MEMOIRS OF AN INSANE KID
The name is Chouette. Let’s just leave it at that. I know I’m weird; even though I don’t look it. I’m your regular tall, dark female with the oval face…OK, maybe my face isn’t regular: large eyes with a small nose and even smaller lips and then, a high forehead. I’m often reminded that I look like a cartoon character. I know most of us have seen the cartoon ‘AntZ’ and ‘Hotel Translyvania’; remember the looks of their major female characters? It’s safe to say we look alike. Now, that isn’t a compliment. I’d be turning 21 by August, so I can rightly claim to be 20 years of age.
I’ve led an amazingly crazy life for a 20-year-old. Let’s just say I’m fast…a thinker; plus I grew up with just boys. So my orientation about the world differs from the average Nigerian female child. I like to think I’m a boy; encased in a HOT female body. I used to be a very quiet kid, even though I knew stuffs. I just preferred to observe. I learn better when I’m calm; which is rare. These days I’m hardly calm, so I’ve learnt nothing new. Before I bore you with a biography that isn’t even needed, let’s launch this with my lesbian experience:
Once upon a time, I’d claim I was bi-sexual with this sure look in my eyes. Not anymore. I’ve “done” a few girls and that is just not my calling. I’m as straight as a cigarette! Thank you.
I had this cousin; Maureen. I’m older than her; with months or even a year, I’m not just sure. Now, I feel embarrassed. I have no idea how she ever learnt lesbianism. She used to eat me out and make me do the same for her. Then she’d get some body lotion on her fingers and apply it to my hairless mons, do the same for herself and grind her waist on mine. I didn’t like it. No sensation at all. She’d stick her tongue in my mouth too! My goodness…the struggle was real. We were less than 9 years old at that time. She gave me my first lesbian tutorials.
Funny how I was more exposed than she was; yet she knew these stuffs. We never got caught but she got caught with another cousin of mine. I was just lucky. I gladly forgot that episode with Maureen till my teen years.
I grew up with older people. Dee, Ada and Oma were the three closest to me because of our age bracket. I heard quite a lot of stuffs. I was allowed to sit around and listen. The motto was “You might need it someday”. No topic was taboo. From cooking methods to sexy bed techniques and even how not to get knocked up, I heard it all. On a fateful day, the topic was girls pleasing girls. Somehow, it didn’t just sit well with me. Maybe, it was because of the Maureen experience. Dee and Ada were most enthusiastic about it. They both seemed to have had experiences in it too. Soon, they were both in the room, doing things to themselves. I escaped that day. I think they both agreed to involve me the next time because it seemed Dee was hunting me down. She’d always invite me when she’s home alone to teach her some dance steps (yeah, I dance too) and she’d want to grind her waist on me like I was a dude. She’d blow kisses at me and even suck her fingers in a ‘sexy’ way. To others, she was just fooling around. I understood these signs perfectly. On a good day, I gave in. We went down, smooching and tonguing, poking fingers into each other and sucking. I got to know things about her too, like she’s quite forceful; not the passive lover. Her teeth get in the way while kissing . She helped me re-affirm that I didn’t like the girl-on-girl feeling.
Ada got to know of our sexcapade and she wanted her own fair share. Dee must have enjoyed it but, I know for sure that I didn’t. I had to start dodging Ada. In a bid to avoid Dee and Ada, I stuck with Oma. She was quiet and slender. She was having a thing with one of our neighbors; alongside her sister. I have no idea if they were having a threesome. I never bother myself with such things. I stuck with her because I thought she was boy-crazy to have to share her crush with her sister. I was wrong. Somehow, I wound up in rumpled sheets with Oma. How we got there is all vague now. Maybe, I was just horny because, looking back at it right now, I don’t feel irritated. It wasn’t a bad sexperience. I did it with my good mind; feeling and reveling in her moans and deep sighs, loving the fact that I was doing her right. NO! I still refuse to accept to being a lesbian. What is worth doing is worth doing good…
We snuck off often to make out. A few minutes was good enough and her moans could make anybody happy. She wanted me badly. She started to want some sort of relationship or whatever it is lesbians have between themselves. She got clingy, feeling me in public and getting mushy with me, demanding hugs and stolen kisses. Now, that’s the shii I don’t like. I have three brothers and somehow, I was the one to end up with a girlfriend! I’d have probably gotten disowned by my family. No one really knew what was happening. I had already avoided Dee and Ada so they couldn’t save me. Oma wouldn’t just listen to me. She preferred bursting into tears and flinging herself at me for me to console her. It was with her I concluded that tears is a woman’s strongest form of blackmail. I eventually backed out and vowed never to get myself into such a mess again.
These girls knew nothing about sexual gratification received only by the power of the D… could be d*ck or dildo. You choose.
Over the years, I’ve been referred to as a lesbo. I just laugh at it. I never deny it. I don’t accept it either. I just know I’m not one; neither am I bi-sexual. I’ve just been opportuned to have some steamy sessions with girls. I’m not all for it and I’m not a fan either. I’m just indifferent.
Sometimes, I sit and ask myself, “Young lady, but why are you like this?” I don’t need to explain the reason behind that recurrent question. I act without reason. I can’t help myself. The worst question to ask me is “Why?” I still have no idea the best way to respond to that because, most times, I have no idea why I do stuffs either. That is not to say I’m stupid or impulsive. I love referring to myself as being spontaneous. I enjoy doing exactly what I feel like. And so far, my decisions have been good; even given me an edge. The results of being this way have been awesome.
At a point in my life, I had to go ‘abroad’ as a transfer student for a year. Noticed the quotation marks on the word ‘abroad’? Yeah, I’d explain it. I studied Foreign Languages: French and Russian. My French is almost perfect. My Russian is the exact opposite. All I did for Russian exams was copy the notes into my brain and paste it on the exam sheets. That way, I passed in flying colours in all my Russian exams but sadly, I can’t defend any.
Now to the French, it was required that in our third year as students of Foreign Languages, we had to go for a language immersion program somewhere else for a whole year. I know the first place that comes to your mind is France, but sadly, we Nigerian students were banned from going to France for our one-year language immersion program. This is because of the misconduct of our precessedors especially the females who got to France and got either married or pregnant for some French men and refused to return home. I’m not throwing stones. My own set might have done worse things. But their actions left us with the options of Francophone countries or French Village, Badagry, Lagos . So I had to do my one-year ‘abroad’ in Togo. Togo is still ‘abroad’.
At first, it was dull. I had to get used to a whole new different environment. I guess the hardest part was wrapping my mind around the fact that Togo is an awesome place. Not poverty-stricken or dirty and our money isn’t like gold there. I went broke severally because I had the notion that Naira was way more valuable there. Trust me, it’s only when you go broke in a city in which you know no one that you’d understand fully that life is hard. I came home to Nigeria just once and that was for the Christmas break; that particular Christmas before we were heralded into a new year with the fuel subsidy saga.
The fuel subsiby started as a rumour, and then I heard the borders would be closed down. I was supposed to be back to school by the first week of the new year. I was still in my hometown in the East when I heard the rumour. I often travelled by road to Togo because it’s a small country and their airline services were limited. Besides, it was more comfortable for me.
So I hurriedly packed up overnight and I was off to Lagos at a ridiculous price as the transport fare. The roads were completely free; even Ore with its notorious traffic jam was empty. That was when my fears were confirmed about the borders getting shut down.
I had more than one fear. There was also the rumour about several institutions embarking on industrial strike, including banks. My mother didn’t give me enough money. She was anti-ATM cards at that time. I didn’t even have enough time to withdraw the money I had left in my Nigerian account. So, I got to Lagos with nowhere to sleep and little or no money left on me after I’d gotten my ticket to Togo. I can’t adequately put into words how depressed I felt. I was just a teenager in a town where I knew people but I couldn’t reach out because of the situation the country had put me in. Taking a cab or any form of transport at that point would have been suicidal.
I sat down on one of the cold steel seats in the bus terminal, bent forward and broke into tears with my face in my hands, lamenting to God and telling Him how I had other options but I was at the bus terminal; not giving in to my vices so as to be a better person. I must have accused Him that night. It was that bad.
I had called my mother earlier but I hadn’t said a word because the tears choked me. I know she felt bad because she refused to take my subsequent calls. So there I was; all alone, in tears and with no plans on where to sleep. Yes; I was to spend my night on one of the steel seats in the bus terminal. I cried to my satisfaction and I actually felt better. It was like the bawling helped me accept the hard truth. I bought a novel, a bottle of soda and a pack of chewing gum. I planned to stay up as late as possible; I could always sleep on the bus. Then it happened.
I looked up from my novel to see a man staring at me. He must have seen my wet face. I just looked away and kept on looking at my book. I was getting worked up, trying to decide the best way to dismiss him if he had plans of wooing. My day was nothing near being good and a strange man expecting me to be friendly would have been torture. He approached my seat anyway and smiled reassuringly. Like I said, he’s a man; a full grown man, not a young dandy trying out his wooing prowess. I had to be polite even if I had been through hell that day. So I returned his smile. He sat down beside me and asked why I was sitting at the terminal at that time of the day. It was almost 10pm. I curtly told him I was sleeping there. If he was surprised, he didn’t show. He went on to explain he was there to pick his househelp who was returning from the village to Lagos and how she didn’t have a cellphone because his wife insisted on it, so he was stuck in the bus terminal with no idea where she was or if she had reached. I was still wondering how it all concerned me when he asked again if I really meant what I said about sleeping there.
I’d become more hospitable, so I told him of my situation. He just told me he couldn’t let me sleep there and he would have taken me home but his wife would pour hot water on us. I actually laughed at that. I was feeling better. He insisted I got a hotel room and even went ahead to make arrangements to pay for one for me. I was aghast. He was a total stranger. I didn’t even know his name. It was when I had settled into the room and he was leaving that I got his complimentary card and I finally got to know his name. He left with me thanking him profusely. I couldn’t just believe my luck. The world didn’t seem such a dark place anymore.
The room service brought me fresh supplies. I had to unpack and get ready for a bath. I still had my towel wrapped around my chest when there was a knock on the door. I thought it was my new friend, so I hurried to the door just to see the room service guy there; this time with a bottle of water I didn’t order. I accepted it thinking it was part of the hotel’s policy. I dropped it on the table and noticed the guy was still standing there. He then asked for money. I was too tired to protest. I just gave him the money and as I tried to shut the door, he started saying something else. I paused to listen. He was introducing himself and asking if my friend was returning. I guess I was still in my polite mode because I answered his prying questions. Then, he dropped the bombshell; that incase I felt lonely at night, he could keep me company. I was appalled.
My whole day came flooding back with a vengeance. I was there, standing in a hotel room, half-naked with just a towel tied around my body; after an unplanned journey and near-depression before an angel in human form saved me. Still trying to savour my goodluck, this room service guy comes with his offer of sex! I couldn’t just start retorting. I wanted to ask him if I looked horny or he was just trying his luck. I wanted to spit venom at him, give him a thorough tongue-lashing. But I was just too tired, so I thanked him for his offer and shut the door, making sure to lock it securely. I was just drained. I took a bath and slept off, only to be roused later that night by persistent knocks on the door. I ignored it. Thoughts of being raped in a hotel I couldn’t even remember the name filled my head. My mind was just unhealthy that night. I panicked as the knocks resounded. I guess whoever it was finally concluded that I was asleep and just let me be.
The next morning, I left the hotel as early as possible, not bothering to report to the management. I went straight to the bus terminal, boarded and headed straight to Lome. I told my new friend of the encounter when I got to Togo. It seemed funny as my friends’ reactions filled me with bravado. Things ‘I could have done’ were endless. I just kept up with the excuse that I had to get to the bus terminal early. The simple truth is that I was scared shitless that I didn’t even have the nerve to face the guy the next morning. My mind fucked with me thoroughly.
So I was back to Togo. Somehow, I lost contact with my new friend. No! I would be sincere. I didn’t see any future in any friendship with him, so I didn’t stay in touch. He’s a married man and I didn’t want anyone getting ideas. Judge me…he helped me in my time of distress and the least I could do was to be a friend. My bad! I had a feeling and that feeling wasn’t a good one. So, I don’t know of his whereabouts now but I still pray God keeps blessing him for the act of kindness he showed to a perfect stranger. My crazy life continues…