Everything was damn perfect—except for the fact that my eyes were practically glued to those two slay queens splashing around in their bikinis, their curves popping like well-fried puff-puff.
“So, did you tell your girlfriend about it?” Tamara asked, one eyebrow cocked like she already knew the answer.
I nodded, rubbing my neck. “Yeah, but—actually, could you guys do me a favour? Would you mind meeting her? Like on video call?”
Ginika burst out laughing, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “So she can hire an assassin to hunt me down?”
“See eh,” I said, throwing my hands up, “Look, I know it’s a weird request, but if she just saw how sexy the two of you are, I think it would score me a lot of points in the forgiveness department. Let her know just what kind of temptation I was up against.”
Both of them hissed in unison, exchanging that secret look women give when they’re silently judging a man’s foolishness. After a full minute of eye-talk, Tamara finally turned to me and shrugged.
“Might be awkward, but why not? She’s gonna be our neighbour in a few weeks, anyway. We may as well get this out of the way before we have to see her in the flesh.”
That evening, I carried my laptop like a sacrificial lamb to their apartment, plopping it on the table so Omolara could see the full lineup—me sandwiched between two fine girls on the couch like a zobo drink between two slices of ripe mango.
The laptop took its sweet time booting up, and my knee was shaking like garri in a sieve. Then BOOM—Omolara’s face filled the screen, her eyes popping.
“Ehen, Omolara,” I said, sweating like a sinner in church. “Meet Ginika and Tamara—your soon-to-be neighbours. Ladies, this is Omolara, my babe before una come scatter my head.”
The three of them waved awkwardly.
Ginika, the sharp-mouthed one, broke the silence first. “You are REALLY pretty?!”
Omolara burst out laughing. “You two are like, I mean damn. His description did not do you guys justice!”
Thankfully, Omolara was cracking jokes like a stand-up comedian, and soon, the tension melted. By the time we ended the call, they were laughing like old friends who just finished gossiping about me.
I mean, no surprise—all three of them were badass women. But still, considering the whole “Hi, these are the girls I was lusting over, please don’t kill me” situation? God dey.
Ginika drove her elbow into my ribs. “That chick is, like, a world-class model! Last week I was all jealous of her, but now I’m more jealous of YOU.!”
Tamara’s head whipped around like “Yeah, she seems—wait, Ginika, what do you mean ‘jealous ?!”
Ginika waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Oh, just ignore me. I’m lonely and horny and frustrated. I don’t know what I’m saying..”
I nearly choked trying to keep my laughter inside. Ah! See as Ginika eyes dey shine like Christmas light for my girlfriend matter! This babe was practically undressing Omolara with her gaze – and not just in the regular “she’s pretty” way.
I shot Tamara my best “Tell her!!” look, but the coward just shook her head. This girl would rather drink garri without sugar than admit her feelings.
Fine. If Tamara wants to play hard to get, I will be their unofficial matchmaker – by fire by force!
As I reached for my laptop, my hand “miraculously” slipped and boom – the screen lit up with Omolara frozen in 4K HD glory, face contorted in ecstasy, hands full of her own breasts like she was trying to make coconut juice. The video was paused right at the peak moment – that sweet spot where her mouth was open in a silent scream and her nipples were standing at attention like soldiers on parade.
I made sure both girls got an eyeful – Ginika’s mouth actually fell open – before I pretended to panic. “Whoops! Mistake!” I slammed the laptop shut. “Sorry, ladies, that’s personal!”
Ginika’s eyes nearly popped out of her head. “Thanks a lot. Like I wasn’t horny enough before!”
I glanced at Tamara, who was grinning.
“Wait—Ginika, are you bi?” I asked, playing dumb.
“No, it’s just—” She looked between Tamara and me, then threw her hands up in frustration. “”Fine, yes, I think girls are hot, too, okay??”
Tamara’s voice came out soft. “For real?”
“For real-real!” Ginika fired back. “And frankly, you haven’t exactly been helping me get over this breakup, always looking so hot every time we go out. Seriously, if you weren’t straight, it would have been you I was coming onto last week and not him. We could have avoided all this mess. No offence”
I chuckled. “Hey, no need to apologise, I think she’s hotter than me, too”
Tamara looked like her brain just did shaku-shaku. “But… But, you never told me!”
“You never ask!” Ginika snapped. “Besides, you always acted all weird and uptight whenever I pointed out that another girl looked hot around you. Like you thought it was disgusting or something!”
“No, that’s not—” Tamara’s voice cracked. “That’s not why I was acting like that!”
Ginika planted her hands on her hips. “Then why? Abeg, explain!”
At this point, I knew my presence was as useful as a condom in a monastery. These two were locked in, so I tiptoed out.
Truth be told? I don’t even think they noticed me leave.
***
The moment I entered my apartment, I lunged for my laptop. Omolara’s face popped up on screen, her expression torn between shock and amusement.
“Babe, you could have warned me!” she laughed, fanning herself dramatically. “My soul nearly jump out of my body when I saw those two!”
I smirked. “Now you understand the kind of temptation I’ve been wrestling with since I got herel!”
Omolara bit her lip, then dropped her voice to a sinful whisper. “I probably shouldn’t say this, but honestly? If I was you, and either one of them was coming onto me, I probably wouldn’t have been able to stop myself the way you did!”
“Ehn ehn! You should have seen the bikinis they were wearing at the pool this afternoon,” I groaned. “The way Ginika butt was popping, ehn…like two overripe watermelons fighting for freedom!”
Over the speakers, I heard a soft snap as Omolara discreetly unzipped her jeans. “Describe everything to me…slowly,” she purred, her voice dripping with lust. “Start from how their butt was shaking when they walked…”
***
Let me tell you something—morning and I are sworn enemies. My brain doesn’t wake up until I’ve had at least three cups of tea and threatened one traffic warden before 9am.
So there I was, stumbling through the estate gate like a zombie, my eyes still crusty with sleep, when—BAM!—I collided with Tamara.
Now, this was shocking because Tamara is usually the kind of person who wakes up looking like she just stepped out of a red carpet—hair laid, outfit popping, skin glowing like she bathes in golden milk. But today? This girl looked like she’d been wrestling demons all night!
“Long night?” I croaked, my voice still rough with sleep.
Tamara’s face split into a grin so wide. “No sleep at all,” she purred, adjusting her top in a way that accidentally revealed some…interesting marks on her neck. “But trust me—no complaints.”
“So…you and Ginika finally…?” I wiggled my eyebrows.
She nodded so hard I thought her head might fall off. “Turns out there was a lot of pent-up tension between us!”
“Damn,” I groaned, rubbing my tired eyes. “Damn, I only wish I could have seen it!”
As I dragged my half-dead self past the gate, Tamara’s voice stopped me:
“Ikenna, wait!”
I turned. “Yeah?”
She folded her arms, giving me that “I have caught you” look. “That naked picture of your girlfriend—showing us that wasn’t an accident, was it?”
I put on my best “Who me?” face. “What do you think?”
Tamara burst out laughing, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Me and Ginika owe you big time.”
She did quick surveillance—left, right, even checked gutter side—then BOOM! Before I could blink, she yanked up her blouse.
Chai! The sight nearly made me stumble. Her breasts were perfectly wrapped in lace so thin, I could practically see the areola underneath. The morning sun hit them just right, making them glow.
“See you at work,” she winked, adjusting her clothes like nothing happened.
From that day, morning became my favourite time of day. Rain or shine, Tamara would flash me like a faulty traffic light—sometimes slow and teasing, other times quick. Her way of saying “Thank you” for helping her and Ginika “discover” each other.
If my first week working around Tamara and Ginika had been sexually frustrating, my second week was pure wahala—a sweet, torturous kind of suffering. Since I had been the one to bring them together, I suddenly became their favourite plaything, drowning in hugs, teasing smiles, and enough affectionate attention to drive any man mad.
And Ginika—ah, Ginika—being her usual drama queen, went right back to flirting with me like it was her birthright. This time, she wasn’t trying to seduce me—or so she claimed. No, this was just her way of reminding me I was a man, with her full, luscious curves brushing against me, her laughter dripping like honey, and her big, beautiful breasts testing the limits of every tight top she wore. Four hours a day of her whispering, “See how fine you look today?” was enough to make my thoughts run wilder.
And that tension? Ever since that first back massage—the one where her soft moans had nearly undone me—the air between us stayed thick with unsaid things. I couldn’t stop imagining what would’ve happened if I hadn’t pushed her away. Would her skin have tasted like shea butter and sweat? Would her nails have left marks down my back? Chei!
As the sun blazed hotter, so did our little parapo. Evenings and weekends were spent in the pool at the apartment complex, the water doing nothing to cool the heat between us. Tamara and Ginika strutted around in bikinis that left little to the gods—tiny, colourful fabrics clinging to their curves, beads of water glistening on their skin like liquid gold. When night fell, we drifted between apartments like restless spirits, laughing, drinking zobo, and dancing to Afrobeats so loud the neighbours hissed.
At least once a day, like clockwork, Tamara and Ginika would lock eyes, and just like that, fire would catch. One minute, we’d be laughing over jollof rice and pepper soup, the next, their hands would be all over each other, lips crashing together like waves against Lekki shore. And me? Stuck in the middle like a mumu, watching their tongues dance while my shorts tented in painful protest.
But abi, these girls had wickedness in their blood. Just when things got steamy—when Ginika’s fingers would start slipping under Tamara’s waistband, when Tamara’s moans would turn breathy and desperate—they’d pause, blink up at me with those “you know what time it is” eyes, and say, “Babe, you mind giving us… privacy?”
Kai! The audacity.
And me? I no go lie—sometimes, I wasn’t proud of myself. Because the moment that door clicked shut behind me, I’d press my ear against it like a thief in the night, listening to the sinful symphony on the other side. Ginika’s high, sweet cries, Tamara’s deep, hungry growls, the wet slap of skin on skin—God punish me, but I’d stand there, hard as iroko wood, imagining what it would be like to be in that room. To have both of them. To own them.
The frustration was enough to make a man run mad. So Omolara and I—my sweet, wicked Omolara—came up with a plan. We called it “The Delay Game.”
A promise wrapped in torture: Wait till she finishes her degree. Wait till she moves out south. Then, we’d fuck like rabbits—no holding back, no mercy, just pure, sweat-soaked lust.
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