The Agbo Seller Who Wasn’t Cheap

Oftentimes when our teachers would ask us as little kids what our dreams and aspirations were, o was never one to raise up my hand because I was not like the other kids. I didn’t dream to become a doctor or lawyer or engineer, my dream leaned more rather to such queerness as I was sure the teachers and other kids would laugh at.
I wanted so badly to be a traffic warden, and I soon realized this couldn’t have made any sense to anyone at that time.
But when growing up, I realized what abysmal pay they received, I abandoned that dream with alacrity.
My mom taught a little school and went to work every other weekday while her husband, my dad, was a civil servant. I was still trying to get into University two years after I had graduated high school and I still was at sea over the man I was born to be.
All I knew was how much I enjoyed invading the pussy of girls in my neighborhood.
I was only 19 going on 20 but I had already had an agreeable body count of lays; Chiamaka, our neighbor, and five or six prostitutes.
The first prostitute blew out in a rage and sent me out of the room because I took too long to explode and, as she claimed, I was too big and made the sex rather painful to her. Chiamaka also started running away from me after I banged her silly on my dad’s couch and observed a funny halt in her step the week following.
The third prostitute returned my money after a few minutes of hard pounding. And the experience with the rest hadn’t been any less savoury as well.
I now was on the prowl for fresh meat.
At this time, a great blow to my sexcapades, my dad had just gotten into retirement from civil service and was always home. Thus bringing girls home was off the table for me and I had to find a substitute for a slaughterhouse. I also reckoned at this period that there was no way in hell I was gonna be a civil servant after my dad, retire to home life and stymie the youthful adventures of my kids as my dad was doing mine now.
I was just between these musings when I got wind of a guest house just 3 blocks down had opened shop and did short time for cheap. It dawned on me then that my school-hunt would tragically have to spill into a third year straight.
Ibadan where I lived, girls like to front a lot feigning to be good girls even after slutting it out with you in the room. Their ‘good girl’ image was held close to heart, only those guys who have laid them could see through them.
So it was no particular surprise to me when every attractive girl in the area backed off as soon as I mentioned Favour guest house. But I needed so badly to empty my full tank, so the frustration was quickly getting to me.
I was off to watch a premier league match one sunny Saturday when a girl hawking agbo just around the corner invited me to have a cup. I ogled her, perusing her thick luscious lips, wide hips, and huge breasts. I could see also her big ass from the front. I just could tell. I always had a thing for thick women so, to lure her in, I told her I needed a small amount of ‘everything’ she had in my cup and that, naturally, I would have to test the efficacy of her agbo. She chuckled and suggested I go do that with my girlfriend to which I quickly replied I had no girlfriend. She gasped, exclaiming why that was, seeing as how pretty I was for a guy. With light jest and rigorous flirting, we exchanged numbers.
When I called her in the evening after watching the match and asked for her to me at Favour guest house, she blurted out quickly, “We no go fuck o, fine boy!” I laughed dismissively and said we were just chatting over a few cold drinks, that’s all. She hadn’t need to fear. She promised to meet me at the guest house in some half hour or so after bathing and freshening up.
I biked to the guest house in flurried anticipation and quickly confirmed from the bartender there how cheap it was for short time on an hourly basis. I ordered a bottle of malt and bought the bartender a bottle of whatever he wanted as well.
When the agbo seller called that she was outside, I had the bartender point her in my direction.
She had on a short, tight blue dress with a V-neck that exposed her cleavage and betrayed the ampleness of her breasts. She had a bottle of big stout and I could start to feel my shaft tearing against my shorts, seeking release frantically.
After downing her bottle whole, I bade her come inside with me in privacy to finish our robust conversation. Before she could make to decline, I stood up and went inside to get a key from the bartender.
I went back outside to her, offered my hand, and she took it while whispering to me she is not cheap like
other agbo sellers and that I will not have her to fuck as I aimed
I grinned in seeming agreement as I led her into the room.


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