I turned nineteen a month into my first year of university. Skinny, shy, good at math; I was last pick for the football team and last pick for the opposite sex. But by Christmas, I had gone from being terrified of girls to living the cliché as the official “sexually non-threatening platonic guy friend” of the five hottest chicks in the university.
As nice as it was to have popular friends and beautiful women to look at all day long, I was also anguishing in a special circle of Hell, where my penis and I were at a constant state of war with each other. The argument went something like this:
MY PENIS: “Fuck her! She’s sexy!”
THE REST OF ME: “No, we’re friends, it would be weird…”
PENIS: “But… breasts!”
Needless to say, it was a confusing time for me.
It all started with Nneka — an attractive baddie who was clearly destined for the magazine covers. For a late-blooming nerd like me, she was also the most intimidating person on the planet. Every detail about her seemed specifically designed to twist my tongue into knots.
First off, she was the tallest girl in school. I was 5’10” and she had maybe an inch on me. She also had a dazzling smile that belied an impish, teasing spirit, and a natural hourglass figure. But what really made my head spin were her breasts. Her absolutely gigantic breasts. The day those things had grown in, every guy in school promptly forgot his name. Seriously, her breasts could stop traffic.
She and I became friends when I sheepishly asked her to be in an amateur movie I was directing with some of my guys. Asking had not been an easy task for a guy like me—Nneka had always been a merciless tease. But nonetheless, as soon as the class bell rang, I stumbled over to her desk, feeling mortified but knowing that all the other movie crew guys were counting on me to succeed for the sake of our film. I tried to play it cool, but my voice sounded like it was coming from inside a box:
“Hey Nneka, I’m making this movie for YouTube, and we kind of need someone to play the, like, bombshell in distress. I was just wondering if you might think that was fun… or something.”
She raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly, leaning so far forward it took all my willpower to keep my eyes away from her pendulous breasts. “Sure, Akin,” she said simply, “What do you want me to wear?”
It turned out my nervousness had been completely unfounded. While Nneka was definitely a tease, she was also really easy to get along with. She and I hit it off on the first day of filming. We made each other laugh, hit an easy rhythm of conversation, and she even made fun of her own intoxicating hotness, happily donning the increasingly skimpy outfits I asked her to wear. She totally got the movie’s trashy sense of humor, too (Yeah, the movie was crap).
Even after we finished the film, Nneka still called me every day after school, just to chat. We had almost nothing in common besides our sense of humour, but that made our talks all the more interesting. I would keep her on the phone as long as I could, inwardly glowing at the thought of such a gorgeous creature enjoying my company.
Knowing Nneka even got me invited to some real parties for a change. I wasn’t deluding myself that it was love—I certainly wasn’t in “love” with her—but a part of me hoped that, against all odds, she had started finding me mysteriously attractive. That was all dashed to pieces four weeks into our friendship, when I finally got up the guts to ask her out.
It was at a party Nneka had invited me to. I threw down a couple beers and headed through the dim lights, finally finding my girl in a dark corner, speaking quietly with her equally beautiful friend, Chioma. They didn’t see me in the dark, and I was just about to speak up when I overheard Chioma say: “You and Akin seem to be getting pretty tight, would you ever think of going out with him?”
The timing was ridiculous, but what can I say? That’s how it happened. I froze, not wanting to eavesdrop but too close to avoid it. Nneka thought for a second and then answered, “You know, I don’t think so. It’s nice having a guy I can talk to who doesn’t treat me like I’m just a pair of boobs, but he’s not really that attractive. I bet he will be one day, maybe when he’s thirty or whatever. But he’s a GREAT guy.”
As soon as she said it, Nneka realised I was standing there and she reflexively apologised. I assured her it was no big deal. We were just friends, anyway. I gave her a quick hug, inwardly groaning at the feel of her breasts squashed against my chest, and headed outside to get some air.
Thirty?! I thought, some consolation prize that is. I’ll be fuckable by the time I’m ready to settle down. I needed another beer. It wasn’t that I was devastated to be rejected by Nneka — hell, I had been expecting that. It was how her words had confirmed my worst fears: I was doomed to be “just friends” for the rest of my life.
An hour later, I was reclining on the sofa in the varendah, wallowing in self-pity over my bad luck with women, when a body dropped on me and snapped me out of it, a stray elbow clocking me in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry!” Chioma laughed, clearly blazed out of her mind, “I totally didn’t see you there!”
I assured her it was no big deal, and she mumbled something incoherent about me being such a “great, great guy” or whatever. We were both too wasted to bother getting out of that sofa, so we just lay there together.
Chioma and I barely knew each other. We shared a few classes over the years, and I had seen her at one or two of Nneka’s parties, but at that moment, there were only three things I could recall about her:
She was insane. I don’t mean the emotionally unstable kind of insane, I mean the GOOD kind of insane. The kind of insane that livens up any party and provides you with a lifetime of anecdotes.
She was gorgeous. A smoky-eyed, exotic beauty with full, perky breasts and a fabulous ass she liked to show off with the skimpiest clothing she could find. And —
Chioma was dating a drug dealer named Musa.
Regardless, I was horny, frustrated, mortified, and confused. And drunk. So I wasn’t exactly thinking straight when Chioma started making out with me on the sofa a few minutes later. She was completely faded and her breath stunk of weed. Her kisses were awkward and sloppy, barely making contact with my mouth. It was about the least romantic scenario I could have hoped for, but I gave it my all, desperate to prove Nneka wrong about my ability to attract a mate. My hands roamed her amazing body, daringly squeezing her firm, bouncy ass–yes!
Then she passed out. With a disappointed sigh, I rolled away, leaving her to sleep off what was sure to be one hell of a hangover. Chioma’s affections had been nothing more than the result of drunken pity, that much I knew. And knowing it made the shame of the evening all the worse. Nneka’s words replayed over and over again in my mind: “Maybe when he’s thirty.” It felt like some witch had put a curse on me.
Gloom hung over me the next day at school. Chioma bumped into me towards the end of lunch and took me aside, clearly mortified for what had happened between us. She was on the verge of tears as she whispered, “I’m so sorry about last night.”
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and assured her that I understood completely. “It was just a party thing,” I muttered, “Don’t worry about it.” She nodded and hugged me close, her words spilling out with machine gun speed:
“I’m so sorry I fell asleep—it wasn’t you—I swear—I was just so wasted–I swear I am never ever going to smoke weed again in my life! Can we just—Oh, and thanks for being cool about it and, you know, leaving me alone after I was out.”
She was so earnest, I couldn’t help but smile. “Look, Akin, you know you’re gorgeous, so don’t take offense when I say that the whole non-consent thing just doesn’t do it for me.”
She laughed through her tears, and awkwardly added, “And could you please not tell Musa, if you see him?”
“Right, like I’m gonna tell your huge scary boyfriend I made out with you.” That got me another laugh from her, as well as a playful punch to the shoulder. Then for some reason I just blurted out, “Do you think Nneka was right last night? That I really won’t be attractive until I’m like thirty?”
Chioma had enough of a heart to let me down gently: “She was exaggerating, Akin. What she meant was you’ve got the potential to be really cute, but right now you aren’t living up to it. You’ve got a cute face and, like, really amazing eyes, but girls want a guy who takes care of himself. Get a better hair-cut, stop just wearing those baggy anime t-shirts, and maybe start taking the gym a little more seriously. Just a suggestion.”
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