollered, “Your PA just tried to rape me!”

Shit!

Just then there was a knock on the back door. “Madam, you dey a’right? I dey hear noise for outside for here.” It was Layi, the Gardner. He had never liked me. If he walked in and saw the scene, he would thwack me on the head with a rake and hold me down till the police got there. If he was feeling charitable.

I turned on my heels and ran. Thankfully, the security guard at the gate hadn’t heard anything; there was a long driveway. I drove straight to my apartment; I would have a few minutes to pick up a few essentials before the police thought to come there.

There was no point trying to explain. Mr Shaun had warned me about his family in the most subtle of ways. He had said, in not so many words, do not f*ck with my women.

It was my word against that of the wife of one of the most reputable business men in the country. Ibironke would come forward and claim that I had coerced her into laying with me as well, even though she was not a minor. Her sister might not, but she wouldn’t believe I ever really loved her; she would be too disappointed to stick her neck out for me.

I made it out just in time. I could hear the approaching sirens as I bounded in the opposite direction. I didn’t get everything, but I got most of it. Some clothes, my cash, my papers, my ATM card. I took a cab to an ATM in a different district—too risky to be driving around in Mr Shaun’s car—and withdrew the maximum limit for the day. Too bad I couldn’t empty my account.

….

I’m on a bus now heading out of town, far away. It’s a place I’ve never been to, and I know no one there. I can’t tell you where though, lest you snitch, or become an accessory to an attempted crime. I’d rather not even tell you my name.

If the police ever catch me, I’ll be spending the rest of my life rotting away in a maximum security prison somewhere, getting raped, no doubt. Luckily, I’ll be dead in like two years.

Instinctively, I look at the time on my Movado wristwatch; it was the first gift Mrs Shaun ever gave me. I wonder how much I’ll get for it if i can pawn it. I just hope it can’t be traced back to me; one of the advantages of living in a third world country; they’ll probably never find me.

I know I messed up big time. I could have had the awesome life, retired young like Mr Shaun’s last PA and set up my own firm, be my own boss.

Instead, I chose to mess with Mr Shaun’s women.

….the end….

-theFiliac

“Everyman builds his World in his own image. He has the power to choose, but no power to escape the necessity of choice.” – Ayn Rand

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>>

<< MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PART 3

Mr Shaun’s Women Pt 3 REPOST

If you haven’t read Mr Shaun’s Women part 2 [click to link]

Ahead to Mr Shaun’s Women part 4 [click to link]

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Similar to the last post, this post contains the following:

## Mature Themes ##

## Issues of Morality and Self Conviction ##

-theFiliac

*

The first couple of times Mrs Shaun and I were together, I felt terrible. Not physically, no. The sex was beyond amazing—it’s true what they say about grown women.

It was my soul that hurt. The thought of betraying Mr Shaun so, after all the faith he had put in me. I felt like Joseph the dreamer, except unlike Joseph I had gone in unto Potiphar’s wife. And liked it.

But after a while, as with all things inappropriate, our lengthy, toe curling, mind numbing sessions became the highlight of my week.

We would lay in Mrs Shaun’s bed long after we had both been spent—at least she had the decency not to desecrate her husband’s bed—and talk like lovers, sometimes until we were ready to go at it again.

Mr Shaun had no qualms with me spending so much time away from work. Mrs Shaun had devised a simple but effective plan where every few days she would ask Mr Shaun if she could borrow me to run some errands for her. Mr Shaun was always happy to oblige. He was pleased that I was keeping Mrs Shaun satisfied. If only he knew how.

As long as Mrs Shaun was happy, Mr Shaun was happy. As long as Mr Shaun was happy, I was happy. Everybody was happy, and it was all thanks to me.

I considered it a service to community. No thanks needed.

I was living the dream; a well paying job with relaxed hours, an apartment in the centre of town, a number of cars that I could put to my personal use and a beautiful woman who wanted no commitment from me beyond sex. I could even see other women on the side without feeling like I was cheating.

Mrs Shaun took good care of me. She was always buying me expensive stuff, she even promised to sponsor me on a trip to Europe. She would try to come meet me while I was there. We would hold hands and stroll through the countryside in XXXXXXX, make love under the Eiffel Tower in France, and then go to The Vatican to see the Pope.

Then everything went to shit. Mrs Shaun didn’t call for two weeks and I didn’t know why.

I was never allowed to call her, and she never called me directly, only through Mr Shaun. That way, nothing could ever be traced electronically.

I was restless. I had to see Mrs Shaun. I needed my fix. I needed to smell her, touch her, taste her, get lost in her. I was addicted to Mrs Shaun and she was killing me.

So I stole Mrs Shaun’s cell number off Mr Shaun’s phone. I’m not dumb; I didn’t call her with my number. I bought a new sim, registered it under the alias Enikolami Koniku, the name of my favourite fictional character.

When I heard Mrs Shaun’s voice on the other end of the line, my heart jumped for joy. A part of me had been scared that she had been murdered. Perhaps Mr Shaun had found out about us and had slit her throat in bed, waiting for me to make a wrong move so he could get me too.

Mr Shaun and I were supposed to go on a ‘business trip’ soon. I had assumed that would be the end of me.

“Who’s this?” she asked ever so sweetly.

“I’m in love with you,” I simply replied.

“Oh my God! Why are you calling me?”

“I love you,” I said a little forcefully. “You haven’t called me in two weeks. I miss you.”

“Stop this. You know I’m married. I can’t see you right now. I’ll call you when I need you.”

She hung up.

I flung the phone hard against the pavement across the street in anger. It was a really cheap one I had bought with the sim; I wanted to be able to keep the number active in case Mrs Shaun said she would call me at night or something.

Now I was bitter as Hell.

Baby I’m addicted, I’m out of control
But you’re the drug that keeps me from dying
Baby I’m a liar, but all I really know
Is you’re the only reason I’m trying
– Enrique Iglesias (Addicted)

*

Honestly, I tried to let Mrs Shaun go but I couldn’t. I even paid a hooker for sex, maybe that would help me get over her; to imagine the thought of it had once made me sick to my stomach. I got back to my apartment with her and couldn’t get it up, so instead I just cried into her belly. No, I did not get a discount for that.

I was a mess. I had to see Mrs Shaun. So I went out of town to get some fresh Irish potatoes one Sunday afternoon. Mrs Shaun had told me once that if I ever found some, she would really appreciate it.

I took them to work the next day and told Mr Shaun that Mrs Shaun had requested them, and I would like to take them to the house for her. I was hoping Mr Shaun would give me his house keys. Rather, he gave me a strange look.

“Are you OK?” he asked. “You look a little pale.”

“I think I’m a little fatigued,” I lied.

“Take the rest of the day off after you drop the potatoes.” Mr Shaun was such a sweet man.

That meant Mrs Shaun was home, but it also meant I would have to knock or press the bell. But at least Mrs Shaun was home. So I took one of Mr Shaun’s cars and drove to the house.

I pressed the doorbell, half expecting no one to answer it. But I heard dragging footsteps, keys turning in the lock, and the heavy mahogany door swung open.

It was Mrs Shaun, complete with her lovely shape and her full, mouthwatering breasts and angelic face. Except she was twenty years younger.

“Is Mrs Shaun home?” I finally asked when I remembered to pick my jaw off the floor and stop staring at her.

“No, she’s not,” the girl snapped. “Who are you?” She had the Disney dumb blond teenage cheerleader thing going on. It made me want to shove a fist in her sultry mouth.

“I’m Mr Shaun’s PA,” I replied impatiently.

“Oh, you’re daddy’s new errand boy,” she said in a sweetly mocking voice, “Good for you.”

Here I was taking lip from Mr and Mrs Shaun’s annoying daughter.

“Where’s your mum?”

“She’s in her room, waiting for you.”

“I thought you said she wasn’t home,” I said stupidly. I was that desperate to see Mrs Shaun.

“Duh! Don’t you get sarcasm? What was I expecting?” The little squirt rolled her eyes at me. “Anyway, since you’re here now, I need you to drive me to the cinema.”

I wanted to tie this chick to a log and flog her. But I would rather do that to her mother; She would enjoy it. I allowed myself to smile while I relished the thought of doing it with the mum while picturing her spoilt, identical daughter.

“Ewww!” I suddenly heard Mr Shaun’s daughter say, “Why do you have a boner?! You perv!” She pulled the open neckline of her blouse together in an attempt to conceal her breasts, in the process only revealing more of the fresh skin.

In my brief reverie, I had forgotten myself and allowed my jeans to grow a huge bulge. If not for the I-like-what-I-see look on her face as she stared at it, I might have died of embarrassment on the spot.

I turned away from her. “I’m not driving you anywhere. Call a cab; I’m sure even you can manage that.”

A minute later, while I was offloading the potatoes into the house, with no help from little Miss Summer from OC, my phone rang. It was Mr Shaun. He was calling to ask if I would kindly drop his daughter off at the cinema before I went home; if it wasn’t too much of a stress.

Who am I?

“Yes sir,” I said politely, even though I was pissed she had called her daddy on me.

We didn’t exchange a single word on the drive to the mall, partly because Miss London Tipton was  busy chatting on her BB and iPhone, but mostly because I was angry enough to tell her I was her daddy, merely because I was her mummy’s lover.

Thankfully, it was a short drive to the cinema. She climbed out of the car, and immediately some dude grabbed her by the arm and spun her around.

“Bitch!!” the guy yelled. I could tell he was angry and had a bone to pick with her. “Where the fuck have you been?”

“Leave me alone!” She suddenly didn’t look or sound so tough anymore.

The boy seemed hell bent on exacting revenge for whatever ill she had done him. Like that wasn’t bad enough, she suddenly turned on him with a ferociousness reminiscent of her mother’s, but rather than shag him to obliteration, she dazed him with a hard, resounding slap.

I jumped out of the car immediately. As much as I would have loved to see the little brat have a couple of her perfectly formed and shiny white teeth knocked out, she was Mr Shaun’s daughter, and it was my duty to make Mr Shaun happy, not to mention she was on my watch. More importantly, I was trying to get back into Mrs Shaun’s good books.

I grabbed the dude by the arm and threw him backwards. He was a kid; maybe around twenty or twenty-one, and he was unversed in the ways of the street. But I had been brought up to loathe all forms of bullying and fagging.

He hit the plexiglass doors with so much force they shuddered, and he crumpled to the floor. The sensor operated doors couldn’t even open quick enough to accommodate for the speed at which I hurled him at them.

We left immediately after that. Even though I was sure the boy was never going to bother her again, she was too shaken to enjoy her movie. Besides, a few of her friends had witnessed the exchange; that was enough action and drama for the day.

“Who was that?” I asked as I drove her back home.

“My ex-boyfriend.”

I went quiet for a while, and I could see her out of the corner of my eye, watching me closely. I could tell she was thinking of a way to thank me.

There’s a little thing called transference. It’s when you take your love or distaste for one person and transfer it to someone who reminds you of them [simplified explanation].

So I transferred my desire for Mr Shaun’s wife to Mr Shaun’s spoilt daughter.

When we got to the house, I offered to carry her to her room. I could tell she was turned on by my strength and maturity. I carried her to her room and laid her on her bed. Then I kissed her.

I recognized the usual responses. She moaned just as deeply as Mrs Shaun, grabbed me just as tightly, tore the clothes off my back just as fiercely.

I wish I could tell you I didn’t. But I made love to Mr Shaun’s spoilt daughter. It was the wildest, most violent sex I had ever had in my life.

….to be continued….

-theFiliac

MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PART 4 >>

<< MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PART 2

Mr Shaun’s Women Pt 2 REPOST

If you haven’t read Mr Shaun’s Women part 1 [click to link]

Ahead to Mr Shaun’s Women part 3 [click to link]

*

This post contains the following:

## Mature Themes ##

## Issues of Morality and Self Conviction ##

The Characters’ thoughts and actions do not necessarily accurately portray the author’s personality or inclination.

-theFiliac

*

Mrs Shaun was a beautiful woman. And that is understating it; much like saying Messi is a good football player.

One day while riding together, Mr Shaun said to me, “There are only two things I care about in this world. Do you know what they are?”

My balls and my word, I quoted in my mind. I shook my head, I couldn’t imagine Mr Shaun was a fan of Tony Montana. Then again, who isn’t?

“My business and my family,” he said passionately. “And I would gladly crush the former to save the latter. I have been blessed with a wonderful wife and two lovely daughters. I would give my life in exchange for theirs.”

I could tell he meant it. At that moment he had a look in his eyes like that of a man who has just been pulled out of a plane crash. The lone survivor. One who knows what a lucky man he is.

I smiled. It’s a thing with ageing men; they suddenly develop a fondness for the women in their lives, regardless of how unsavoury they had once thought them to be.

But when I saw Mrs Shaun, I realized I couldn’t have been more wrong.

I was helping Mr Shaun move some cardboard boxes of documents out of the house into the car so we could take them to the office. I was leaving with the last box when she appeared at the top of the stairs. Cheesy, I know, but for a second, she seemed like an angel floating down from Heaven, in her flowing silk dress and with her back to the window on the landing.

Her dress was so light I could clearly make out her unbelievable shape under it, and tell she wasn’t wearing any underwear.

It was such an amazingly shocking sight that I lost all control of my nerves for a second, causing me to drop the box full of papers I was carrying.

“I’m sorry,” I cried in embarrassment as I started to pick the papers off the floor randomly.

I was pretty sure Mr Shaun was going to fire me; he had taken hours to arrange those documents. If that wasn’t bad enough, I had been gawking at his beautiful wife.

Surprisingly, Mr Shaun didn’t seem the least bit upset. He didn’t even look like he noticed. “Let me help you with that,” he said, as he dropped to his knees to help me clean up mess.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Mrs Shaun walking slowly towards the kitchen, a cheeky, sexy smile on her face. She had enjoyed my little performance. I couldn’t have given her a better compliment.

….

I tried my best to keep Mrs Shaun out of my mind. There was a lot of work to do, but it was difficult not to picture her, especially since Mr Shaun was planning a spectacular fortieth birthday party for her.

Mr Shaun himself had turned fifty-five just the year before. He had celebrated in his own way; with his family and a handful of close friends. But Mrs Shaun was a celebrity of sorts amongst her peers. Only the best was good enough for her.

I was around the house a lot. My unwritten job description at the time was, simply, making Mr Shaun’s life as stress free as possible; that made me a simple-machine, like a pulley; it was my duty to lift and move heavy stuff. And there was a lot of heavy stuff to lift in those days—for some reason.

Mrs Shaun usually coordinated the work, and she always requested that Mr Shaun send me over to help out. It made sense; I was physically stronger than her houseworkers, and a lot less dense. But I suspected there was more to it. Every now and then I would look over my shoulder and catch Mrs Shaun watching me closely, sometimes smiling. And there were other things; little gestures that passed just between us two.

Like Mrs Shaun bending over While I towered over her, so I could get a clear view of her fresh uncaged bosom. Or letting her robe slip so I could catch a glimpse of dark nipple. Or innocently forgetting a hand on my rock hard chest—so  maybe I flexed to make it feel even firmer—while she gave personal instructions. Or standing absent-mindedly in the doorway so I had to grind against her big soft bum with the hardness in my pants.

At first I was bothered, surely I would get into trouble if any of the others noticed these things. But they never did. After a while I began to look forward to our games. I even devised a few of my own. My favourite was stripping down to my huggers squeezers [a really short, tight underwear for men that hugs squeezes everything] and hosing myself down in the yard. I always knew she was watching.

I began to fantasize about Mr Shaun’s wife, making up scenarios in my head. I wondered if I would call her Mrs Shaun while we were doing it. But I knew it was never going to happen. We were always safely in the company of other workers, and most of our business was outside the house. Besides, she was probably just a tease who was enjoying the attention.

Then one day Mr Shaun needed me to go to the house to pick up some reports he had forgotten in his study. He needed them for a meeting with the board of one of his companies and he was already busy entertaining the early arrivals.

He was usually a very careful man, but Fate is a nifty little trickster.

So I took Mr Shaun’s house key and drove up to his magnificent edifice of a house. It was a mansion fit for a king, with a large, well tended yard. It was all so classic European. There was even a little place in the garden for afternoon tea.

I unlocked the door; Mr Shaun didn’t keep any maids in the house. He feared industrial espionage, and had once been burgled by a maid who had a key to the house. The cleaning lady and the cook lived in the guest chalet and were only invited to the house while the man or woman of the house was around.

I walked in, went through the high roof lobby into the living room. I almost jumped. I hadn’t expected anyone to be home so seeing Mrs Shaun sitting there in the grey leather couch was a bit of a surprise.

Her legs were crossed at the hip and not at the ankle like a lady, and her flimsy robe had come apart, revealing her lovely thighs. It was also open at the neck, creating a V that did little to conceal her breasts.

She had a glass of wine in one hand and a remote in the other. On the screen was a scene I recognized from a TV Series my cousins used to watch; something about desperate housewives—I can’t quite recall the title.

“I’m sorry,” I managed to say after my breathing slowed back to normal, “I should have pressed the bell.”

“It’s OK. Mr Shaun called and said you were coming to pick this up.” She pointed at a spiral bound document on the seat beside her.

I noticed she called him Mr Shaun. Was she trying to be formal, or was she just being proper; after all, I was his subordinate.

Walking around to her, I tried to pick up the booklet. She did so just as I was about to and dropped it in her laps, uncrossing her legs in the process.

“Sit and have a drink with me,” she said, patting the spot where the document had previously been.

“Thank you, but I have to get back to the office,” I said, but didn’t make any move to pick up the papers. I wasn’t sure I could manage that without touching her lovely bare thighs, or the place between them.

“It’s OK. Just tell Mr Shaun you had to do something for me.”

She offered me a seat again, this time by slowly caressing the soft leather. I sat, making no effort to take my eyes off Mrs Shaun.

She refilled her glass and gently put it to my lips. The liquid was sweet and cold, and it went straight to my jeans.

“I’ve seen the way you look at me, like you want to do things to me. Very bad things,” she said, and she snaked a hand onto my thigh, “This is your opportunity.”

“What about Mr Shaun?” I asked as though she had just propositioned me. I saw her face fall and I was sure I had just missed the opportunity. I was going to go home and shoot myself in the head.

“He’s never here,” she said after a pause, “and in case you haven’t noticed, he’s not as youthful as he once was.”

And you haven’t aged one day over twenty-one, I thought to myself.

Mrs Shaun got to her feet. “I don’t know what I was thinking,” she said, and her voice touched my soul.

Mr Shaun cared about his wife, and I cared about Mr Shaun. Wasn’t it my responsibility to make Mr Shaun happy? Mr Shaun would not be happy as long as his wife was unhappy, the little voice in my head rationalized.

I was powerless against The Voice of Reason.

Or maybe it was the sight of Mrs Shaun’s unfettered apple bottom slowly rolling away from me.

I grabbed her by her tiny wrist, pulled her to me and kissed the nape of her neck. She let out a moan from deep within her belly and turned upon me with a ferociousness I could only have dreamt of—had dreamt of a couple of times actually.

And right there in Mr Shaun’s living room, I made love—for what was going to be the first of many times—to Mr Shaun’s wife.

….to be continued….

-theFiliac

MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PART 3 >>

<< MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PART 1

Mr Shaun’s Women Pt 1 REPOST

If you havent read Kolami 25: Sleep [click to read]

Ahead to Mr Shaun’s Women part 2 [click to link]

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Mr Shaun was a good man and an even better business man. He owned and managed a string of successful companies across the country and made more money in a week than most men do in a year.

I know because I was fortunate to be his Personal Assistant/errand boy/driver. You think it sounds like a demeaning job, but not when you see it from my point of view.

I was two years post NYSC, which put me at roughly four years post graduation from one of the most reputable federal universities in the country, and I didn’t have a single day post service working experience, or a Master’s degree.

I’d been to Hell and back in search of a job; was on the verge of selling my soul to the Devil for a morsel a day, or maybe even some Pringles.

I had gotten a few job offers, let’s be honest. After all, I graduated with a second class upper grade in Economics. One was a twenty thousand Naira a month job as a Sales Manager at an estate supermarket. There was another one for thirty-four thousand five hundred in a Project Management tutoring firm—they wouldn’t budge on the last five hundred.

Oh, did I mention I also have an NIM and a PM certification clearly indicated on my three-page résumé?

Those were early on in my hustle and I didn’t appreciate them. Looking back now though, I maybe shouldn’t have walked out on that one guy who wanted me to work for free for the first six months marketing various random projects and products.

The day I met Mr Shaun, I dutifully escorted a close friend to a wedding ceremony. He was into photography and was considering taking me on as an assistant, out of pity, despite my lack of appreciation for graphic detail.

He had been commissioned to cover the ceremony and was about to earn in a few hours’ worth of work more money than I had spent in the last six months.

I sat under the huge, colourful canopy, wondering if I would ever be able to afford such a fancy wedding—assuming I ever got lucky enough to meet a woman who was desperate enough to want to marry me—but more importantly keeping an eye on my soon-to-be-new-boss’s other cameras and spare batteries.

I must confess; if I didn’t know the dude as well as I did, I might just have taken the risk and disappeared with his satchel. Straight out of town; sell all that stuff and start a new life in some remote village in the riverine area.

So I sat at the table, bored out of my brains, waiting for the food. That was the first time I saw Mr Shaun. He suddenly appeared out of thin air; I might have dozed off for a second—weddings are such painful affairs.

He was dressed in a simple but classy traditional wear. It was white, and his only accessory was an iPad in a grey pouch.

He was a well groomed man in his fifties; lean but not unhealthy. You could tell, even with no eye for graphic detail, that he was a rich man; one who had worked hard for every kobo he owned.

“Hello, may I sit at your table?”he asked politely.

I looked around even though I was alone at the table; surely he couldn’t have been speaking to lowly me. But thank God I had been raised with manners.

“Yes Sir,” I said nervously, jumping to my feet to pull him a chair.

“Thank you,” he said when he had settled in comfortably.

Mr Shaun introduced himself right away and we got to talking.

He had shown up at the wedding a little later than he considered appropriate and had decided to take a seat at the edge of the circle, irrespective of the fact that it put him at par, albeit momentarily, with the Nobodies.

He was interested in me, especially when I told him of my academic background and my affinity for numbers. He looked sincerely concerned when I mentioned, without moaning, my inability so far to secure a reasonable job.

We spoke at length about family, friends, fears, aspirations, our mutual distaste for extravagant (wedding) ceremonies, amongst other things.

In the end, just before we parted, Mr Shaun handed me his personal card and said;

“Come to my office on Monday morning. I think I might have a job for you.”

….

Monday morning; I arrived at the Shaun Building before even the cleaners. If there was a yearly award for waiting patiently, I would have won it for at least the last four years.

When I was finally ushered into the pristine multi-storied building, I realised how overdressed I was. I had pulled out my best suit for the occasion—actually, the only one I owned. Everyone was in jeans and their shirtsleeves, but I didn’t care. Not until I saw Mr Shaun himself; in his black turtle neck vest and blue jeans. He honestly looked like a sexy, African Steve Jobs.

“Lose the suit,” he said as I walked into his office, “You look like you’re from EFCC.”

Mr Shaun went straight to business. He wanted to hire me, but he couldn’t—wouldn’t—mess with the strict hiring process he had put in place for new employees. It was one of the things that kept his businesses outstanding.

Rather than waste my time with the rigorous graduate training program and other technicalities, he was willing to hire me to work for him personally, as his assistant. The previous fellow had just set up his own accounting firm and was doing pretty well.

“I have a feeling about you,” he said, looking me straight in the eye, “You remind me of me as a young lad.”

I asked if I could resume immediately.

Working for Mr Shaun was a blessing. He had me working on some personal numbers occasionally, but most of my work was physical. I didn’t mind; I was built Ford tough.

In no time, I was driving Mr Shaun to special meetings, not because he didn’t have trained drivers, but because he liked to discuss intelligently before facing a board of money hungry bloodsuckers. He would bounce ideas off me and then soak it all right back up.

We did lunches together and spoke about everything. Everywhere Mr Shaun went, you were sure to find me; either waiting in the lobby or in the car. sometimes he even let me sit at meetings. I was more than an assistant to Mr Shaun; I was his friend.

Mr Shaun paid very well even though it was out of his personal money—well, it was all his money really. He even gave me a loan so I could get some new clothes and rent a small apartment not too far from the office.

Everything was perfect. Until I met Mr Shaun’s wife.

….To be continued….

MR SHAUN’S WOMEN PT 2 >>

<< KOLAMI 25: SLEEP

Kolami 25: Sleep REPOST

Hi guys, here is a repost of Kolami 25: Sleep. It was originally posted at thefiliac.com on the 25th of February, 2013, before the Mr Shaun’s Women miniseries. Turns out a few people never got to read it.

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If you haven’t read Kolami 24: Lights out [click to read]

Ahead to Mr Shaun’s Women pt 1 [click to link]

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“The best often die by their own hand

“Just to get away Continue reading