Chapter 9
A chance meeting at the barbecue had led to an invitation for lunch for the quieter of the two Nigerian students, Abimbola, from Alicia. The Nigerian wouldn't have realised it, but he was receiving a signal honour, since Alicia very rarely entertained at home, even though she was a very proficient cook. What she also hadn't told the slender Abimbola was that she had spent the holidays during her teenage years in Nigeria, as her father was based there, not as it happened working for one of the many oil companies that had operations there, but working as a doctor for the foreign nationals.
What she had told him, though, was that she enjoyed Nigerian food and would be pleased to cook some for him. In the end, she decided to start with egusi soup (a potage based on melon seeds, with meat and vegetables), followed by suya (spicy beef cooked over an open flame, which is a specialty of the Hausa people, to whom Abimbola belonged). She would serve this, as was customary, with cabbage, tomatoes and onions. For dessert, she would make coconut candy - thinly grated coconut shaped into balls, covered in caramel and fried.
When he arrived just after one o'clock on the second Thursday after the barbecue, Alicia had everything ready and suggested they sat down to eat while everything was hot. Abimbola had gone to some trouble with his dress, adopting a traditional white flowing gown, featuring elaborate embroidery designs in green and yellow on the neck and chest area, over a matching pair of pants, which were embroidered at the bottom. On this head he wore a Fula cap of gold and green, and on his feet off-white leather slip-on shoes.
Alicia, for her part, had changed shortly before her guest arrived. Not only that, she had also showered, being careful not to get her hair wet, so as to protect the centre-parted straight style which framed her face so beautifully that she had received at the salon the previous afternoon. She had added a dash or two of her favourite fragrance before slipping into white lingerie, over which she wore a two-tone round-neck silk-cady dress (predominantly black with an inverted white chevron at the waist), which came down to just above her knees. On her feet she wore backless two-inch cream heels, and on her left wrist a slender cream bracelet.
Over lunch, Alicia told Abimbola about her five years in Lagos, a place the Nigerian had visited just once in his life. Alicia told him that he hadn't missed much, and how much she had enjoyed a visit to the northern part of Nigeria around 25 years ago, when the security situation in the area permitted it. Abimbola had come to the US after completing bachelor's and master's degrees at universities in his own state, and then working in a law firm for a few years. Alicia estimated that he was a dozen years or so younger than her.
What she didn't tell him was that the reason she had been so interested in him was that he reminded her of her very first lover, Luanga, who was actually from Congo, but whom she had met when he was studying in Lagos in order to improve his English language skills. Her curiosity about black men had been simmering since she first arrived in the Dark Continent as a thirteen-year-old, and when she met Luanga, who was a year older than her, shortly after turning eighteen, that curiosity came to the boil. They had made love three times, once in his room and twice in motels, before he had to return to his home country. She had never forgotten the feel of his skin and the scent of his body, and, of course, the length of his weapon. She felt sure that Abimbola would measure up to him in every way, and that the courteous manner and diffident disposition would yield to a confident, even dominating, demeanor when in the bedroom.
Having no intention of delaying things, Alicia told her guest she hadn't shown him upstairs, although in truth she hadn't shown him around the first floor either. They proceeded straight to her bedroom, the faux Louis XVI decor of which, with the canopy over the bed and the straight-backed wooden chairs, tickled his fancy greatly. It reminded him of Versailles, which he had visited on his only trip to Europe, which he had undertaken in the summer vacation before his final year at college.
"It is a boudoir fit for a queen," he said in that quaint way of his, which made him sound as if he had just been transported to the twentieth-first century from the Revolutionary era.
"For a queen
and
her king," Alicia corrected him, pointing to his regal outfit.
He spread his hands out with his palms down as if to disclaim any royal heritage - something, Alicia noted, which is not the case with all men from that part of Africa.
Alicia had a plan for the afternoon, but it involved him becoming a lot more assertive - something which she felt was well within his ken, if only she pressed the right buttons and set hm off in the right direction.
"Why don't you try the bed?" she said in a level tone, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"I am afraid that I am a little overdressed for that," he said, whether with deliberate irony or not Alicia couldn't quite tell.
'Here, let me help you off with your Babban Riga," she said, moving swiftly to undo the two buttons under his neck.
Abimbola raised his arms and Alicia removed the billowing gown, revealing his hairless torso with a clearly defined six-pack.
"There, you can lie down now," she said, unable to hide the excitement in her voice, as she pondered his response.
"I would not wish to crumple my trousers," he replied, giving the exact line that Alicia had been hoping for. "Perhaps you could take them off as well?"
"Oh!" Alicia shot back with feigned surprise mixed with antipathy. "I think you might have got the wrong idea."
She stepped back and looked towards the door, which was closed on account of the fact that she had deliberately closed it. There followed a stand-off, during which neither of them spoke or moved, each waiting for the other to blink first. Somewhat theatrically, Alicia spun around on her heels and made for the door as if she meant to escape. By the time she had got there, she found the muscular African blocking her way.
"Please!" she said. "I would like to leave."
"I do not believe you," said the black man, as if reading the script Alicia had written.
"No, I mean it," she said, beginning to bang her fists against his chest.
Abimbola grabbed her by the wrists and she flung her coiffured head against his shoulder.
"Please!" she repeated. "Please let me go."
Abimbola complied and Alicia bolted to the bathroom, shutting but not locking the door. The Nigerian walked the short distance to the bathroom, opened the door and saw Alicia backed up against the shower cubicle, her hands against the glass doors, a look of hunger on her face. Abimbola walked up to her and, when she didn't move, bent down, picked her up in one easy movement and carried her to the bed. As they neared it, Alicia's shoes fell from her feet. He laid her gently on the cerise sheets and began to take off his pants. She watched, enrapt, as a pair of grey boxer briefs were revealed. Inside it (straining to get out) she could see the outline of what could only be called a giant of a penis. Part of her wanted to grab hold of it, but the other part (the part which had planned all this) wanted to enact the drama to the very end.
