Maybe a Rubberband story

First off, no, it is not a true story. I was ehm..researching some stuff and err..I discovered something. Anyway, it was worthy of a story so..

Secondly, it’s the Nigerian Blog Awards, and ehm…a bit late, but I would love to appeal to all of you dear and beloved readers to nominate us! Scroll down the page for the direct link to nominate! Thankee very nicely! 😀


Maybe a rubber band story Ah whatever.. Maybe A Rubber band story.

You go tie am with rubberband...”

“Hehe..are you serious?”


“Is that what you do?”

“Yes na! See, e even dey help you two ways..”

Femi looked incredulously at his friend. They were sitting on a bench in front of his compound watching the day as it crept closer towards sunset. And as is common when young men in their early twenties sit together, the conversation had gradually drifted to girls and sex.

“Let me tell you something,” Ade, his friend was saying. “I’ve been in this situations many times. These days, condoms are not properly manufactured. They no longer cover the entire penis. So what do you do?”

Femi was tempted to remark on the fact that perhaps, as he had grown up until ‘these days’ maybe, the size of his phallus had grown also, and perhaps the inability for the condom to completely cover his penis didn’t depend on the manufacturers. But he thought better of it.

The topic at hand was quite simple. Femi had been narrating a tale, an unfortunate event that had occurred to him just a few days ago.

Ada had come to visit. For the first time, after many failed and broken promises, she had arrived at his front door. As is customary with such assignations, he had bought her a plate of fried rice and chicken from a quite reputable eatery, stocked his fridge with every kind of suitable drink, and then placed a six-roll of condoms in the bedside drawer.

The conversation had been pleasant, and he had been at his most hospitable, gregarious and seductive. Soon she was moaning under his kisses while he fished about in the near darkness for the packets of polyurethane that ensured impervious ecstasy. As usual, after rolling it up, the rubber came up, or down, only halfway.

Femi slipped in nevertheless. Or, he tried to slip in, and despite having no claim to her virtue, found his passage into Ada to be not only decidedly furry, but also quite incommodious. But he was a man of action, and restrictions be damned, he went on.

Friction, physics and the natural laws of adhesion and cohesion came in to play, and while Femi hammered, all thoughts to the wind, he came to realise that the slip of impregnability that lay between himself and Ada’s innards was quite literally rubbing off.

But with the drums of perseverance roaring, quite indulgently, in his ears and varying sorts of madness pulsing through his veins, he kept on, pushing and pulling, ramming harder and harder, noting with amazing clarity and as yet unconcerned mien that the passage was suddenly, infinitely more pleasurable, that every sensation was utterly more vivid. And a nagging thought at the back of his mind that perhaps, something was amiss.

Then Ada went from, “Oh..ahh..” and the names of various persons and phrases from her native tongue to, “Ouch! Stop!”

And Femi did, or at least slowed, confusion and disorientation fighting a battle with lust upon his face.

“You’re hurting me!” she screamed, not quite loudly, but loudly enough. Perhaps insistently is a better word.

And so, Femi pulled out, and realised to his shock that he was bare. Not the sense of being unclothed or the cool consciousness of the cold air against his exposed buttocks made him note this; rather it was the simple absence of the condom from his erect member. Startled, his eyes searched the dishevelled sheets for the yellow piece of rubber that would confirm his sanity, but he could not find it. In those seconds, his thoughts went from amazed to bewildered to scared.

Again, Ada said, “I’m hurting.”

In that instant, comprehension descended like the beam of a high-powered halogen bulb.

“Can you open your legs a bit?” he ventured tentatively, his penis now a shrivelled piece of flesh.

And therein began the longest and weirdest procedure he ever [and he hoped, ever will] had to perform. After explaining to an astonished and almost enraged Ada, he dipped his index and middle fingers into the cavern which formed her centre. A place which was, for quite obvious reasons, now shrivelled in size and a dry as the crook of an elbow. He began to probe as gently as he could. Finally, thanking his stars, his long fingers and quite ironically, his Creator [Me, of course], he felt the polyurethane constitution of the condom deep within her.

Slowly, in order not to hurt Ada, who was resting on her elbows, her head angled over her waist, trying impatiently to peer into herself, he eased the rubber towards the opening. All the while, he cursed at his fate, the makers of condoms worldwide and thought about how he could remedy the failed situation with Ada. With these thoughts rattling about feverishly in his brain, it was hardly surprising that he managed to lose his hold on the condom more than a few times, having to remove and reinsert his fingers all the way into the female, again and again. It also did not help that quite amazingly; the tunnel began to secrete moisture afresh, resulting in his losing hold more and more often. It did help though that Ada no longer peered over his shoulders, but instead lay almost motionless, her head lolled to a side, her chest heaving in panting spasms.

Finally, after maybe fifteen minutes of gradual pulling and prodding, he had the condom out. Both of them examined the material for signs of blood or any other suspicious fluid or tissue. There was none. Ada whereupon left his house, after dressing up and consigning the rubber to the toilet of course, her ears deaf to his entreaties, apologies, jokes and apparent concern for the pains in his testicles.

So it was that his friend, Ade, visited the next week and while the discussion drifted on a myriad of topics, he asked:

“How far Ada?”

Wherewith this story was told and his friend had exclaimed:

You go tie am wit’ rubberban’!”

Initially, in compliance with the naïveté his friend constantly accused him of; Femi had assumed Ade wanted him to tie the girl with a rubber band, and he had almost laughed at the apparent attempt to make him laugh. One look at Ade’s face however, stripped him of his mirth and reaffirmed his belief in his friend’s insanity.

“Hehe..” he managed weakly. “Are you serious?”

“Yes na! See, e even dey help you two ways…”

Whereupon Ade explained that in order to prevent a condom from slipping down (or up as it should be), the length (or head) of an erect penis, one had to fasten the open end of the condom with a rubber band!

“E dey also help you preserve your stiffness even if you come quick.”

The evening sun waned in the west, the orange glow disappearing over the top of the building in front of them. On the street, young girls walked by, legs wrapped skin tight in material almost as tight as a condom, or perhaps tighter, Femi corrected himself. He caught himself wondering if he could casually sidle up to one of the girls rub her legs, and watch the material run downwards to her toes.

Those girls wey dey tight wella, na dem dey cause this thing pass. And most of them no dey wet,” Ade went on with his recondite air.

For his part, Femi wondered. He wondered as it struck him at how close they had been to a quite unfortunate complication. What if the condom had stuck deeper into her and a surgical operation had had to have been carried out to save her life? What if the situation had degenerated into a form of Toxic Shock Syndrome? Ah well, no time for that now. His attention was drawn to a figure that approached down the road.

Those people wey dey fuck nyash, e dey happen well well for their side. The condom always dey fall inside. Me I no fit fuck nyash oh!

The figure drew closer. Femi smiled.

Some people even dey lick nyash! Which kind madness be that? Cool down carry your mouth put am for nyash…

“Hi,” said Funke as she stopped in front of the two men, her buxom figure blocking out the rest of the twilight.

“Hi,” smiled Femi as he stood up. “Nice hairdo.”

“Thanks,” came the soft voice. Ade was shocked into silence.

Femi waved a goodbye to his friend as he opened the gate. Ade smiled to himself, his grin widening as he heard:

“Your braids, how d’you hold them up? Rubber band?”


(<_< )...
(<_< )…


  • Nope. No resemblance to persons living or dead. Though I admit, I do know a buxom Funke.
  • Condoms really do fall into vaginas. Hell, in perhaps 2% of all sexual experiences worldwide.

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Peace to Nigeria.

A weed story..

Truth be told, I don’t recall exactly how it started.
If I think back though, it was that day at Femi’s birthday. You see, Femi has been my closest friend since we were kids in secondary school. Seat mate, best friend, wingman, refuge – when having to hide in his locker from seniors, etc. You see, our school was a boarding school and Femi’s locker was large enough to handle an El Classico match with the fans and overhead blimp.
NB: A blimp is that balloon-like air-ship hanging above stadia (plural for stadium) which is used to video the match.
Have never noted a blimp being used to video El Classico before, but who knows?
Ehen, have you guys heard this joke?

Q: Why is a stadium always so cool?
A: Because there are so many fans!

Hahahahaha! Funny right? Right? Yes? Okay.

Anyway, I and Femi were really tight(no homo), you know, friend-that-sticketh-closer-than-a-brother, that kind of thing. Though in Femi’s case, that wasn’t optional. He was an only child.

So, that day at his birthday party, which I practically threw him, being my guy and all, I perceived marijuana smoke for the very first time.
I was in 300L, College of Medicine, University of Benin and I had never seen, not to talk of percieved marijuana in my life! It is shameful! I would feel worse if, Femi who was in Faculty of Engineering, that den within which marijuana is planted, grown, cultivated, revered and worshipped by both lecturers
and students alike, knew what marijuana looked like.

Well, he didn’t. Until that day.

There is something about the scent of marijuana.
As the gray smoke courses into your nostrils, your senses are pervaded by different sensations at the same time. Especially if it’s the first time you perceive it. First, there is the sensation of sweetness. It has this sickly sweet smell, like half-rotted pineapples or a mildly suppurating sore, that just drags your attention and orders you to take a deeper breath.
NB: Suppurating sore —-» Basically means a wound with pus streaming out. Eg: The Candida-stricken female had a suppurating sore between her…okay ewwwww!
Moving on!
Secondly, you feel hunger! There is an urge to extreme hunger when the marijuana hits the neurons of the palate behind your nostrils. You just wanna eat! With this feeling comes an urge to violence, a desperate need and finally and hint of danger, and then fear.
Okay, truth be told, I can’t really tell, but these were the feelings that assailed me that evening.
The marijuana smoke was curling out the mouth of one of our friends, a fellow medical student, though older colleague (500L) who we all knew was involved in some shady business. He leaned against the wall of the Ekosodin hostel, surrounded by five obviously stoned cronies and said, “Femi, show.”
So we both went.
When I think back, maybe I should have pretended I didn’t hear, os didn’t see him, or was busy doing something else. But no, I went forward.
“Nice party here,” he grinned, pointing at two bum-short clad females. “Join us drag small.”
It was no request.
He handed the blunt to us. We dragged.

Much else of the night remains a blur, but the next morning I woke up in another hostel in Ekosodin and I felt weird.
This is how the sensations came in.
First, there was a feeling of being cramped, like my hand was held down by something. Then I opened my eyes and stared straight into Brazil. Brazilian hair covered my face. That was when I realised I wasn’t in my room. I took a brief look around. It was obviously a girls room, and the girl lying on my arm was probably the owner.
That was when I felt the second sensation. I felt sticky and clamped down there. Y’know, down there! Then I realised I had obviously slept…in vivo.

NB: in vivo ——–» (latin) meaning inside/within Eg: The bushmeat lies in vivo the Ogbolo soup

The girl was one of the bum-short girls from earlier. It was 10:52:21 AM and so, I woodened and she woke up smiling. I then went in vitro, and in vivo again. Let us just say, I had a very wonderful after party.
But that is not the issue.

In the days that were to come, I participated a little more frequently in the marijuana parties. But I had nothing on Femi. Femi was moving ahead ahead! With speed! Literally. In mere weeks, he was on speed, crack, code and SK. It was too fast. I tried to talk him to slow down, I did everything I could, but he’ll always say he was fine. That semester, Femi who is usually a very good B student, had perfect A scores and was congratulated by the Dean even.
“You see, it’s working for me bro,” he said.
I was afraid.
But in my own studies too, life had gotten a lot more colourful, MBBS was a blast, after all, in Anatomy class, the cadavers had gotten into the habit of smiling and talking with me. But I was doing better in school and more bum-short girls were strolling my way. All was well.
All was very well..
Until I came home one day and met Femi crying. He’s my roommate you know. Oh you do? Okay. Femi was crying. It was confusing. At first I thought his father or mother had died, so I dropped my bag, sat down and started crying too. I cried for so long, Femi came and started telling me sorry.
“It’s alright bro. It’s alright.”
“Why??” I wailed. “Why???”

NB: I had just smoked hale a blunt of SK before coming home. There is this place at the back of Medical complex that’s just…*sigh*…perfect.

Femi petted me, then he asked, “Why are you crying?”
“Because you were crying na,” I sobbed.
“It’s alright,” he said, seeing nothing wrong with my admission.
It was a very homo moment for us. But we were happy.

Then he told me. He was crying because he did not have money to buy SK. He wanted SK and some speed because, he had a test the next day and he needed to read.
So I stepped out to the ATM, on the way I called my guy. He met me at Staff Quarters and gave me the packets.
This wasn’t the only time.
Femi kept on crashing, and begging and crying, till I refused to borrow him any more money. His parents too started to wonder; when did K. A. Stroud start selling for N22,000?!! This was when he went and ‘borrowed’ about 15kg of SK just before exams. It was worth about N115,000! I don’t know how he managed to convince them to give him on credit, but he did.
Femi smoked the entire pack at a stretch while I was performing in vivo operations in one of my bum-short girls’ house, and passed out. When I came home, I met my closest friend sprawled out comatose on the floor with saliva drooling out his mouth and his blood pressure dangerously low. I rushed him to the hospital where he’s been since last week. His parents came yesterday, and I haven’t smoked more than one blunt of marijuana since.
This afternoon though, some guys came over.
“Who be Femi for this compound?” They asked.
One mumu girl pointed at me. I hate that girl. One mumu goody-two-shoes no-more-a-virgin bitch, always preaching at us. Femi did vivo thing with her once, and was so bored by it, he never answered her calls again.
She has hated us since.
“Who be Femi for this compound?’ Their leader asked.
She pointed at me.

He brought out a gun and shot me.
Two inches above the heart, but somehow the bullet nicked my pulmonary vessels. I could see the cordite and smoke issuing from my wound as I slumped slowly to the ground. My shirt was soaked crimson.
“Next time you go pay!” the men shouted before running away.
They are rushing me to the hospital now, but is is already too late. I wish I could tell them, but blood bubbles out my mouth each time I try to speak. And this idiot is telling me to save my strength and don’t talk. What do you know? My sooted lungs are drowned in blood already. If someone here has a ball-point pen, they should pierce it through my side into my lungs to give me air and drain the blood. But they don’t know..
I have taken a bullet for my friend. All because my name is also Femi..
Goodbye cruel world!
And to think it all began at Femi’s birthday party…

*I have never, despite various temptations, and would never indulge in the partaking of hard drugs.
*This is not a true story.
*All knowledge of medical ish comes from my microbiology degree and well, numerous TV shows! Hehehe

That ‘Brazil’ reference was funny shey? Shey? I know. I’ve always wanted to be able to write something with ‘Goodbye cruel world!!’ Hehehehehe! See..2013 is a year of happy and glorious achievements!

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NB: Still waiting for more entries for the position (hehehehehe) of my co-writer. Send e-mail with a sample of what you can do to


NB: The Federal Ministry of Health warns that smokers are liable to die young. #TrueStory

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