My insatiable desire for sex cost Maggie her degree

Yvonne usually didn’t care about how I went home after lectures but this time, she was the first to approach me when the Gender and Communication lecture ended.

Tigo, she called: “Let us leave immediately; I am having a stomach upset”.

Okay, I replied; not particularly showing the interest she expected.

The day before, I had told Yvonne about how Maggie had given me signals of a ‘crush’. Yvonne didn’t like the idea but didn’t speak a word.

Her silence throughout the journey, however, betrayed her emotions.

Not suspecting her disapproval, I gave her the hint that I may visit Maggie at the father’s plush mansion at New Gbawe.

Maggie is the daughter of a Takoradi-based oil tycoon who rumours have it, was the main financier of the ruling government.

Maggie was every boy’s dream in our class.

Her curves showed from the seats of the Cream SUV the father had acquired for her for the purposes of attending lectures.

My friend Obour did not make his admiration for her secret, therefore, when I told him about the amorous cord I was about to strike with Maggie, he had mixed feelings about it.

One, he was not happy because that was an end to his long-held dream of having her one day.

On the other hand, he felt it was better for me to have her than allow any member of our rival group, made up of Alex, Joe, David, Solo and Anthony, to have her.

Yvonne is a shrewd and strategic Ewe girl who became my friend because we both resided in the same side of the capital, Accra.

Her Ewe and religious background made her disapprove of anything close to promiscuity. It was this chastity of Yvonne that first thwarted and jeopardized my advances towards Michaela.

On this occasion, however, I was determined to prevent a replication of the Michaela scenario.

I paid no heed to her quasi preaching and visited Maggie as planned.

It was a dream come true for both of us as we had, what will become, the first of many ‘good’ moments.

Maggie overhead me once, telling Abigail and Felix in a conversation about how a lady rubbing her hands through my hair was a great weakness on my part. She, therefore wasted no time as she went straight for the space between my hair and the scalp, fiddling them in a manner that will make even a choirmaster miss the rhythm of his music.  

It was a long day in that room and I went home exhausted and excited.

“Did you ‘jam’ her”, was Obour’s question when we met the day after. It is normal for Obour and me to discuss matters like that without the usual confidentiality that surrounded them but on this occasion, I hesitated for a while before saying a vacillating ‘no’.

…to be continued…

All Persons Fictitious Disclaimer

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.