Let’s get it on – Oshoko Bushushu

Let’s get it on – Oshoko Bushushu

I noticed it immediately she got up to give me a peck: she had no bra on. I could see the smooth skin of her breasts and the points made by her nipples.

“Been ages now,” I said.

“Yes. 3 years now.”

“Is someone here,” I asked pointing to the seat and she shook her head.

“Dining solo,” she said with a light titter.

I pulled out the seat and sat opposite her. I had pulled into Terra Kulture for a quick bite after a client meeting and there she was.  She was still stunningly beautiful; slim figure, long neck, short dreads, full lips and those breasts that were there and so almost not there.

“What brings you to Nigeria?” I asked.

The last time I saw her was three years earlier in London. She was working at the London branch of a Nigerian bank my agency worked for.

We had spent a lovely night in London on the last day after two days of work and would have ended up in my hotel room but she had given me a long kiss and said “Not tonight pal, it’s my period” and before I could say another word she had hopped on the next train and was gone.


“I lost my favourite aunt, came for her funeral.”

“What happened? Was she old?”

“No, she was 49. Car crash on her way to Ibadan. I was gutted,” she said her voice breaking.

“So sorry, Ebun,” I said taking her hand.

The waiter appeared right then and we both placed our orders.

I had a beer while she sipped on red wine as we tried to catch up. She had left the bank, she said and was now working for a PR firm in London.

“You called us sharks, I recall. You have joined the sharks, eh?” I teased and she laughed.

“Yes. I have. You know what they say, you can’t beat them, you join them.”

Just then a phone rang and as she bent to pick up her bag, she flashed me; providing me a nice view of her perfectly formed boobs tipped with black aureoles and small nipples.

I was hot throughout the meal and it was not from the ofada stew, sitting across from Ebun and knowing she had nothing under was leaving me uncomfortable.

After our meal, Ebun asked whether I would love to see a movie.

“Been here for 2 weeks and I haven’t been about. I leave tomorrow. Might as well see a movie.”

“How about we go to my place,” I said holding her gaze. “We started something in London and maybe we could finish it if it’s not that time of the month.”

“Oh, my God,” she cried and flung her napkin at me.

Once at mine, Ebun slipped off her slippers and asked for the restroom.

I had a bottle of Martell Cognac in my hand when she sashayed naked out of the bathroom and then struck a pose; breasts thrust forward, hands raised high.

“Holly Molly,” I cried as I let the bottle drop and then I scooped her and carried her into my bedroom, my lips searching for her erect nipples as I set her down.

She moaned, digging her fingers into my hair as I moved from left to right, teasing the knobs with my teeth and tongue and then when she could take it no more, Ebun pushed me off her and went for my belt buckle.

“I have waited 3 years, let’s get it on.”

And  I said yes like an obedient child.

 photo credit


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