In my school, Ụmụnte high school, I used to be serious until Mr Toje came to me. I never knew I was in rogue’s net. He started by telling me to be serious in all my academics. He used to vet my books and did all necessary corrections.
If any teacher maltreated me, he called them to order. Bean cake was at my disposal: He bought for me the way my parents never did. Oh! What a demise of hope.
In a faithful morning, he told me to meet him after class activities. I succumbed on the fact that he was my mentor. I dashed euro for naira because I presumed yawning for bumps. I took him as my . . . in short, myself. When I got to him, he told me to come to his house that I was going to do somethings for him. I was still young and underaged; I went to houses and homes without biased mind of sexual harassment. Ah! it’s painful. What should I tell my guardian? Should I say it is infection? It’s sorrowful!
Ok. He was caring but is it an excuse to molest me?
When I got to his house, nobody was there. I knocked hard and harder only to hear, “who is there?” I said, ‘I am Sikira’. He said, “wait for a tinkle of time.” I replied, ‘thank you sir.’ I sat on an anvil near his room.
When he came, he gave me a spittle of life which novicized me. I felt the first shock of my life. He drew his mouth close to mine in my dismay which sprayed the worst odour of life for me. I could not resist him for he was my dear teacher. Objecting his ego is sine qua non to denying him his right. As he touched the nipples of my breasts, I felt dew in my whole body which seemed as if someone sprayed chilly water in it. My toes that time were tired of dormancy. They shivered under the disgust of desire. I trembled under pubertic pressure. This was my eleventh. According to my integrated science teacher, eggs could be fertilized at eleven but humans do not lay eggs . . . I mean, we are not aves. Or should I say human eggs are hatched in the womb?
As I was saying . . . hmm, men are wicked. They are visible devils.
As soon as Mr Toje tampered with my nipples, I lost all my senses under his control. His next target was my clitoris. As soon as he gripped it, I collapsed and felt watery particles in my private part. The next thing I felt was piercing stick in my vagina from which I felt some reaction and fatigue in my body which made me to grab him firmly until I was at ease.
After the intercourse, I found myself in a pool of blood which frightened me to think my womb was broken. To be frank with you, I felt the thing. It is the best thing I have ever enjoyed in my life without knowing that it is the worst encounter.
After my first attempt with Mr. Toje, I started yearning for more. I met many men who I even offered myself just to satisfy my libido. I started this way and the more a boy ejaculated into me without touching my clitoris, I see such a person as a novice. The only professional in sex field is Mr Toje. I developed more likeness for him but this time, the likeness has metamorphosed to love . . . if this is appropriate.
When my parents saw my desire for boys, they cautioned me but I threw caution to the wind. They even reported me to Mr. Toje because they thought he was the only one I could listen to. The more they reported, the more style he used and the love I developed for him.
Two months later, I started developing fever which lingered for three months. I did not bother because I had never had any thing called menses. I swam in ignorance until the fourth month when my stomach protruded. I went to a hospital for test only to hear, ” congratulations young girl: You are four month pregnant.” I saw the nurse as foolish person. How could she congratulate me for this. Ah! Ah!! This is very serious. Who sent me to this? It is painful!
One morning, my father summoned our kindreds. Who asked me, “who is responsible?” I flashed back and remembered that I slept with one Fatai and Emeka who were my classmates. I knew either of them was responsible but I forced myself on them. I ignored the interviewers.
The next person who called me was my mother . . . I respected her much. I told her everything and she told me to mention only Fatai Because his father was headmaster.
As I was coming back with my mum, Mr Toje landed. He waved at me which I responded in disgust.
Not too long I entered with my mum that I was called out. “Who did you say is responsible for your second pregnancy?” they asked. ‘My teacher is responsible’, I replied.
All the people were looking askance. I overheard, “could she be talking about Toje of all the people?”
After an interval of two to three minutes, a voice came, “Who is your teacher?” I replied, ‘Mr Toje of course.”
My mother started crying immediately as my father faced the sky.
My problem is that they did not treat the sore. They ended up pouring salt into it. My third pregnancy is the sore.
Who should be responsible for my third pregnancy since I met my teacher and others?
