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Don’t judge me. Please, hear me out before you cast the first accusing stone at me. I am neither deranged nor mentally imbalanced but Solomon offended me and I needed to teach him a lesson he would never forget. Revenge, they say, is a dish best served cold!
Solomon attends the same church as I do while he studies at a University in South West Nigeria. He is very brilliant and affable; easy going with a smile for every mile. His chocolate skin covers a well toned muscles that bulge with every movement. They are the dream of many a shallow girl. He knows is onions and he has a way of tilting his head sideways especially when addressing the numerous churchy ladies that flock around him.
So great is the influence brother Solo- as he is famously called, wields in the church and his community that both males and females alike listen to his soft spoken words even when they are meaningless. He is adored to say the least.
It all started when I was preparing for my umpteenth JAMB exam, that had been jamming me for at least a few years. I sought his counsel on how to go about passing it since he was studying sciences in university as this was what I wanted to study too. He asked me to come to his room for a tutoring session. On the fateful day his room mate was not around and he made me feel especially welcome. He quickly offered me a malt drink, which I accepted as I was thirsty.
Unknown to me, our holy brother had laced my malt drink with what I think was a sedative. I think it could have been valium. A little while after I drank it, I started yawning and stretching. The tutoring session hadn’t gone on for very long so I fought and employed every sleep defying technique in my arsenal so that I could stay awake and attentive. I was soon overwhelmed and slouched on his single bed. The moment my head hit the pillow, I was transported to a dreamland where I was forced to fight off a pair of dexterious hands groping at my well rounded breasts. Before I could muster the strength to defend myself the mode of the assault changed. I was mounted by a large muscular body with the expertise of a seasoned porn star. I was so shocked that I forced my eyes open only to discover that I wasn’t in any dreamland, I was still in Brother Solo’s rooms, and that the large muscular body on top of me wasn’t anything I’d dreamt up but Brother Solo trying to get inside me. He quickly un-mounted me and apologised. He said that it was the work of the devil.
I agreed to never tell anyone because I had quite enjoyed his fumblings especially as my two previous attempts had been uncomfortable and surprisingly painful. We became good friends afterwards and eventually started dating. After dating for a while, he promised to marry me. I quickly agreed even though he was six years older than me and in his final year while I was just a bloody Jambite then.
He soon began to ask for sex and I declined every time (after my three unsuccessful attempts, I really wasn’t looking forward to a another) . After a while I gave in. We picked our normal friday vigil as a convenient time. We tried and tried, but it just didn’t go in. Solo was confused. He went and did some research, and found out that I had vaginismus, a condition where the vaginal muscles contract making any penetration whatsoever painful and almost impossible.
He soon finished his Bachelors programme and was to leave in a days time when he persuaded me to try it with him the hundredth time. Believe me I’m not exaggerating. Solo’s a firm believer in the saying, “if at first you don’t succeed try, try and try again”. This time, we were successful. I was torn apart like a woman giving birth to a very big headed child. It was so bad he sneaked me that night to see a medical doctor friend of his. I was bleeding so badly. The searing pain coursing through me was unexplainable. I was bedridden for three days and Solo had to postponed his travelling but I could see the glint of accomplishment in his eyes every time I look at him. He pampered me for those three days and travelled to Lagos.
We were communicating through out his year of youth service I even went to his place in Lagos to spend some weekends with him every now and then. When he was done with the service, he dropped by at my house in my absence with an invitation card.
“Invi- what?” I screamed. Solo was getting married to a Lagos girl that wasn’t me! Not in my lifetime. I made up my mind then and there to teach him a lesson. I arranged for him to take me out for his final “outing” before he tied the knot with sister Rachel. He hungrily agreed hoping to take a final bite of my” apple pie”.
On the agreed night, I spiked his drink with viagra so he was especially eager with his uncontrollable phallus threatening to tear his briefs asunder. I lay on the bed spread eagled. He approached the bed cautiously, devouring my nudity with a ravenous wolfish grin. As he stepped on the bed, I expertly use a pen knife hidden under the pillow to removed his two testicles smiling sweetly as I wished him a happy married life in advance. He was dazed, amazed and altogether beyond words…
The castration was done so professionally it was glitchless and almost painless I suppose (well, it was as painless as a castration can be). He seduced me with promises, stripped me of my innocence and my virginity (the stripping of my virginity left me with complications that I shouldn’t mention in public. I basically had to surgically reupholster my vagina! After dealing with an infection that took root because his Doctor friend didn’t have a clue about what he was doing), then he wanted to marry bloody Rachel! Rachel ko Rachel ni, tufiakwa over my dead body.
Did I over do it? Methinks not…
Special thanks to @Afam20 for his contributions.