Secrets of a Virgin Girl

Secrets of a Virgin Girl #1

The In-Between’s

See All Episodes HERE

“Desire is the kind of thing that eats you and leaves you starving.”

-Nayyirah Waheed

You can’t sleep. You had said your prayers about an hour ago, and made to sleep when his call came in. You like him. He likes you. You talk about a lot of things– good, safe things. Like work, and plans for the weekend because it is Friday. You tell him you have a weekend meeting too, a small family party for your brother’s return from the USA after ten years. You are eager to see him, but not so eager about the party. You have not been home in almost two months, so mama is equally keen on having you around. If not, you would have bailed on her, you told him. He laughed. You blushed. And after a while, he had said good night, and you had said good bye.

Fast forward to ten minutes after and all you can think of is sex. You have never done it before but you have seen people do it many times– at first, unconsciously, in late night movies; then, consciously, seeking-ly, your head filling with thoughts of naked bodies and your body brimming with delicious fire. Now is one of such moments, and you just can’t sleep. You shuffle on the bed, as you feel your loins tighten and your nipples strain; you turn and toss, refraining from doing anything that will incite the desire to touch yourself. Your discipline lasts only a trifling second.

You allow yourself imagine him doing things to you, and your mouth waters like an avalanche. Soon, your hands are on your hard-knotted nipples, kneading, pinching. You press your thighs together urgently lest your fingers find their way to the succulent flesh between. You close your eyes and bite your lower lip, torn apart by the tingling sensations storming through your body concurrently. You sigh in frustration at the realization of how far-fetched your thoughts seem. Your good mind tells you to pray to ward the sinful thoughts away; but your other mind, the not-so-good one, it launches you into routine without question. You seek your phone and type in the familiar key words, and you watch, curiously– bodies on bodies, bodies in bodies. Your heart races with excitement, your innards flourish with new life. You are still not touching yourself. You are just an ardent observer of something carnal. Forty minutes after, barely satisfied yet spent, you stow your phone away; and then you begin to chant words of forgiveness as you drift into sleep. You could have conquered the devil, but you chose the easy path. Thoughts of shame wash over you anew. But you drown it with fitful snores and incessant chants– of forgiveness. It is part of the routine.

The day after

You wake up very early to make it to Mama’s house to help with preparations. Despite having helps at her service, she loves to have her kids around– more so she can show you off, than anything else. You always indulge her. She’s been nothing but a blessing in your life. When she sees you, she beckons on you with a loud cheer. You smile, you’ve certainly missed that. You kneel on both knees as you greet her and papa in the traditional Yoruba way. Even several years of study abroad and independent living would not take from you what mama spent her early years engraving in your heart– well, most of those things. She draws you into her bedroom to assess you, away from the prying eyes of the maids and their vehement smiles, and papa’s business-ready stare.

“So how have you been Oko mi? You look good, but when will you put on flesh in this your cleavage na?” she asks poking you in the Clavicles. You chuckle, and snort at the same time. Same old mama!

“Mama, I have been well. We thank God. Work is fine too, adupe. Shebi I told you about the promotion I got last week now?”

“Yes yes, Oko mi. You told me. How has it been eh? Hm. God will continue to be with you o. Shebi I told you that if you continue to listen to me, things will work out well with you? That’s what you are seeing now. It shall be well with you enh!”

“Amen mama. Amen.” you respond enthusiastically, all smiles and grins.

“Enh enh, bawo wa ni? Any show yet?”

You stare at mama wide-eyed. “Show bawo?”

“Ahn ahn. You don’t understand simple slang! Any man in the building?”

You laugh gaily. “Mama! Well, none yet o…” you respond, a little hesitantly; as thoughts of Sogo slip into your mind. Yes, you like him; and he appears to like you… but past experiences have taught you to not sow a seed where there is no promise of rain. What if he never asks you out? What if he doesn’t even like you like that? Better safe than sorry!

“What of that boy, ehm… whats that his name o?” Mama is tapping her feet on the floor and snapping her fingers as if that will make her recollect the name.

“Bayo Mama, Bayo.” You offer, knowing full well it has to be him because he is the only one you ever had the nerve to mention to Mama, and it was not on purpose. Mama had seen a picture of him on your dp (it was his birthday) and she had asked too many questions and made too much conclusions.

“Yes! What of Bayo?”

“He didn’t make it Mama. He was talking about marriage just a week after we met on FaceBook. How does that work?”

“Lara! Lara! Oo ki n ni suuru to o (You never have enough patience). Is that why you now let him off the hook like that? Shebi you will be studying him ni? Anyway, o ti e da (that’s good news)! My friend’s daughter’s cousin is coming to today’s party. He is a fine young lad.”

Your eyes bulge, echoing the “and-so-what” question on your mind. “Mama! You want to arrange marriage for me ni? Ko ti to yen now! (It has not got to that)”

“Ah! Aijafara l’ewu my dear (you must leave no stones unturned). To succeed, you must jump at opportunities as fast as you jump at conclusions! Benjamin Franklin said that.”

“Toor! I have heard you mami.”

“He is a good man, I promise you. My friend told me he has been single all this time because he is looking for a virgin girl to marry. She said “All the girls of nowadays are spoilt rotten!” Once I heard that, I laughed and told her “well, not my own daughter. Not my Omolara” and I know it is difficult finding a virgin man too, so I told her we must introduce you two.”

Your eyes lower now, at the level of confidence mama has in you. Virgin? You have never had sex but are you still a virgin? What have eyes seen that you have not? What have bodies done that you have not (almost) experimented yourself? And marry a virgin man? Maybe not… you want skill, experience… You ask God for forgiveness, again.

“Oko mi, I hope you have not done anything to disappoint me? Is it still there?” mama asks, worry etched on her face.

You remember the first time you fingered yourself and almost got hurt, which is why you have not tried again since then. You force a smile. You are not sure but…“Yes mama. See, me I want to eat, I left the house without breakfast. What’s available?” you quickly change the topic before she notices how fast you mood has dipped.

“Oshey Oko mi. I asked them to make breakfast for you already…” So you both head to the living room to join papa while you eat, and gather some fresh air to regain your lost momentum.


Damore Alli, is a short black girl, a Chartered Accountant, and a hopeless lover of words. She is terribly shy on some days, and provocatively assertive on others. You can find her smiling away by herself at a corner of the room with her ear phones plugged in, and her head stuck in a novel or anything that looks as interesting as a string of figures begging to be analyzed. Or you might find her in the same bus as you, typing away furiously at her phone. You might think she is chatting, but chances are she is writing about you. She blogs at Miniscule Diary. Check it out. You may find yourself in one of her post.

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