Love's Fool - Episode 1

 

BEFORE I BEGIN my story I’d like to say a few words about love. No doubt, it’s a beautiful thing. And yes, being in love with someone who sincerely reciprocates it is nothing short of divine.

So, when you do find true love, hold it dearly, nurture it carefully, and, more importantly, treat it with the respect it deserves.

It is true that love hurts. But don’t let us forget...it also heals.

Here is my story…

I was reliable informed, by my parents, that I came into this world on a rainy Monday night, in the month of July, in the late 70’s . My mother had just finished eating dinner, and was about to drink a glass of water, when she felt some contractions in her stomach. After the last one her water broke.

My father, along with a few neighbours, promptly rushed her to a hospital, which was fortunately nearby. Within thirty minutes of arriving at the medical centre my mother gave birth to me.

My name is Fredrick Etoa. But you, like everyone does, can simply call me Fred. The only exception to this name calling is my mother. She calls me Freddie. I know it sounds girlish. But, hey, she’s my mother, okay?

I’m the last child in a family of five: my parents, and two older siblings – a boy and a girl. My parents are Christians

All episodes of this story can be found here >> https://www.ebonystory.com/story/love-s-fool

. But my mother is more devout than my father. Naturally we, the kids, were raised with sound Christian morals. We were good kids. And I believe we still are.

My parents were traders. They owned two shops at Tabade Market – located at Yaba – in Lagos State, where they sold curtain materials. They were well-to-do, and this reflected in my siblings and I being well catered for.

Like I said earlier, we were properly brought up – in addition to the fact that the three of us were born into a church, firmly grounded in the doctrine of holiness.

As a good kid I did my best not to be enslaved by any vice. Oh, no, don’t get me wrong. I said I was a good kid. I never said I was a perfect one.  

Now, I’m the precocious type. I’ve always being that way from childhood. I like discovering new stuff. For instance, at the age of seven, while most of my mates were still busy cuddling up to their toys I already knew a thing or two about sex. Thanks to Helen – the house help we had back then. I believed she really liked me. So I guessed that was why she usually gave me full access to fondle her intimate parts anytime we were both alone together.

She was twenty-one at this time. She encouraged me, citing reasons I can’t quite remember, to engage in sex as early and as often as possible.

I also guessed that contributed to why I had my first sexual encounter with a lady who was eleven years my senior. I was fifteen then. I won’t bore you with the details of how that went.

Read " Black Pages Of The Past " by the same author ( Ikenna Igwe )

. But I can tell you, for sure, that the entire body chemistry was, for me, a rather noxious experience.

For my partner, however, it was thorough bliss as she wildly, like some depraved maniac, milked every drop of pleasure she could get from me. She was quite hell bent on solely satisfying herself – without the slightest regard for my well being, internally or otherwise.

Sadly, she was one of those women who are moved more by their bodies than by their brains – and definitely not my type. Consequently I broke up with her – a break up that was easy since I felt no ounce of love for her.

Anyway let’s move on. Over the years, as I grew older, I had a couple of girlfriends – but no one special. And if you must know, I, with the exception of the lady I mentioned earlier, didn’t have carnal knowledge of any of them – even though almost all of them wanted me to water the entire perimeter of their private gardens. But, truthfully, I wasn’t really interested in sex. My ‘first time’ chiefly took place out of unbridled curiosity; I, acting on the seed already planted in my mind by Helen, wanted to know how the experience felt like, nothing more. And like you already know, it wasn’t fun for me at all.

Now, I didn’t let myself to fall in love with any girl because of a promise I had made to myself, when I was just nine years old. Then, I stated that the only woman I would ever fall in love with – after I must have graduated from the university and secured a good job – would be the one I’d marry.

However, like a coin, there are usually two sides to a promise. It’s either you keep it, or you break it. As it turned out...I broke mine.