Tales from the East (1)

Greetings guys, it's that time of the year again when the days are synonymous with holidays and fun. I can feel it already. Maybe it's the harmattan or the carols, either way the air is nostalgic of holiday mirth.

It's also the time most people make trips to their 'village'. Some to reunite with relatives while others use that opportunity to show off to the native folk that they have arrived. Well, I had a different reason to make a quick trip to my villa last week (by the way, that is where I am now).

I had received a letter from my 'brothers' back at home from across the Niger telling me that I had long since been due in joining the umunna. The letter amongst other things said I had to answer to my reponsibilities as diala and follow the ways of omenala ndi'ígbo no matter how educated I was. Normally I would have laughed off the contents of the letter but my grandmother's accompanying note made me change my mind. So there I was on the next available flight to Owerri...


My plane was due to take off by 4pm. The duration of the trip was only for an hour and fifteen minutes max. In fact I had been to the office earlier to send a mail before going to Murtala Mohammed Airport, Ikeja.


MMA General Aviation Terminal 2 was as expected a very busy place. Not rowdy-busy, but busy enough to have you bumping shoulders with strangers now and then. While waiting my turn on the queue for the usual checking-in, the air was suddenly filled with the sweet scent of J'ádore by Dior. I looked around for the culprit, but no one seemed to fit the profile.


Few minutes later, when I handed the attendant my boarding pass I looked up just in time to see an apparition in red, disappear through the departure gate. There was my J'ádore culprit, and she was going to Owerri too!


I only saw her from behind but I swear from what I saw, she could have passed for Toolz the radio OAP. I got into the plane and tried to locate my seat. It wasn't hard, the airline was an A340-500 seater Airbus. The longhaul sort and since I had a business class ticket, mine was seat B6, an aisle seat in the middle of the cabin just in front of where the economy class seats began, and a row of seats behind the lavatory and closet section.


I sat down and looked around. The Jádore culprit was not far. She also had a business class seat but hers was D5, a middle row seat directly behind the 'kitchen' and adjacent mine. Now I could look her up very well without being too obvious.


She seemed to have a facination for the scarlet colour. Her lips were painted blood-red, so was her body-fitting dress and her ankle-length heels. In fact, the only things on her that weren't red were the silver ear-rings dangling from her ears. She suddenly looked back and caught my eyes in a move that told me she knew I had been staring. That was when I noticed the mirror in front of her, hanging on the 'kitchen' door. I say, if I wasn't black, my face might have matched her dress as well.


Before long people had filled the seats around us. The flight attendant began to address the passengers on the usual safety drill but my attention was distracted.


'Scarlet' had a red scarf around her neck but it didn't entirely cover the curve where her neck met the shoulders. Her creamy skin was still visible. I looked at the mirror in front of her and saw she was watching me too. Then suddenly, she stood up and walked towards the lavatory. After a few minutes I got up and made a beeline for the lavatory as well.


When I got to the door I raised my hand to touch it but never made a connection. It swung open automatically and a hand pulled me in roughly. The air in the lavatory was redolent with the overpowering scent of Jádore by Dior. The effect left me a bit light-headed.


I was locked in a tight embrace with the Scarlet woman. I discovered that she even had a fuller figure now that I was with her. I nearly swooned from the surreality of the experience but got hold of myself, grabbed her face and kissed her fully in the lips. They were super-soft and tasted like lye.


She kissed back. Her reply had an urgency about it, like she was a diabetic on a dose of insulin. Slowly but purposefully, my hands left the tresses of her hair and wandered down her neck, her delicate shoulders, her curvy sides before coming to rest on her Toolz (ass). They were firm but pliable. I squeezed both cheeks. The result was a soft purring sound. Our lips had broken contact.


There was a rush of blood to my head and every other part of me.


It was strange. There I was, about 29,000 feet in the air above sea level having a quickie in a claustrophobic washroom with a stranger. It was the stuff movies were made of ! I heard zippers unzip and clasps unclasp. I wasn't sure which was mine. But I felt pain as those red Jimmy Choo heels dug into the back of my thighs.


In the frenzy of the whole experience, the taps were turned on and the toilet accidentally flushed. The whole cabin began to shudder slightly...

'Sir, sir...?'

The haze lifted from my eyes and I saw the flight attendant was standing in front of me.

'Please fasten your seatbelt sir, we are about to take off now.'

I looked around me. Everyone was seated, even 'Scarlet'. I quickly fastened my seatbelt and as I did so I noticed something else on her that wasn't red after all. It was a glittering band on the finger of her left hand. I wondered why I hadn't noticed that before. So much for lucid thoughts...

An hour or so later when we touched down at Owerri, I got a cab at the airport to take me to All Seasons Hotel. While still in the car I pulled out my phone and began to check for female contacts on my list that ended with 'Owerri'.

I had a case of the blue balls and I needed a cure...