“Nasty evil mischievous girls. What was I thinking sef, agreeing to this? Crazy stupid idiot me. And this floor isn’t even smooth. Heels on a half-moon Friday evening… what the hell was I thinking?”

Muttering to herself, she catwalked one stride after the other; graceful legs taking her farther from the club’s gate and closer to the friends who had dared her to wear heels. A group of half-drunk males, arms wrapped around giggling females, almost made her lose her footing when she sidestepped into a puddle to avoid them brushing her. Confidence wavering, she paused for a second to let out a breath and calm her dancing nerves.

“Appear calm; no one would see your legs are shaking. Plus, it’s just the thoughts in your head. Your legs are not really shaking. Legs aren’t shaking.”

She repeated the last line to herself as she drew herself to her full height: head high, shoulders straight and knees locked. Then she closed her eyes, took in a deep breathe of cigarette and perfume filled air, opened her eyes, and let all the breath out: simultaneously emptying her lungs and knotting her stomach. She was ready. She smiled as the distinct voice of Chris Brown crooned:

“Hands up in the air. I just want the, I just want the baddest bitch in the woorld right here on my lap…”

Her teeth peeked through lips shinning with gloss as she put her left hand through her hair to massage her scalp and laughed. The song was a good sign. She let it wash over her with its promises and underlying plea, and let Chris Brown convince her to have an awesome first-night-ever-at-a-club.

It wasn’t hard to find them: the evil trio who were her flatmates. They were arguably the classiest ladies at the club, and seated at the best spot: the one farthest from the blaring speakers. She smiled as she saw them: they were laughing at something and hitting on the table. Two hands rose, obscuring her view of them, and that’s when she noticed they weren’t alone at the table. There were males there too, their backs to her.

Is he stripping? The hand that had obscured her view itself got obscured by a shirt, and she had just decided that he was indeed stripping when he flexed his shoulders, first the left then the right. Her lips formed a pout, and her eyebrows furrowed in puzzlement. They are sharing a table with hunky exhibitionists? She may have turned back then; she would never know though because she didn’t get a chance to think about it before:

“Heeey! Lade is here”

The joyful scream over the croon of the speakers snatched her attention back to the beautiful trio who were already on their feet grinning, arms extended in wait for hugs. She might have floated those last few steps, because she had no sooner taken a step than she was covered in hugs and screams of “you came!” She was grinning like a lunatic when the hugs were all done, and making to sit down when she once again noticed the males at the table. They were all standing, and looked like they were awaiting hugs of their own. One eyebrow perked in question at Taiye, who was standing by her left as she inclined her head barely perceptibly in the direction of the males; wordlessly asking her question.

“Ooh, Lade. These are Tade, Kunmi and Seyi. You know Idowu. Tade is our childhood friend, Kunmi is his best friend, and Seyi is Lara’s childhood friend. Erm, this is Lade, our fifth flatmate.”

It was Kehinde, standing to her right, who had done the introductions.

“Why don’t I get an introducing though? It might be too dark for her to know it’s I”

“If I wasn’t sure, you just helped clarify now. Shebi?”

Idowu pouted and crossed his arms on his chest, making grumbling noises. They all laughed at his comic whining, she shook hands with Tade, Kunmi and Seyi, and hugged Idowu to fake-placate him. Kunmi was the one whose hands had blocked her view when she first came in, and looking at him made her feel strange tingles. After trying unsuccessfully to dispel the tingles, she decided he was too handsome and an exhibitionist; so she couldn’t like him.

She had interrupted a game of cards; except it hadn’t been an ordinary game of cards. They were playing truth or dare with a twist. Whenever a female in heels passed, the person with the highest card value got to either tell a truth or be dared; and the first person to check up could dare or request a truth of everyone. The game was dangerous, so dangerous it was like the song of the mythic Sirens: seductive and irresistible. They could not control when a female in heels would pass, and they would all be in a frenzy to both check up first and make sure no one else did. It was an almost-irresistible temptation, but she was not dubbed the sensible flatmate for not resisting temptations, so she was going to sit out the game when:

“Don’t even think about being chicken and chirping rain check. You’re the reason I had to take my shirt off in this cold.”

It was Kunmi and he was scowling at her. She could have laughed and said oow poor you, but his eyes were half-challenging, half-mocking. It was the I-challenge-you-because-I-know-you-can-do-diddly-squat dare; and that was more insult than dare or challenge in her books.

“May I have my cards please?”

Her voice was sweet hemlock; too silky, too polite, too smooth. Her smile was too surreal, too bright, her eyes flashing daggers and zeroed on Kunmi. Her thoughts, well, that was the barrage of unnice words: crazy ass, half naked male, mocking my ability to play a simple game of cards… idiot fellow, like I sent him to not keep his card value down and somewhere in the back of her head was the tiny sing-song crooning this is such a bad baaaad idea.

Many many minutes later, Lade was having a very great game and the reasons were not far fetched. She was the only one who had neither been dared nor told a truth. She was also nursing shots of vodka- another fruit of the mocking lift of half naked idiot male Kunmi’s infuriating eyebrows and her flatmates sheltering her like she was a child- and we all know vodka does tend to make the world seem like a place to be happy in. More than all these though, she was on her way to a gloating “check up”. The thought of it made her smile as she imagined the drama of it and mentally rehearsed: hold on, hold on, pick two, general market, semi last card, hold on, last card, check up! She had carefully steered her cards and the game; she could practically feel the exhilaration of it oozing out of her ears.

“Heels! Drop cards!”

Lade’s eyes could have popped out of their sockets as Idowu pointed to the female in the sheer red thing passing their table, feet encased in heels so high it temporarily distracted Lade from the game: how can she walk on such high stilletoes at this hour of the night in this place and look so darn comfortable? That’s just so witchy! Lara’s nudge stole her back to the game and she quickly called out her total, impatient to get her eyes back to the lady and watch if there was some trick to wearing heels with a catwalk and painlessly:


She did not see the grins, her eyes were back to the stilletoed feet. She however heard the silence bear quietly, so immediately the stilettoes strode out of view she turned back to them expectant, trying and failing to remember if there had been any rule about taking turns to truth or dare others.

This looks bad. The thought resounded in her head just before Kehinde happily announced that Lade had the highest number of cards. The announcement dropped on her quick, but understanding dawned slowly. Oh… this is bad. Baaad baaaad bad. They were staring at her expectantly; she had to decide if to tell a truth or be dared. Truth, dare, truth, dare…mini mini mani mo… Truths have been really bloody, dares not so much. What’s the worst I can be dared to do sef? There’s enough to strip without exposing any skin, I should be safe.


“Good then. I get dibs, her heels cost me my shirt”

Everyone agreed, nodding and humming as Kunmi claimed the right to dare Lade. Everyone, that is, except Lade who was shaking her head most vigorously, thinking “why didn’t I see this coming? That grin on his face is wolfish vampirish. I can smell trouble. Ooh I’m so in soup!” She had just managed to calm her jittery nerves with the thought that whatever dare it was would only make her check up that much more victorious and satisfying, when:

“Twerk on my dick.”

A pause; silence fell on the entire group like they had all forgotten to breathe. Kunmi pushed his chair back, stretched out one leg, then the other, relaxing against the chair so his thighs were splayed and meaningfully apart, placed his cards face down on the table, and dropped his hands beside the chair loosely. He then squared Lade with an intense stare, smiling with the silent menace of a lion eyeing a helpless deer, and spoke again; voice quiet, husky, and slow:

“I dare you to twerk on my dick.”

Lade’s mouth opened, closed, opened again, and closed again. Her eyes felt like they were popping out, she was blinking a lot trying to keep them in their sockets. Twerk on his dick? Like twerk fabled Miley Cyrus weird butt-body movement twerk? I never bothered with that video… oh shit.  She reached for her phone and was about to seek Google when she figured that probably worse than having to do some weird butt movement would be not knowing how to, especially as it was supposed to be a ‘rave’. Quickly excusing herself from the group on pretense of an urgent need to pee and clutching her phone desperately, she went to the room marked “ladies”.

Hunh? That’s a twerk? Who does that? Her head bent left, then right, trying to catch all the angles of this weird dance she had been dared to do. As she pondered the mysteries of the twerk, her brain caught up with the rest of what he had said, and she thought: he didn’t say I should twerk, like do this dance, on his dick; did he? He couldn’t have said I should twerk on his dick; could he? I mean, he wouldn’t expect that I should hunt his dick and do this on it; would he? It would be an erotic sexual overture and therefore wrong, shebi? Satisfied that she had heard wrong, she exited the ladies, gathering her wits about her. Darkly satisfied he hadn’t set a time, she decided she was dancing only one song and convinced herself not to worry: it would be over before I get to break my waist or feel too stupid.

Back at the table she dropped her phone, stood facing him and declared:

“One song”

He nodded in agreement. When Talk Dirty aired next, she figured she couldn’t have chosen a better song to twerk to; it would be over in less than 3 minutes, and the beat wasn’t too fast. Slowly, she rolled her waist as she had seen in one of the You Tube videos; getting the first feel of the dance and thinking “I just might break my waist afterall”. The next second, she had a more serious concern as one of Kunmi’s hands clasped her waist pausing her movement, then pulled her slowly down to his body. Her back was to him so she threw her head back, puzzlement etched on her face. He snaked his hand around her waist, holding her to him, her body sliding down his upepr torso in a way that made those strange tickles start over again this time with goose bumps too; unfortunately something was stuck in her throat so she couldn’t tell him he was touching her pretty improperly. When her ears were at his lips he whispered in a throaty mumur:


She rolled her eyes, thinking I was just getting started now, wasn’t I? Can’t exactly go butt-grinding and circling all at once, can I? What’s his bloody problem anyway? Sending tingles up and down my spine to ask for something he was already getting anyway; like the twerk embarassment wasn’t horrible enough. She cleared the funny thing off her throat and was about to tell him to go to hell when he started:

“Ssssh. On my dick.”

Her eyebrows furrowed, he stared her straight in the eyes. Then said, punctuating each word:

Twerk. On. My. Dick.


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