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And It Came To Pass BY …May Joseph Ndubueze

And It Came To Pass BY …May Joseph Ndubueze

His father never really told him what happened with his mother,

why she had to be absent from their home, from their lives.

All he could remember, was that when they arrived Spain from Nigeria thirteen years ago, she wasn’t with them.

He was just six, but he knew enough to understand that his father was hurt so bad by the relationship, that asking him about it would mean reminding him of her.

And reminding him of her, would mean incurring his wrath.

His twin sister had it a lot easier than he did when it came to relating with their father.

She had a bond with him. Always around him.

Maybe it had to do with the “daughter – father” thing, maybe.

But him, he was the black sheep.
He had no one to do the “mother – son” thing with, and for some unknown reason, him and his father just didn’t seem to see eye to eye.

And as time went by, and he got love starved, he became emotionally withdrawn.

He would crave the kind of relationship he saw his friends have with their parents. With their mothers.

The kind he could never have.

And by the time he found pornography in his teens, he knew just the kind to love.

An abominable combination.

Mother and son.

That way he could at least “feel” something, no matter how perverted it was.

He could have a memory that wasn’t “hurt and sadness” when he thought about her – his mother.

Subconsciously, he began to develop attraction for older women. He began creating memories to compensate her absence.

Memories of pleasure.

It stayed the same song for him to dance to, until the night his father had gone ballistic on him.

A talk about his mother had gone south, blown into an argument, and his father had said things about her that had gotten him infuriated.

Storming out of the house that night, he drove to the newly opened pub in the neighborhood.

“Sex would help” he repeatedly said to himself as he pulled into “The Cabanca Inn” car park.

“Mummy’s memory won’t be messed up. Mummy brings pleasure, not pain.”

The Inn was empty. The men left were already walking to the brothel upstairs to get in coital relations with the women there.

He moved slowly to the counter, suddenly realising that in his haste to leave the house, he had gone without shoes.

“dame esa bebida señora”. He said to the handsome lady behind the counter, pointing at a red frosty can in the refrigerator. ” Yes, two of that drink”.

She handed them to him, he paid, and made for the stairs.

At the top, a cocktail of fragrance greeted him first, before he saw the sparsely dressed women from which it oozed from.

His eyes ran down the long corridor, then rested on a middle aged black woman sitting before a door.

She was wearing a loose fitting sari, but one could easily make out the roundness of her hips, and fullness of the upturned calabash on her chest.

He walked through the groping hands to where she sat. “¿Dónde está tu habitación?” he asked.

She eyed him, concerned about his age, then led him through the door behind her, into her room.


Her room dripped of sex.

Smelt of lavender and pumpkin pie spice – testosterone stimulating scents

The walls were plastered with wallpapers displaying women in lingerie, and on the nightstand stood an assortment of cosmetic, and four gigantic dildoes.

The young man took a moment to let the sight sink, then found a spot on the bed to began nursing his drink. If he was going to make a move on the woman, he knew he needed the boldness that came with being drunk.

All the while, the woman kept her eyes on him. He seemed quite off, nervous? Disturbed? “What was a boy of his age doing here?” she asked herself.

When their eyes met again, she saw the cloud in them, heavy with tears.

“¿estás bien?” she asked. “You fine amigo?”

“It’s none of your business” he said to her. He was there for his mother. Daddy had said she had abandoned them. It was too much to take in.

The woman sat down next to him. She put her arm around his neck.

She smelt sweet, like she’d taken a bath in sugar.

He leaned into her, the softness of her body yielding to his, and enveloping him.

Then he waited, to feel the excitement. Sexual. When he felt the stirring in his loins, he smiled.

Mummy brought pleasure, not pain.

“Are you okay?” the woman had asked again, something about the boy tugging at the sleeves of her heart, for she had a son his age.


Hello guys, I just thought we write this one together.

Be my muse and help out in the comments section.

How do you think it should end? Write am dia. I’ll be reading.


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Posted by:- on October 12, 2018.

Categories: Literature

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