[DISCLAIMER] – If there was ever a need for a disclaimer, it’s now. This story will not appeal to the variety of my readers, because I’m writing in a subgenre that isn’t popular (and is actually infamous.) If, per chance, you were ever in the humor section of Literotica in 2008-2009, chances are you read one of my stories there. And if you did – and if you liked them – chances are, you would like this one too.
With that said, I am writing this story simply because I want to write something different from what I usually do. Got any critiques? Please leave them. Namaste –
If you needed justification, Chuks had them aplenty.
You see, the sun in Lagos was no natural passage of solar radiation from energy orb to grossly overrated flora and fauna, but an intelligent, malevolent thing that smote (what a word, smote!) with a vengeance all Lagosians who dared to travel on foot or (in the case of those proud Volvo owners) those who dared to have vehicles without such luxuries as air conditioning. The Lagos sun left its signature wherever it went – a painful redness at the back of your unprotected neck – and kept on bridging the gap between albino and Ghanaian.
As if that wasn’t enough – mate! – there was the serpentine arrangement of vehicles which every Nigerian had to bravely surmount to and fro daily. Most people erroneously referred to it as a “traffic jam’ and sent tweets to Gidi_Traffic, with something as ludicrously tepid as ‘6:00pm: Traffic around the bottleneck at Iju-Ishaga road.’ The truth was that this was no mere traffic, but the Curse of the Iron Serpent inflicted on Lagos for being the hosting place of FESTAC, many years ago. All literature supporting this has been mysteriously omitted from all respectable libraries and as such it shall remain a myth.
Factors such as the above have, over time, transformed the average Lagosian in his natural habitat from a kind, genial citizen of the republic to a feral beast, quick to froth at the mouth at the slightest irritation. Rumors circulate in insurance circles that IGI is planning, in the second quarter of 2015, the roll out the “Accidentally Stepping on the Shoes of a Fat Black Lagosian Woman” insurance plan.
These things are only easily understood by true Lagosians, and you don’t get any more ‘Lagosiany’ than Chuks on this momentous Friday night.
In the ridiculous premeditation of ‘turn up’ endeavors, Chuks had sprayed his armpits generously with some air freshener that pretended to be perfume and donned his favorite jeans. He had just finished his day shift at Zenith bank, and after hiding his uniform and night-stick, stepped out into the dusky streets.
(One would expect that Chuks, being a family man, would return to the family he had last seen on Sunday last week, but, as explained earlier, Lagos has lots of sun and traffic and as such he will be perfectly justified for his next decision. It is not good that a man be stressed every time.)
Whistling a tune from Burna Boy, he turned into a residential area, and proceeded to knock on the gate of a seedy compound that boasted of being the “Den of Swag.”
Three smart raps and the gate was opened by a woman as shabbily costumed as her morals, which was really advantageous in this situation for Chuks fancied her especially because she would let him do things Mama Chichi (that’s Chuks’ wife) wouldn’t. Like stick it in her brown hole.
(No, seriously. She had a brown hole in the middle of her room, and Chuks often dipped sticks in there. Haha. Who are we kidding?)
Quickly they locked the doors behind them, making haste, for the fuckening is a very urgent endeavor indeed, as can be deduced from the potpourri of copulatory videos flooding the internet.
Clothes were discarded vehemently, and soon nakedness descended upon them. Foreplay was employed and soon it was time for Chuks’ bald man to go for a swim.
Alas, Chuks stared upon Caro’s (for that was her name) happiness (for that was what she had christened it) and found, for the first time since he had entered into a contract of lust with her six months ago, that her happiness bore upon itself the countenance of an impoverished snail that had recently completed a 40-day dry fast.
He prodded it with his fingers and it did not moisten in reaction, but drooped sadly, a parched kitty refusing to drink water or make its own.
Caro was embarrassed. Chuks was horrified. Had he lost his sexiness? He wondered briefly about his moonwalking hairline and wept bitterly.
The Brotherhood of Men Called an Urgent Meeting.
It was generally agreed that it was a most disastrous development, and the sooner it was reversed, the better for everybody.
“I climbed my wife today,” screamed a man (who, in all fairness, had a really fat wife at home), “and she wasn’t interested! I huffed and puffed (which is ironic, because that’s really her specialty), but she just lay there, incapable of arousal!”
“Same here,” said Biodun, another man (who, like the man above, has been randomly generated for this singular statement, after which he will be discarded and never mentioned again.)
A quiet voice at the back stuttered: “It was horrible.”
The men hushed up, listening to the new voice. It was Chuks.
“I…I tried to do it with my girlfriend, but she was so dry. I ran out of her bedroom in shame. I didn’t stop. I ditched my phone, throwing it into a LAWMA truck so she would never be able to call me again. Then I went home. Home is nice, I said. Mama Chichi loves me for me, I said. Then I tried it with Mama Chichi – “ he whimpered, then blew his nose loudly.
“ – BUT SHE WAS DRY TOO!” and he bawled.
The Brotherhood of Men all began to talk at once. “What is happening? Are our women losing interest in us?”
Then – (to further the plot of this tale) – a mysterious dark figure appeared in their midst.
“Calm thine hearts, young mortals! There is great evil awake within thine midst!” the new visitor said.
“Who is that?”
“Why im dey speak King James?”
“Abi na Macbeth.”
“Must be Shakespeare.”
The visitor dramatically stepped forward into the light, and a light was cast upon his face, only it wasn’t a ‘he.’ It was a she, and she had a scar running diagonally across her face.
“A woman in the brotherhood!” a man cried.
“Be calm,” said the woman. “I am no mere woman, but I am Multiplunt, Immortal and Arch-Enemy of Scott.”
“He is the one who causeth thine women to no longer water for thine underperforming dicks. He is a malevolent beast, one that has been awakened by the superimposition of Jupiter and Mercury.”
“It is written in the Old Scrolls, that in the September of the 14th Year after the new Millennium, Scott Disdick shalt arise and harvest for himself ten million mortal female orgasms and destroy thine planet.”
“But it is November though.”
“ARE NOT THOU HEARKENED UNTO ME?” the woman yelled. “IF THOU STOPPEST NOT DISDICK, DISDICK SHALL END THINE EXISTENCE! HE HATH ALREADY BEGUN BY TAKING THINE WOMEN’S ORGASMS AND MAKING THEM HIS TO USE.”
“Okay,” said Chuks resolutely. “What then shalt we do?”
“Doth thou mockest mine language?”
“I mocketh it at first,” he nodded. “But then I proceedeth to think about it, and I findeth it cool as fucketh.”
“Very well then, saith I,” said the woman. “I shall teach thee to subdue Disdick.”
Six men and a woman crept through Obalende in the middle of the night. They passed the bus terminus and proceeded in the direction of the place referred to as ‘under bridge.’ They passed druggies calling drowsily ‘bros, how far? You wan ssss-?” and emerged in another corner where the world’s abokis appeared to be congregated, ready to change your money.
They moved on, past this adventurous section of Lagos that was oblivious to the meaning of the word ‘midnight’ (or ‘sleep’ for that matter) and went down, down, dowwwwwwnnnn into a koro where no light shone.
There the men stood, with the woman in front.
‘What now?’ whispered a nervous voice.
‘He’s in there,’ said Multiplunt. ‘I sense him.’
‘Let’s get the bastard,’ coughed Chuks. He had been feeling sickly since his women rejected him.
Multiplunt lit a candle, and it cast weird images that merely served as fodder for the overactive imagination.
‘I see him!’
‘He looks like a dinosaur!’
‘It’s only just a shadow,’ muttered Multiplunt, who kept slipping out of her Shakespearean English. She lit another candle and said a chant. ‘Now you see him.’
Out of the shadows appeared a huge man, nude and covered with long, floppy worms. It was a disgusting sight, so disgusting that it caused Chuks to cry, “is this what snatched my women from me!?”
“He’s covered with worms!” yelled Biodun (I lied about using him only once.)
“Silence!” Multiplunt barked. “Those are not worms. They are dicks. Once they hardeneth, thine women shalt orgasm, and he shall acquire unto himself more orgasms which he stocketh up to destroy thine planet.”
“Kill him!” yelled Biodun.
“Did you bring guns? A knife?”
“So how do we kill him?”
“We punch and strangle him, I guess.”
“I’m not touching a multi-penised guy.”
“Ugh. No homo.”
“Me neither. Can’t be brushing accidentally against another man’s junk yuno.”
While the men reinforced their heterosexuality, Scott Disdick’s numerous dicks hardened, and even in this recess in Lagos, the men heard their wives moan and gasp in the throes of orgasms they knew they would never have been able to give them.
“MAKE HIM STOOOOOOPPPPP,” somebody cried.
“Very well then,” said Multiplunt.
Multiplunt took off her dress, and the men saw that she was naked underneath, and she was covered all over with vaginas. On her breasts were two vaginae™ (word trademarked by this author, in case of future legal disputes), and when she moved, the vaginae all over her body sighed moistly.
“Wow,” said every man.
“I suddenly get her name.”
“DOTH THOU PROCEED TOWARDS ME, MULTIPLUNT?” yelled Disdick.
“INDEED I DO! THOU SHALT NOT DESTROY THIS EARTH! THE HIGHER GODS FORBID IT!”
“I SHALT NOT BE STOPPED! I HAVE BUT A THOUSAND MORE ORGASMS TO GIVE BEFORE I AM WINNER!”
“NO!” yelled Multiplunt, and she pounced upon him. Each vaginae trapped a dick and soon they were rolling about.
“MHHMM OH GOD YES – NO! LEAVE ME BE, THOU VILE WOMAN!” yelled Disdick.
“OH FASTER FASTER FAAAASTERRRR – NAY, I SHALL STOP THEE!” she shrieked back.
“ARRRGGGHHH FRJAKUDJ YES! – NO!”
“AHN OH, FUDGE! MMMMM – YES!”
The men stared stiffly at this cosmic battle.
Soon, Disdick yelled.
“MMHHHMMM I’M CUMMINGGGGG! – CURSE YOU VILE WOMANNNN!”
“OH YES BABY GIVE IT ALL TO MEEEEEEE! – YES! VICTORY IS MINE!”
Then there was a bright light, and when the light was gone, the men unshielded their eyes and found Disdick and Multiplunt gone.
“What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know,” said Chuks, feeling obliged to say something quotable. “But this I do know: we just got saved by the power of the vagina.”
“That’s what he said!”
“Come on guys. Let’s go home.”
- End –