(Oshoko is indisposed so here’s a blast from his past. He returns next week.)
I came back from Abuja and there was a pretty little thing with a sexy pout sitting at reception.
“You are new, right?” I asked and she nodded.
“That’s Oshoko,” the receptionist said. “I already warned her about you.”
“Have you now,” I said offering my hand.
Sexy Pout took it in her dainty palms and flashed eyelashes. I knew my enemies had failed again.
Bola, the receptionist and I had shagged three or four or maybe five times. Who is counting and who really cares. She thought shagging her meant a relationship. Dumbo!
But then I gave it some thought and realised it wasn’t her fault because If she was any smarter she wouldn’t be in reception, right?
I hate being nasty but Bola has been on a personal crusade against me and my whatchamacallit. Left to Bola, she would be the last woman I shagged.
Every time a new female staff joins the firm, Bola would try to paint me black, tell her how much of a cad I am and how all I do is sleep with all the female staff.
Now, free advice for you ladies.
That shit never works. Tell a woman a guy is bad and a dog and all you do is arouse her interest. It never fails and you know why, women love a bad boy. Most women love to shag just like the next guy and they don’t want a novice in the sack. Geddit?
Anyway, we shook hands and made formal introductions.
“Oshoko, Head, Media Relations.”
I held on for a heart-beat, gave a gentle squeeze then smiled as she flashed her lashes.
I didn’t see her again until lunch time and I was happy when she came to sit beside me.
“You don’t listen to warnings, do you?” I said as I moved my tray aside to make way for hers.
“Depends,” I said and held her gaze.
“On what?” She asked.
“On what you heard.”
“Well, are you as bad as they say you are?”
“Maybe worse. I love women. I love shagging. Is that a crime?”
“I don’t think so,” she said twirling her pasta in her plate.
“So, do you?” I asked.
“Do I what?”
“Love men and shagging?”
“Really? You are asking me that?”
“Yes, I am.”
“Well you have to find out,” she said and smiled.
I found out two days later, when as I came out of the rest room, I saw Rachel standing at the top of the stairs. She was dressed in a short red skirt and white top.
“Hey, you,” I called.
“Hey, you,” She called back.
“When are we going to find this thing out?” I asked.
She didn’t say a word. She stood there for what seemed like a few seconds then as I watched, she lifted up her skirt and exposed her clean shaven pubis.
“Catch me if you can,” she said and headed for the corridor.
I gave chase.
She ran straight into the female rest room, the one at the back of the building and I followed her.
I shut the door then took her in my arms. We kissed, knocking teeth against teeth in our hurry.
My hand went under her skirt, inched up and found the spot. She was wet.
“You’re a bad girl,” I said as I slipped a finger in.
“And you are a saint,” she said lifting one leg unto the sink to allow me free rein.
We kissed as I worked on her from under and then when she could take it no more she turned around, lifted her skirt and offered me her kintus.
I reached into my wallet, pulled on a Durex condom and entered her straight from behind.
I rode her from the back like a rodeo, one hand by her waist, the other palm over her mouth to muffle her moans. Rachel was a loud one.
“Let me ride you,” she said as she pushed my hand off her mouth.
So, I sat on the toilet seat and watched her mount me and as she did I undid her white top and freed her boobs.
She was screaming and trashing as she came and then while she had quietened down a bit I turned her around and found my own climax.
We were sweating by the time it was all over.
“I should have listened,” she said as she made herself decent.
“Listened to what?” I asked as I tucked in my shirt.
“To Bola’s warning.”
“Really? And missed this?” I asked as I pulled her towards me.
“You’re a bad man,” she said then kissed me on the lips.
“Bad things are good for you,” I said and kissed her back.
Just then someone knocked on the door.
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