THE SNARE!!! EPISODE #2 Chilo futilely clawed at the groping claws, all the while wondering in aggravation why on earth this nasty man had such a fascination for her bre.a.sts. She couldn’t quite understand why she found what he was doing to her detestable, but some deep, atavistic instinct in her told her that it was wrong. Very wrong. She tried to wriggle out of the suffocating enclosure of his cloying embrace, but he held on tight. “Uncle Prince, stop now,” she protested plaintively. Prince seemed to have suddenly become stone deaf. One hand held her firmly pinned to his thighs while the other hand was very busy kneading and moulding the bosom it held captive. She wriggled harder but it was like trying to push a stone wall. Unyielding. When she realised that resistance was futile, she gave a defeated sigh and stopped struggling. This seemed to encourage her tormentor because his hand moved to her second bosom and began stroking and massaging it in earnest. He moved his thumb to the nippple and stroked it in gentle, circular motions. He did it so confidently that the little girl who was at the receiving end of the ministration wondered just how many girls he did this thing with. She wondered if he did it with the other big girls who had bosoms like hers in the neighbourhood, or with his niece who lived in the next street who came visiting on an almost daily basis. She had noticed that whenever the girl, who was roughly a year or two older than her, arrived after school, they would laugh and play for a few minutes, then Prince would lead the child into the boy’s quarters. All would be quiet for about an hour or so, then the child would exit the quarters and make her way home. The child always branched to the compound on her way back from school before going home. Chilo knew this because she and Oliver were always the only occupants in the compound during the week, of course except for those days when Mother stayed away from work because she could not afford the transport fare. Prince’s niece never came visiting during weekends, when everyone was around and school was closed. She used to think the girl and her uncle shared a very especially close relationship, but she was beginning to have doubts. Somewhere, outside the train of her jumbled thoughts, an awareness of something strange happening within her, descended slowly, like heavy mist, upon her consciousness. She was beginning to feel . . . funny. . . This queer feeling started shortly after Prince’s thumb moved to her nippple. The feeling started somewhere around her lower abdomen, spread to her ‘tatu’, as Mother called her peepee, and from there was rapidly spreading to her head and the rest of her body. Strangely enough, it wasn’t unpleasant. She had never felt this . . . sensation . . . before, and it was quite curious and . . . stimulating, for want of a better adjective to describe it. Her rigid posture gradually relaxed. Prince seemed to notice the change in demeanour because he tittered knowingly and shifted his second hand through the open arms of her pinafore and placed in firmly on her second bosom so that the both of them were now firmly engulfed in those hard, work roughened hand. He no longer tried to hold her back, and she no longer tried to leave the confines of his arms. Chilo, not understanding what was happening to her, without knowing why, thrust her chest forward. She absently wondered why she was acting the way she was, but she couldn’t ruminate on the question for long because the sensations that was now coursing through her body barely allowed for lucid thinking. Soon enough, every thought in her head was stilled by the surge of these alien vibrations. It grew and grew, peaked, and exploded into a million tiny pulses. She sat stock still and waited for the tidal waves to pass, and only when the surges had almost subsided did she notice that one of Prince’s hands was inside her panties. When and how it had gotten there, she had no inkling. Chilo’s tender skin broke out in a thousand goose pimples. Gasping in mortification, she grabbed the offending hand out from under her garment and launched out of Prince’s legs like a jack-in-the-box, startling him. She ran to the tap, breathing hard like she had just being chased by Apple Tree, the neighbourhood lunatic. He was so named because folks said his madness had begun one fine evening when he was enjoying the cool evening breeze under the apple tree in his father’s compound many many years ago. “Come back here!” he ordered. “No!” she cried, her heart racing. What had just happened? she wondered wildly. This was a question she would ask herself countless times, in near similar situations during the course of her young life, but at that moment, on that sunny afternoon day, her major concern wasn’t the question itself, but the fact that he had put his hand in her most private area. She could endure his dirty touches on her buttocks and even her bosoms, but not her ‘tatu’. NEVER. No one had ever touched here there, except those times when she was ill and too weak to bath herself. Then Mother would bath her and help her wash it, but that was beside the point. Prince changed stance when he saw the fury in her young face. “Come here, nwunyem, please don’t be angry with me. I promise I will be gentle with you. I love you.” he pleaded. “I promise to buy you sweet, chewing gum and coke, and I will take care of you. I promise”. “Go and love your age mate!” she spat viciously, then turned and fled into the main building. In her hurry to be out of Prince’s hateful presence, she knocked over the bowl of clean plates, spilling everything onto the floor. She didn’t pause to gather them but moved like wind, into the house. Inside, she ran to one of the battered armchairs in the sitting room and flopped like a rag doll into it. On the sofa, close to the television which was mounted on Father’s beloved Indian cabinet, Oliver slept on, sleeping the sleep of the very young, totally unaware of the upheavals taking place in the world around him, the most recent being the encounter between the forty-three year old caretaker of the house he and his family lived in and his ten year old sister. Chilo stared up at the ceiling and seriously considered taking Mother’s pestle and pounding Prince on the head with it. That would teach him to go around dipping his hands into people’s ‘tatus’. No, that would not do. He looked strong, especially with those thick hands of his that looked like those of Conan the Barbarian. She had watched the movie in DBN and had developed a crush on him. Conan and Michael Jackson were the great loves of her life. She sighed and wished she had the strength of Mighty Igor, that mean looking wrestler in WWF, then she could walk up boldly to Prince and give him the beating of his life for all the things he had been doing to her. His disgusting touches, the way he ordered her parents around just because they couldn’t afford the house rent and were “living under grace”, and worst of all, for putting those his plague addled hands of his in her ‘tatu’. Alas, she wasn’t Mighty Igor, or Power Mike, or Bulldog Brower, or Andre the Giant, or Power Uti. She wasn’t Conan either, who fought and defeated his enemies with enviable skill and ease. She was just a ten year old girl at the mercy of circumstances and a nasty, dirty, disgusting old man {everyone in her parents’ generation were considered old} who couldn’t, or wouldn’t- depending on which angle you choose to look at it from -keep his hands to himself. It was so frustrating. God, she felt so dirty; and confused. Why on earth had she behaved the way she had? Those strange, nay, strange AND very pleasant sensations that had flowed through her body while Prince was caressing her and the aftermath had left her feeling oddly light, warm and. . .and . . . . Unclean. Yes, unclean it was. The feeling had come when a dirty act was being performed on her, yet she had had neither the power, nor the inclination to stop it, especially when it had spread to her ‘tatu’ and on to the rest of her body. She was ashamed to admit to herself that she had liked it while it was still coursing through her body, and had only come to her senses when it had… she couldn’t even understand or explain what happened, except that it had risen to a very high point then fallen. She sighed heavily. Everything was so strange, bewildering, and tiring. She wished she were at school with the rest of her peers. At least then Prince would not have the opportunity to constantly touch her in her sensitive parts. She let her small body slide off the chair sluggishly, like running oil, and settle on the floor. She lay face down on the worn carpet, and mentally tried to squeeze her frame into one of the tiny squares that patterned it. After an immeasurable amount of time, her insides still feeling fuzzy, like cotton wool, she dozed off. ************************************** *** “Chilo. Chilo.” Someone was gently shaking her. The hand waking her was pressed firmly on her buttocks. Bleary eyed, she sat up and wiped the tiny stream of saliva that ran down the side of her face. She yawned, stretched, rotated on her buttocks and to her chagrin, beheld the unpleasant sight of Prince thoughtfully observing her. How long had the man been there, and what on earth was he doing in her living room? Hadn’t he tormented her enough?? “What?” she asked sullenly. “Sorry for disturbing your sleep. I can see you were enjoying it”. Sorry for yourself, she wanted to say, but she held her tongue. She didn’t want to get him angry, because Father had said that they were to avoid getting him upset for any reason whatsoever. Instead, she shrugged her shoulders indifferently. “I brought something for you and Oliver”. At the mention of her brother’s name, she looked at his direction. He still slept peacefully. Why wouldn’t he sleep, she thought disdainfully, when he had spent the entire morning kicking crockery around and generally being a nuisance? “Why did you buy us something?” she asked suspiciously. “Nothing. I just felt like buying you gifts.” She sniffed with disbelief. Yeah, right. Prince’s stinginess was almost legendary, according to Father. He would live by a river and still wash his hands with saliva, Mother had stated on several occasions. Washing one’s hands with saliva was a rather disgusting prospect, Chilo thought. If he was buying gifts, then who knew, it might be for ulterior motives known only to him. “Here, won’t you have a look?” He stretched a Mr Biggs nylon bag to her. The bag looked very inviting. She hesitated a bit, then decided that accepting it wouldn’t cause any harm. Grudgingly, she took it. Inside were pies, cakes and canned drinks. Her mouth began to water as the rich aroma of the pastries wafted up. All the while, Prince was studying her intently, as if watching for her reaction. She ignored him while she rifled through the contents of the bag. She didnt bother thanking the nauseating creature. “I will show Mum will she comes back”, she said woodenly, trying not to show her excitement. Wow, it had been eons since she had last eaten pastries from Mr Biggs. When things had been better, Father came home occasionally bearing treats such as these, but since they fallen on Hard Times, the only treat available was Ijebu garri with groundnuts or kulikuli. When Mummy was paid her salary, she sometimes brought home oko mola, ekono Gowon, ofio, tanfiri and the rest. Her reply seemed to alarm him because he shook his balding head vigorously. “Errrr, no need,” he said hurriedly. “I bought it just for you and Oliver, and if you don’t eat it soon, everything will spoil. You wouldn’t want it to spoil, would you?” She remained mute. Chilo unconsciously tightened her grip on the nylon bag and shifted it closer to her small frame. He noticed this and eagerly went on. “This is a special treat for you, and I want you to enjoy it. Don’t tell your Mummy or Daddy anything, do you hear?” She nodded solemnly. “I also don’t want you to tell your Mummy or Daddy about what happened today. I want it to remain a special secret between the two of us. You don’t like it, abi?” She nodded energetically. He smiled, oozing saccharine and viscous treacle. ”Okay, I won’t do it again, I promise. If you tell your Mummy, then I will do it every day. Would you want that?” “No,” she answered in a small voice. “Okay, that’s a good girl”. His voice fell to those despicable hateful low tones that she so abhorred. The tones that said, ‘ho ho ho, I am your friend!’ (I am not your friend, you nasty old man!!!) “Now let me leave you to enjoy your cake. Remember we agreed, nwunyem that you will not tell this to Mummy, Daddy or anyone else, so be a good girl and keep your promise. Ok?” She nodded solemnly. He leaned down and touched her shoulder. She cringed. With a sigh of exasperation, he turned and took his creepy presence out of the house. As soon as she heard the door shut, she quickly scrambled to the door and hurriedly locked it. Once the door was firmly locked, she rested her forehead on the smooth, warm wood and heaved a sigh of relief. She turned and her eyes fell on the bag lying on the carpeted floor. She regarded the nylon bag for some minutes from where she stood by the door, then made up her mind. She slowly shuffled to the bag and sat cross legged on the floor beside it. She opened the bag, took a pie out and took a big bite. While she ate, savouring every bite, she pondered on her situation. She opened one of the canned drinks, took a sip and pondered some more. . .
Posted on: Sun, 30 Nov 2014 08:12:56 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015