I am sitting uneasy in partial darkness, in one of the three confession cubicles of the Cathedral on Maryland. It has taken me a month to scout for this Cathedral, making sure that nobody knows me around here. Keeping my identity secret is just as important as making this confession.
It has been eighteen months since my last confession, I told the Reverend Father on the other side of the cubicle, asking him to bless me and pronounce God’s forgiveness over me for the sins I’m about to tell him of.
“Why did you wait for so long my son?” his gruff voice queried. “Remember what the Holy Bible says, ‘If we confess our sins, our heavenly father is faithful and just to forgive us our sins, and to cleanse us from all unrighteousness.’ So why wait for so long? But now that you are here, waste no more time. Please, you may begin”.
How did I become so hooked on sex? I wondered briefly.
“Father, my name is Ikenna, and I think I’m a pervert. I think about sex more than anything else. More than the food I eat or even the air I breathe,” I said, and slowed down a bit. “But don’t blame me father, with all the sexuality I have to deal with every day, I just did not stand a chance.”
I continued speaking. “With all the body-hugs, skimpy tops, skinny pants, and tight jeans…jeggings and leggings everywhere; on TV, movies and music videos, when I think about the special attention and care ladies give to their breasts and bums, some even go out of their way to make you notice them. If you stare at the boobs too long, you are a pervert or a psycho or something weird.” I cautioned myself and decided to go straight to the point.
“Since I thought it was quite unusual to think about sex as much as I did, I decided to seek professional help. But I knew it wasn’t going to be easy. We blacks are funny. The moment we hear the word ‘Psychiatry’, by default, we assume the person is either insane or out rightly mad. After several inquiries, I finally got a referral from LUTH. I called the doctor and booked an appointment. Imagine how shocked I was when the doctor informed me that the cause of my perversion is because I wasn’t getting enough…”
“Getting enough what?” the gruff voice interrupted, speaking for once since he asked me to begin.
“Eh… getting enough sex,” I answered. “No! That was not how she put it. She actually said I wasn’t getting enough of good sex. Good sex. Can you imagine that?”
There I was in her lushly furnished and pristine office, thinking, “I’m already doing it four days in a week, and at least three rounds each time; and my therapist says I’m still not getting enough! So none of that is good sex? She must be kidding me!”
“So I told her what I was thinking, and as you would expect, she bombarded me with so many questions, that I felt were deliberately intended to provoke me, embarrass me, or make me look plain stupid. At the end, she gave her verdict: ‘Bearing in mind the amount of stress you are currently going through, I am scheduling a one hour weekly session for you, on Thursdays. And about the sex thing, it isn’t just about the quantity, the quality counts more. From all you’ve said, your job permits you to have sex only at home, at night, on your bed, in your bedroom – same routine over and over again. That is part of the problem.’ So that was how my sessions with Dr. Ibukun began. My meetings with her were very productive. It really helped me a lot. She taught me so many things. God! That woman was crazy in bed. She can go on and…”
“Wait! Brother Ikenna. What do you mean crazy in bed? Did you sleep with her?”
“Oh! I forgot to tell you father, the evil in me seduced my therapist. I only took her advice anyway; get more ‘good’ sex. The first time was right there in her office; on the brown leather couch that I had become so familiar with. The truth was that I didn’t want to show up that afternoon because it was raining. I think she sensed it too, and it just happened; the rain, the tension and all. No one made the first move, we just connected, two bodies needing the same thing and it all climaxed into hungry sex on the leather couch. After that day, I saw her for another two months before calling it quit, professionally that is. We met a few times after, just for f*ck sake. Pardon my language, Father.”
He coughed. “Go on.”
“Thank you Father. Like I said before, Dr. Ibukun was crazy in bed. She did stuff that blew my mind each time. There is this crazy helicopter move she does, where her legs are raised up in the air and spread eagle-wide like propellers; and I would just ram into her from above. We did wild things. Stuff that I can’t even begin to tell about because the mere thought of it turns me on. Sometimes she made us make a tape of us having sex and it was always awesome – she always put up a breathtaking performance whenever we were taping it. Father, see what I’m talking about?”
“What?” the voice asked impatiently.
“My trouser is already bulging,” I said.
“Brother Ikenna, you have come here to seek forgiveness of sins. I therefore expect that you banish every carnal thought from your heart. Can you do that? If not then I don’t think you are ready for this,” chided the voice.
“I’m sorry father. I shouldn’t have talked about it. I shouldn’t even have gone in that direction at all. I shouldn’t be discussing Dr. Ibukun at all. I know there is this doctor-patient confidentiality rule, but I’m not sure it applies on the part of the patient also.”
“I do not know about that. But if it makes you feel better, there is a non-disclosure bond that binds all priests. All priests have sworn an oath of secrecy. So anything you reveal in confession stays in confession. Nothing leaves the walls of this cubicle.”
This is awesome; I heaved a sigh of relief.
“By the end of my sessions with Dr. Ibukun, sex tapes had become a major turn on for me. I tried it with some of my other girlfriends but most of them didn’t like the idea. I recorded myself with a lot of random girls, especially girls I paid for sex. It was very easy. Get home, get them tipsy and horny, and I let konji do the rest. In a short while, I had more than enough sex tapes to start a cheap porn company.”
“What is konji?” bemused the voice from the other side.
I am forced to laugh out loud. Konji! Almighty konji. How do I explain it without been vulgar and carnal? “Now I fantasise a lot about having sex in front of a camera,” I volunteered, “because it turns me on like…damn! I don’t mean it like porn or anything. Just having wild sex with a tiny camera somewhere in one corner, like Big Brother. Well, I actually thought about going to Big Brother at a time.”
“Oh! You mean you have a big brother? What’s his name?” the voice asked.
Now I am astounded.
“I mean Big Brother Africa. Not my big brother. Big Brother Africa; a reality TV show that brings about 14 strangers together in the same house for something like a hundred days. There are a lot of cameras and microphones everywhere in the house. The highlight for me is when the housemates have sex. I know there is no way I would get into the big brother house, and not get to sleep with at least three of the female housemates, and the whole of Africa will be watching. That will be so awesome for me. I mean; that will be like the greatest sex of my life,” I added.
“But now I don’t think I would be going for Big Brother again, no thanks to Festus, my conspiracy theorist friend, who discouraged me. You see Festus is an open-minded Jehovah Witness that can spin a conspiracy theory out of anything. He actually connected Big Brother with Illuminati,” I said, emphatically dragging the last word. I was expecting some kind of reaction, but I got none so I continued.
“You see father, according to Festus, the Big Brother symbol is almost the same as the illuminati symbol. The symbol is the all-knowing eye; the only difference is that there is an extra shape for illuminati; a triangle, circle, or a 5-headed star. So Festus believes big brother takes its origin from illuminati”. Now that doesn’t sound so scary, does it?
“With my Big Brother ambition dashed, it was calmly replaced by an obssession. Tiwa Savage. Father, you see, some guys fantasise about Beyonce or Nikki Minaj, but for me, it is Tiwa Savage. I confess I use to have wet dreams about Mercy Johnson and Tonto Dikeh, but it is nothing compared to what I have for Tiwa Savage. I wish I were in Don Jazzy’s shoe. If I ever do Tiwa, it is definitely going to be the best sex of my life. I swear!”
I stopped. “Oh, my bad. You don’t know her. Father, Tiwa Savage is a popular musician. She sang this song…”
“I know Tiwa Savage,” the voice cut in.
What? Holy shit! How come? How does Father know Tiwa Savage? But I dare not ask this question out loud.
My naughty subconscious is sitting cross-legged and whistling the tune of Tiwa Savage’s Love me love me, love me – I can’t tell you how many times I have watched that video, pausing and rewinding, wishing I could just push her top a little farther apart to see what lies beneath.
“Just because I am a priest does not mean I am blind, deaf or dumb. I see things and I hear things. So please continue,” the voice added.
So Father agrees with me that Tiwa Savage is hot. Who am I to sub a priest? That must be my subconscious. There’s more to a priest than meets the eyes.
“Okay. Since you know Tiwa Savage, Father, I’m sure you can imagine what it would be like to have her. Drop-dead gorgeous, with a body to die for, naked and all wet waiting for me to take her. Damn! I don’t think I would ever get enough of her. I would do her front, back, and centre; till there is no breath left in me again, and I go…”
“Brother Ikenna! I must warn you again to focus on why you are here. Forgiveness! You should be more repentant.”
I could sense a strain of anger in the voice, so I said, “I’m sorry Father. I got carried away. I promise it won’t happen again,” though something inside me knew that was a blatant lie.
Where was I? Oh, I remember.
“Although my time with Dr. Ibukun changed my orientation about sex and everything related to it, another thing that deserves credit for remoulding my sexual state of mind was this book I read, Fifty shades of grey by E. L. James. The book is a sexual-cracker in three banging volumes. It is spellbinding. If you know what I mean.”
I didn’t wait for a reply.
“It is arguably the most erotic book ever written; I know it is the most erotic book I ever read. The effect it had on my mind was that of a potent hypnotic African spell on the mind, absolutely entrancing. I am sure the author had only one thing on her mind, sex! See, in the past I used to see sex as a favour from girls. When a girl sleeps with me, she is doing me a favour and I am always grateful for that. And I always believe it’s my fault if a girl doesn’t want to sleep with me. Fifty shades of grey changed all that for me. I discovered that ladies want sex as much as we guys, maybe even more. And if the sex is good, I mean really good, then there is nothing a woman cannot forgive you for! No matter how bad you treat her. You ever wonder why that beautiful girl is dating that ugly dude? Mehn! It is the sex. The sex must be good. That’s what I uncovered.
“This is my secret, though most of my friends think little of it. I take my sex very seriously. Always browsing, reading books and magazines, watching tapes and trying out new stuffs. I have had enough women in my life to know that what works for one may not work for the other, and you don’t want to be in one of such situations and not have a backup plan. It is not the length of the wand that matters, but the magic that it can perform. And I like to think of myself as a magician.”
Wait! I am definitely not sharing this with the Father. I know it wouldn’t do him any good anyway. He doesn’t need these tips, or does he? I paused and thought of asking if Father was still listening, because he didn’t seem to be saying much, but then I changed my mind and continued.
“So many stuffs I learnt from the book and tried out really worked for me. Like meeting a lady for the first time and being very sure she would be waking up in my bed the following morning. Random girls I meet at the cinema or the mall, sales girls and flight attendants. I particularly like flight attendants. Guiltless sex with no strings attached. See, there is this thing I do when I have any transaction over the counter…in a bank, store or cinema, anywhere. If the attendant happens to be a prettty lady, when I’m to pick up my goods, passport, receipt or cash; I make sure my outstretched hand over-shoots whatever I am to collect and makes contact with her skin. Father, you see, in that brief moment, I watch out for her reaction, and from there I know if she is game or not.”
I wipe the sweat forming on my forehead with the back of my left hand. It’s a sunny day and the temperature in the cubicle has gone up since I’ve been here. A drop of sweat trickles down my cheek, and finds its way into my mouth. Salty, just like Cynthia’s thing. The salty taste she leaves in my mouth anytime I go down on her. I mean I know every woman has her own unique taste and smell, but Cynthia has this maddening saltiness down there that I cannot explain. Unlike Busola that tastes like fresh fish, and I love it so much that I always make sure I eat her good every time. Cunninlingus; whoever gave it such a beautiful name must be a genius of some sort. Just like fellatio and osculate. I take a glance at my wristwatch, 12:22pm. I smile.
“You know the funny thing Father? When I tell people that I only started having sex at the age of 22, they find it hard to believe me, but it is the truth. I didn’t get laid until I was in the university – the prestigious University of Lagos – it so sad that somebody is now trying to change the name – even then I had to wait till my second year and even employed the services of a notorious campus pimp called Speedy. Speedy was a legend back then in Unilag. He ran a well-known aristo service that catered for the needs of aristos and randy lecturers alike, and occasionally students that could afford his charges. Any chic you wanted to have, all you needed to do was talk to Speedy and he would make it happen, that’s after money must have changed hands though. Only God knows how he did it. Some people said he used jazz, others said it was his God-given talent, but most people believed it was simply the greed of most girls that landed them in Speedy’s snare.
“I remember what Dr. Ibukun said when she found out I was a late bloomer. She said that being a late bloomer was one of the reasons for my obssession with sex. She said I felt I had missed out on sex all those years, and so wants to make up for lost time.
“So just because I started having sex late in life, I am obsessed with sex? How unfair. But I am not really complaining, am I? I love it!”
“Brother Ikenna,” Father spoke up, “I am amazed by the words you speak. You should be confessing your sinful ways, and not gloating about them. Are you not here to seek forgiveness for your sins from God?”
I suppressed laughter. Why am I really here? For forgiveness? I don’t think so.
“Why am I here Father? Was that your question?”
“Yes. To seek forgiveness for your sins I presume,” he replied with some uncertainty.
“No father, you are wrong. I am not here for forgiveness. Father, I am here because I’m so lonely and I need someone to talk to. I need someone to pour it all out to; just the same way it used to be with Dr. Ibukun. That’s why I am here. I think I miss her.”
“Brother Ikenna, I beseech you in Christ name to depart from your sinful ways.”
Now I couldn’t hold back the laughter.
“Father please stop calling me Brother Ikenna, it sounds awful. My name is not even Ikenna.” How I wish I could see the shock that must have registered on the face behind the partition.
“What do you mean your name is not Ikenna? But wasn’t that what you told me?”
“I deceived you father, just the same way I deceive all those ladies I told you about. That’s what I do. I’m a deceiver,” I said letting out a sarcastic laughter.
By this time, I am already on my feet and about to step out of the cubicle.
“Brother Ikenna, or whatever your name is, why do you allow the devil to use you? You cannot deceive the Lord your God…”
I stepped out of the darkness of the cubicle into the bright sunlight in the cathedral, what a redemptive feeling; even though the confession did not end the way I had hope. I can still hear Father’s voice behind me reading out my penance, as I walked out of the cathedral back into the world I knew too well.
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