My One Night Stand Story

My one night stand story begins like this. Where do I start from? My name is Aminat Fomzi Ojeku. My name used to be Aminat Ufouma Ojeku until I changed it. Now everyone calls me Fomzi. But the guys call me Fomzi bitterly because I “form” for them. Once a guy asked me what I was feeling like? A princess, a queen, a furthermucking diva? He told me if there was anything I could never be then it was Diva.

Anyway, that’s by the way. My name is Fomzi and I’m here to tell my story, what brought me to this place, sitting in front of the doctors office, rubbing my bracelet between my fingers as though I was counting beads on a rosary and begging in my heart please please please.

While growing up, I was a normal child. I gave my parents a little trouble in raising me. My father was mostly absent because his job as a company’s driver required him to travel very often so it was my mother who raised me. She wasn’t a womanly woman at all. My mother’s mode of discipline was harsh and merciless.

I was a very inquisitive child who loved to explore and she would whip me till I stayed and after each beating I would run to a corner and cry. If you’re asking if I had any siblings then no. I had none. I was an only child and instead of enjoying great showers of love from my parents I suffered as if I was just one out of twenty other children.

Our home was humble indeed. As tenants, there was not much we could do to make it look better than it looked. The house we lived in was a bungalow that contained rooms that faced each other. Everyone calls it a “face me I face you” (FMIFY) house for many reasons. One, there is little or no privacy as everyone is in everyone’s business.

When Mama Favour cooks rice, Sister Bisi will surely know about it. Two, the constant quarrels and squabbles between parents and even children in the compound. The loud voices that would sometimes transform into fists hitting flesh, it was a deplorable way to live.

Notwithstanding, living in such a place had its good spots. You can never get bored in a (FMIFY)house, there is always gossip to keep you entertained, there are always fights to watch and scores to settle. Once, Mama Favour came into our apartment to discuss what she had seen Sister Bisi do.

From behind the curtains I realized that there were some things unmarried women should not do, like have a man over, and be so bold as to moan loudly while having sex with him. I don’t know how my mother knew I was behind the curtains but later when Mama Favour had gone back to her apartment she called me out and gave me a serious beating.

As I reached adolescence there were times when my mother would sit me down and give me lectures about how to grow into a good woman. Lectures on purity and chastity. Those times I would be sitting on a pillowcase on the rug staring at her with rapt attention. Maybe it was something in my face or my stance that convinced my mother she was impacting knowledge that would stick. I guess that was why she was so disappointed when Sister Bisi came to complain to her that I was peeping at her and her man while they were having sex.

My mother was so angry with me, she whipped me senseless and while I lay weeping in the corner she told me that the way I was going, I would become the girl she always warned me about, get pregnant out of wedlock, drop out of school and end very badly. Those words stuck with me, my heart was broken, I was eight years old.

We lived many years in that house. Sister Bisi packed away and her room was vacant for a long time. The day I saw my first blood as my mother called it, a man moved into Sister Bisi’s room . I watched him through the hole in our room window, he was tall and slim, his hair was shaved low and he had ridges behind his head. Later I would be told to call him Ambrose,

“Call me Ambrose” he said smiling at me. No brother Ambrose, no uncle Ambrose just Ambrose. I felt so mature, like a big girl.

My mother liked Ambrose, when my father was not around to help her carry her heavy market load into the house he would help her. She would sometimes send me to take food to him. One time I met him shirtless and in his shorts, I was embarrassed but he laughed and motioned for me to drop it on the table.The picture of him shirtless followed me back to our apartment, padded after me as I went through my daily chores and lay beside me as I slept.

“DISINFECTANT”, I learned a new word that day. I was helping Ambrose dry his clothes as he washed and I asked him why his clothes smelled that way. He told me he used disinfectant, didn’t I sometimes use it to wash the toilet, didn’t I sometimes use it to wash my undies? I froze with my hands on the line and he chuckled and said;

“Come and meet me this afternoon, I have a disinfectant to spare, consider it an early birthday gift”

Ambrose handed me a package when I got to his apartment, I was surprised because I was expecting a disinfectant. He asked me to tear it open and when I did I saw a bottle of disinfectant, a pair of panties and a dress. I was speechless, no one not even my mom had ever given me such gifts for my birthday.

Ambrose’s hand snaked through mine. He took the parcel from my hands and drew me towards him. His hands caressed my face and my neck. The atmosphere was charged, something in me seemed to be waiting to see what would happen. Then his hand dropped to my waist and I began to struggle.

Let it be known that I was a 13 year old girl trying to extricate herself from the grips of a man over 30. He wasn’t prepared to let go off me I knew that and I panicked. My teeth sank into his forearms and I must have torn flesh because he screamed and let me go. I ran, but his hand caught one of my legs before I could pass through the door. We spent a moment there, me holding fast to the door and him dragging me until he decides to let me go.

When my mom got back from the market I realized I couldn’t tell her what had happened to me. Yes she would raise hell on Ambrose but she would raise hell on me too. I had disobeyed her orders, gotten too comfortable with him and gone into his apartment when she didn’t send me. It would also mean her prophecy about me was coming to pass.

She would shake her head in agony for my sake, as if I was lost and unworthy of redemption. Maybe if I had been raped things would have ended differently but I escaped, for that I was grateful and full of relief. So full of relief that I told no one about it until today.

I was 15 years old when I left secondary school and instead of leaving me at home while I waited for my WAEC exams to commence, my mother took me with her to the market. When the market women saw me with my mother they came out of their stores to praise my beauty.

“Fine girl, you go marry my pikin o” one of them called out and the rest laughed at her. They all complimented and welcomed me. From calling my mother Mama Ufouma, those women began to call my mother “my in-law” all the time. I would stay in my mother’s provision store all day. My mother became my gist partner.

We would talk about anything and everything. While my mother was away the market boys would frequently come to patronize our shop and ask me if we could see ” some other time”. I always told them no, their tattered clothes or generally local look put me off. Until I met Emma and I started nursing a crush on him.

Emma was the boy who sold fresh bread wholesale to us. He was fair in complexion and tall. He seemed to recline on his feet in a languorous manner I found cute. What I loved about him most were his hands. They were softer than the bread he sold. We would shake hands and his palms would be so soft I would imagine myself sinking into them inch by inch.

When my mother noticed my behaviour towards him she gave me a lecture about how all market boys are useless no gooders with no future. I withdrew from him, not just because of my mother’s words but because there was something burning in me to prove her wrong. She said I would get pregnant and end up badly and I was determined to disappoint her. That year I passed my WEST AFRICAN EXAMINATION (WAEC)exams. The next year I wrote JAMB, passed and got admitted into the university.

I became Aminat Fomzi Ojeku in the second semester of my first year in the university. I chose to change my name to Fomzi because the name had a certain swag about it. A lot of people wouldn’t have described me as a girl with swag because I was more of a quiet scholarly person with an average dress sense and little money.

I was just the average girl, I looked like the average girl, I must have behaved like the average girl. My classmates, the guys of course took turns asking me out. I was a very pretty girl and I must have looked either easy or low maintenance to them. Anyway, I declined all their offers and they began to call me “Fomzi” with vengeance.

One evening, during my first semester in 300 level I looked at myself and wondered what was wrong with me. Three years in the university and no boyfriend to speak of. I checked my face in the mirror and I was still pretty. I checked my mental diary and realized I’ve turned a countless number of guys down. I also realized that in a years time I would be graduating out of the university.

One year left and I couldn’t even say I had fun, all the experiences I had were from my church fellowship. Even Eva who had been my best friend since 100 level was having her fair share of fun. With two exes and a relationship she was happy in, she was living the life. I made a decision that night that I would get myself a boyfriend. A God-fearing brother that wouldn’t ask me for sex and jeopardize my dreams of being successful in life.

That was how I met Ola, during a convention my fellowship organized. He was a member of another parish. He walked up to me and said

“Sister, you’re looking very beautiful this morning”

“Thank you” I replied looking him over. He was not bad looking, dark and of average height, he looked good enough for me not to be ashamed to call him my boyfriend. I smiled shyly at him.

“Can I know your name?”

“Fomzi” I replied.

“Wow, nice name. Can I have your number? Please? I hope I’m not being rude” he asked me. He sounded so polite and nice. I gave him my number.

The next time we met it was in a restaurant, Ola had invited me to dinner. He was looking even more handsome than he looked on Sunday. We talked about the bible and why Christians should emulate the apostles of old. It was a nice calm evening. That was how our relationship began.

Ola would call me for early morning prayers and ask me if I had read my bible. We spent time together yes but it was boring and all. I was positive that I was becoming more frigid every day. So I began to spend more time with Eva than I spent with him. It was in this state of boredom that Eva met me lying miserably on my bed.

“Fomzi you need to get up from this bed” she said slapping my arm.

“Leave me alone!” I said pushing her hand off my body.

“See, this thing you’re doing is not wise o” She warned me. Then she left.

After she left I checked our class group for updates and someone had posted an episodic series of stories titled : My Shocking Experience. I began to read it with fervor. It was about a young girl who got involved in a sexual encounter that was so thrilling and exciting. I read that series throughout the night and by morning I felt so miserable. What was so special about the girl in the story? I was convinced I could have an experience like that despite my frigidity.

Thursday 7th June was Eva’s birthday and she was having a party at her house. After all the preparations, I went into her room to get dressed. I was putting on a close fitting blue dress that flares at my ankles as opposed to the Jean and T-shirt a lot of people were wearing so I stood out. I was arranging glasses on a tray when he came to me. He took the glasses from my hands.

“Come on, leave those things, it’s a party. Can I have a dance with you?” His voice was so husky and deep, when he spoke my ovaries did a little dance. Lol.

In the span of minutes I was so into him. We danced. We drank. We had fun. When we got tired of the party we sneaked outside to talk. He told me he was Christopher a 500 level Civil Engineering Student. He said my Course Linguistics, was what his elder brother had studied. He asked me if I had a boyfriend I said no. Then he asked if I was cold, maybe we should stop by his place? It would be warmer there.

See, I will try to describe our sex experience but nothing will do it justice. We didn’t jump each other as soon as we got to his house, no. He was too romantic for that. He told me he’d die if he didn’t slow dance with me in this dress. Then he turned on the music and as we danced his hands roved my back and my waist, then my buttocks.

He was touching me all over and I could barely stand anymore so he lifted me and carried me to his room kissing me all over my face and over my neck. When I hit the bed I considered telling him this was my first time but I decided against it, what the hell! I was finally having the time of my life. My common sense was swimming away from my head.

My dress dropped on the floor, his hands found my breasts and a shiver rocked my body. His hands were so cold and I was so warm.

“You’re so warm” he moaned licking my ear lobes. He kissed me all over and until I couldn’t speak anymore. My brain was fried. When he’d worn protection he hesitated at my entrance and looked at me. I didn’t say anything. We fucked. Hard. When we were done I was sure the condom had broken for all the wetness between us. But he shook his head and smiled reassuringly. I didn’t go back home that night.

So all these led to me sitting here and waiting for my test results. For two months now I haven’t seen my period. These two months have been the most miserable months of my life. I’ve hardly been able to function normally. Eva has been great in trying to help me cope and all but I could feel my life ending. What would I tell my mother? Or rather what would my mother tell me? That I couldn’t keep my legs closed for just one year so I could graduate like a normal person?

My hands shook as it traveled the length of my bracelet. The doctor’s office door opened and I jumped.

He gave me a slip of paper. Negative. I wasn’t pregnant. I collapsed inside myself. I was still sitting with my head in my arms when my phone rang. I picked the call. It was Christopher.

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