“You’re damaged goods.”
He said. It didn’t bother him that I was bawling my eyes out.
“Who’ll want you? Everyone knows who you are…What you do…Everyone knows. I want you to know that every time a man looks at you, every time a man does some favour, he wants something. Never forget that. YOU ARE A WHORE! A whore can give only one thing. SEX. Fucking ANIMAL SEX.”
My thighs were sore from his forceful penetration. My eyes were bloodshot from crying. My throat was parched from begging him to listen to my side of the story.
“Did they not say I’d find you here? Did I not find you here? Under the name they said I would find you? Did you really think nobody knew what you did here? Did you for one second think you could keep this a secret? You fucking moronic whore!”
At this point, I fall to the ground and cry my heart out. Nothing was going to stop him from tarnishing my already messed up image in school. Nothing was going to deter him. He had his mind made up. I don’t blame him. What should he think?
I am here after all. I have a shack for what little privacy I can get to work with. Did I not haggle with my pimp and eventually reach an agreement for the “Off shore bobo” as he had described Mudi.
The love of my life.
The same one I had given all my “cherries” to. The one who had me at “Excuse me, but you’re sitting on my seat.” that warm April morning during a French class.
“Say it in French.” I’d responded eager to know the chocolatey awesomeness that towered over me.
How was I to explain?
What would I say? That my father had whored his way to an early grave and managed to squander my inheritance while he was at it? That my mother had run off with my grandfather’s best friend and now lived in Italy. Homeless and Jobless? How was I to tell him that she hadn’t much of a choice at the time she opened her thighs for business? How could she explain that it was “business” in every sense of the word?
Instead, I just cried and cried. He stood there, watching me with disgust then he spat and bounded out of my shack.
Moments later, one of my regulars poked his head through the almost threadbare curtain: “How far na, oyibo? Shance dey?”