The Village Girl… by Daniel Nkado




He touched her and she recoiled, bending slightly, folding her hands while a bashful smile drifted down her face. He was amused, again, at the awkward show of whatever it was village girls felt when approached by a fine Lagos boy.

He was fine, he had known since a long time. Since Primary School days when he was chosen to partake in all school drama, from the way Miss Ngozi’s long cane always froze on her hand each time she wanted to flog him and he smiled. Adaora, who was many years his senior would sneak him into her room and ask him to touch her breasts.

He grew fast; starting to touch and suck breasts at nine, having his first sex at eleven and impregnating a girl at sixteen. Chidimma was her name and it was only after she nearly died during abortion that he became wise.

He was now a successful banker, lived in his own house in Gbagada Estate, was engaged and soon to be married. His relationship with Cynthia, his fiancée, had blossomed over the years despite the numerous things she did that didn’t go down well with him: her extravagant spending, her complicated make-up regime and her obsession with the Social Media.

He has since resigned to patience for he knew he had not always been so saintly. Even now, he yet didn’t think he was, but he was well aware of the difference, the new insertion of discipline and morality.

But something about this village girl he’d met only two days ago fascinated him. He was not sure what it was yet he felt for her but he was marvelled by the strength of her hold on him. He has moved his trip back to Lagos to Friday having lied to Cynthia that the construction required he stayed for some more days. His self-given penance for the lie was tempered by his lack of any sinful ascription to the meeting…yet.

He was staring at her now. Her dark skin shone to his face like the gold cast of setting sun. Though her slender cornrows were not as sophisticated as Cynthia’s near-natural hair wears, it still gave her face that definitive ascent it needed to glow. A beauty so crude, fresh, raw, untainted…he felt dreamy.

“What cream do you use?” he asked.

“I use Vaseline, Sir.”

“And it affords your face this lustrous glow? Impressive!”

“You talking what, Sir?”

He smiled, that his smile that showed two front teeth in a way that was strangely attractive. He has wondered why Cynthia always rushed and kissed him each time he smiled like that.

“You are beautiful, Mma,” he said.

She smiled, bending away again.

“Why do you smile?” He knew, he just wanted to ask.

“The way you calling me Mma, Sir.”

“Is that not your name?”

“No, Sir. I telling you that day that my name is Nwa-amulu-na-mma, Sir, and you saying is long and you shorting it to Mma, Sir.”

He held himself not to laugh. He sensed her discomfort in the silence that followed. He worked fast to end it but she came through first.

“I going now, Sir. My mother looking for me and not seeing me, she shouting to the whole neighbours.”

He was as surprised as confused at the extra thud her mentioning of leaving gave his heart. He didn’t want her to go. He couldn’t afford to allow her go. “Please don’t go. Stay with me.”

“But we not doing anything here, Sir. Your workers all gone home and we just here alone.”

A thought hit him and his man organ responded even before his mind could fully process the thought. He took her hand. “Come with me.”

She drew back. “To where, Sir?”

“Let’s go into the building.”

“Doing what inside, Sir?”

“I want you to help me do something.”

“We staying here and doing it, Sir.”

“No, it’s not conducive here. Come.”

“But your car, Sir, people passing will opening your car and stealing your thing.”

“The car is safe. Come.” He pressed a button on the small remote attached to his car keys and low clicking sounds were heard.


He led the way into a chamber of the uncompleted building. He was passing into the adjacent room which was darker when she took back her hand. “I knowing what you thinking, Sir, but I not doing it with you.”

He twisted his neck to her. “What?”

“I know you wanting me to sleep with you, Sir.”

Guilt splashed over his face, wilting his features. “I’m sorry. I…I shouldn’t have. It’s just I really like you.”

“Okechukwu saying the same thing to me every time when he coming from Onitsha and buying me things but he running away when I telling him I’m pregnant.”

“You’ve had a child before?”

“No, Sir, no child. I deceiving him to knowing if he marrying me later but he running away fast fast like uriri.”

He smiled and hugged her. He must have pressed himself too tightly to her because she drew back and said, pointing, “Sir, your thing is standing.”

He looked down on the big bulge below his waist. He has never looked so embarrassed.

His phone rang. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a black, tall, slender phone. He looked. It was Cynthia. He didn’t take it.




Cynthia continued to call. He held his phone and pressed hard on a button by the side. The phone’s screen turned blank black.

“Who calling you, Sir?”

He was so tempted to lie, but he didn’t. He was surprised the call interruption hadn’t quite calmed his desire and his organ stood ever so upright, slamming at his zippers like a burglar at a door. “That was my fiancée, my dear.” He said.

“Your fia-n-sea? What is a fia-n-sea, Sir?”

“Told you to stop calling me sir.”

“But I not calling you sir, what you want me to calling you?”

“My name is Richard. Or you can call me Nnanna.”

“I knowing your name is Nnanna, Sir. I uses to come fetching borehole at your father’s house in Obeagu. You and your brother chasing people away when they making too much noise outside the gate.”

He chuckled. The smile lingered on his face as he stared at her.

Her face turned curious. Her beauty seemed highlighted in the expression. “Why you looking at me and smiling like that, Sir?”

A feeling sprouted within him, driving his lust to a dangerous height. He bent, swiftly pressed his lips to hers and straightened up again. The deed was done before she could utter any protest.

She didn’t. She threw one hand to her mouth as though his lips had burned her. He saw no emotion in her eyes as she fixed them on him.

“Are you okay?” He asked and instantly felt that was not the right thing to ask.

She didn’t say a word, her palm still covering her mouth and her blank eyes still on him.

“Mma?” Remorse came over his face. “Mma, I’m sorry, it’s–”

“Doing it again.”

His eyes flew wide. “What?”

“I said doing that thing again.”

“You want me to kiss you again?”

“Yes, doing the kissing again.”

His heart gave out a pound that was near audible. He inhaled deeply. He was amazed that a kiss would excite him this way. He kissed Cynthia frequently, she did him too, but the kisses were different, brief, light, majorly communicative, lacking of their true purpose—this wonderful excitation.

He leaned towards her and gently planted his lips in between hers.

She sucked his upper lip in and held it firm underneath her teeth. He felt a delicious pain.

Slowly, he reached to the central line of buttons on her long flower gown, gently pulling out a button out of a hole one at a time, careful to know if and when she would protest so that he’d stop immediately.

But she didn’t.

But when he lowered his head and took her left nipple into his mouth, she slapped his head so hard his urge momentarily left him.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “It sweeting me too much.”

His desire came back with force and what they had, though brief, the quickest he’d ever arrived, was hot, mad and wonderful.

As they lay together on the sandy ground, even the tingle of sharp sand particles felt sweet on his skin.

His other phone rang this time.

“Is that the fia-n-sea again, Sir?”

He checked. It was Cynthia again. “Yes.”

“He wanting to tell you something?”

A thud hit his heart. He rose to a sitting position on the sand and she copied. “Mma.” He took her hand and folded it in his. “My fiancée is the woman I’m going to marry. Her name is Cynthia.”

The slap that landed on his shaved head this time was hotter, scorching, and hadn’t been spurred by ecstasy.


Copyright © Daniel Nkado 2014. All rights reserved.

Consented personally by the author to be used on Alifediary only.

 Author’s Bio:

Daniel Nkado is a Nigerian writer and journalist, author of bestselling Ola – The Tale of a Young Moon Maiden and founder of

Interact with him on or @danielnkd on Twitter.


18 thoughts on “The Village Girl… by Daniel Nkado

  1. I can even hear the slap from here! Nice story from my guy Dan, i missed it before, i will follow it thoroughly here! Well done TM.

  2. Ooh my….”t
    he slap that landed on his shaved head was hotter, scorching and hadn’t been spurred by ecstasy.”

    I felt the slap from here.
    This story is simple delicious… .


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