I think that too many years of being unloved had made the idea alien to me. So when Dayo came around with his public displays of affection and ‘I love you’ every second, I was both warmed and irritated by his gestures.
Sometimes his words made me shudder. I wanted to yell, “get a hold of yourself, man. Don’t be a pussy”. Because my idea of a real man was an emotionally unavailable one.

One who made me wait three days for his one call and left my BBM messages read but unanswered just long enough to make me follow up with a frantic “are you there?”. One who visited me once in two weeks instead of one who camped outside my house waiting for me to come downstairs. One who thought everything of holding my hand while we strolled down the aisles at The Palms and so never held it.

I could not fathom how Dayo could be so open with his emotions. Unashamed to let me behind the curtain that were his eyes to see his love for me blatantly adorning his sleeves.

I was afraid that I did not love him with the same fervor. I had prayed for a good man and now that I had one…

Years of chasing after the hearts of men and running in circles had left me cynical. It had been easier when I’d been the one chasing Dayo. It seemed not long ago when it was him telling me how he never used the word ‘love’. I’d been fine with the lack of definition of our relationship.

I had liked him too much then. Completely absorbed by his kisses and content to just run my hands through his hair. Content that is, until tables turned and Dayo started to fall for me. He was the original lover boy. Going from 40 to 100 in 60 seconds. From lukewarm to burning hot for me and this was even before we had sex.

Sex with Dayo had been something else. Before I describe the sex I shall take a moment to describe Dayo’s dick. It was a work of art. In my short experience with the male member, I’d come across both length and width. Dayo’s was just right, both long and fat. The first time he asked me if his size was okay was the day I knew he might just suffer from esteem issues. My eyes rolled to the back of my head and I yelped as I felt him almost pressing against my stomach. He’d mumbled a shy sorry, completely unaware of my discomfort.

I’d warned him to go slow before he bored a hole to my stomach.

Dayo had also introduced me to the big ‘O’. The first time it started I’d thought I was going to pee but Dayo kept going and the feeling persisted. The pressure built steadily even spreading to my toes until I just knew it. I was going to cum.

Dayo’s love gave me nothing to obsess about. I had no room to miss him. I recharged my cell number with 1500 naira MTN vouchers weekly and my balance remained the same except I had to make urgent business calls when I was out of the office or needed to call family members. Dayo took it upon himself to call me at regular intervals during the day even when I was in client meetings. It irked the hell out of me. My feelings were further conflicted when my colleagues at work started referring to me as “quarter to married”.

“I am not married” I would insist stubbornly. “We’ve only been dating for five months”

And Rachel my heavily pregnant and long- married seat mate in the office would ‘harrumph’ and mumble “It’s not by that one o. My hubby and I only dated for four months and now look at us..”

Yeah. Look at them. Four kids in four years and six months and Her husband still looked at me like I was medium rare steak and he was ravenous. But I could never tell Rachel that.

My inner conflict turned into bitterness, a bitterness which I turned towards Dayo. I could not tell anyone because no one understood my dissatisfaction. Even I didn’t.

My sister thought I was ungrateful to God. She was three years younger and a single mother and wished everyday that she had met Dayo first.

She claimed I enjoyed suffering and that the artist in me needed constant drama (like Taylor Swift). I was insulted by the comparison to T.S. (How dare her!!!). I was too used to being the one who loved more, my friend Sophia said. The 60/70% giver while my partner scraped by with 30%.

Dayo and I hardly ever fought and whenever we did he was quick to apologize. He read my moods so easily that it frightened me. His hypersensitivity was only one of many lovely things he did that still managed to irritate me. Even when he asked about my siblings I was annoyed. I thought he was being overfamiliar. My exes had never given a hoot about my parents or my siblings.

I found excuses not to have sex each time we met up. First it was my period and even then he still wanted sex. I feigned disgust at him and turned away to sleep on my side. Then it was the migraines. He raided the HealthPlus pharmacy trying to find a painkiller that worked.

He thought it was work eating me up so he got tickets to Saro the musical to lift my mood. Sitting beside him in the Shell hall of the Muson Centre I wondered to myself.

He’s too nice.

Should love really be this easy?

One comment

  1. Febby · August 30, 2015

    I can actually relate


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