Mixvariance, the only three-storey nightclub within a one-mile radius in the city center, was packed – but not too packed, I observed, as we walked in. Under the revolving disco lights that were flashing rainbows of colors, faces altered from one shade to another as frenzied night clubbers danced and caroused to the deafening techno music. The bar on the ground floor had a fairly long queue even when the attendants behind the counters were working deftly to service incoming orders.
At a near-shadowy corner, some guy, who looked wobbly on his feet, was kissing a girl and squeezing her bottom through her skimpy-short red dress. 
I realized I hadn’t been to the club since my drunken incident that had left me with my briefs and a massive hangover under a public tree. If I had my way, I’d rather be fast asleep under the solace of my duvet. But Franklin, my lawn tennis partner, was returning to India the following week. He had told me that he needed to party hard for one last time before going off to marry a lady he had only known a couple of weeks. Before today, he had never requested a favor so I had accepted his invitation without an ounce of objection. It was the least I could do in return for the lawn tennis tutelage I received from him. 
This level blows! Let’s go upstairs! The music is more international! And swaying hips are aching to be held!’ Franklin’s Indian friend, Sri bellowed, nudging towards a staircase on the right. He was a burly dude with a confident face.  The next floor was not as crowded and, after a quick examination, it had more multi-ethnic faces. The ambient Caribbean music was good and my head swayed in response. We headed straight for the bar. Franklin ordered a shot of tequila, downed it and shook his head as if to mellow the effect of the drink. Sri ordered four, downed them and howled like a wolf, startling the lady beside him, instigating her to tip over some of the scarlet liquid in her wineglass. She muttered something in French irritably.
I requested a glass of red wine. Getting wasted wasn’t in my agenda. 
‘Time to get the party started!’ Sri called, and hit the dance floor. 
 I’m getting married in a few weeks,’ Franklin said brusquely, an edge of grimness to his tone. ‘I deserve to get laid tonight – or at least try to get laid. Join me?’
‘Nah, I’d rather just watch. Go do your thing man.’ As if by cue, a familiar West African track rolled over the now dying predecessor, reminding me of an e-video I viewed of two African ladies twerking to the very song. He shrugged and joined Sri on the dance floor. Sri already had a dance partner, his hands expertly on her waist as she thrust her hips into him in a circling seduction motion. What a guy! I thought before snaking through night clubbers to find a vacant a bench.
I had only just taken a seat when a heavily inebriated, obese brunette lumbered up to me and sat on my lap. I gently pushed her so that she sat by my side. 
‘Hullo chocolate pudding!’ She said, leaning over, her face was almost touching mine. Her breath reeked with the blazing stench of ingested alcohol. ‘Want a shag on the house, my lovely?’ I held back the laughter rising in my throat. ‘I’ll pass thanks.
Your loss,’ she said and struggled to her feet. 
She was barely three feet away when she fell flat on her face. 
I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t hold it any more. I exploded into hysterical
laughter. Two tall, muscular security guards appeared, picked her up effortlessly and led her away.  And then something connected with the right side of my face: moist, stinging and shocking. I jumped on my feet, fists clenched. I turned in the direction of my assailant. Her sight caused me to groan and my fists relaxed, dropping weakly to my side. It was Sumbo.
And at that moment, my palm connected with his face. Overwhelming was the emotional surge that had possessed me when I saw him laughing at the obese lady, who had been escorted out by security. The truth be told, the slap wasn’t for the lady, but an outlet for the raging winds of emotions I hadn’t realized were so strong until now.
His response had been so comical that I would have cachinnated, if my motive wasn’t founded on hurt.  He was speechless, an aura of surprise and humiliation over his face. And then he broke the spell: ‘Why did you do that?’ His question sounded incredulous to my ears.
Perhaps I shouldn’t have slapped him but oblivion to the question – Why? Perhaps he needed to be reminded: ‘Why? You ask me why?’ My voice was raised and I felt the presence of an audience but I couldn’t care less. ‘I’ll tell you why. My friend had an accident, and you all but fled. The idiot that I am, I called you every day for five weeks, and you couldn’t so much as pick the phone and tell me off. Who does that?’ I sighed, and my voice dropped to a whisper. ‘Who?’ Suddenly he looked drained and vulnerable. And instantly I wished I could take it all back. He muttered something inaudible, ran a palm over his face, and said: ‘I’m sorry.’ He got up and slowly walked away.  It was as if all my energy had been spent so I took a seat. I looked around. The audience had resumed dancing, all except Akin and Beatrice, who were looking at me with compassion. Akin dislodged his arm from Beatrice and strode up to me. His arm relaxed on my shoulder. ‘He is a fool, but perhaps you need to hear him out. You owe yourself that, at least. 
A drop of tear slid down my cheeks and I wiped it off with an arm. I nodded, and went after Tubosun. He was the last on a queue waiting to be served by a line of taxis. My pace slowed as I closed in. He was slouched, his face hidden from sight. I could tell he was still miserable. It tore my heart to know I was responsible for this.
I’m sorry,’ I said ruefully as I reached his side.   He turned to look at me. There were no tears but tears would have been better than the distraught on his face now. ‘It was – was my fault. I – I killed her,’ he quavered as the queue moved on.   I was taken aback but unafraid. Something told me that there was more to this statement. Nevertheless, I glanced nervously at the couple in front of him, but they were too drunk to care, as they got into the cab.  Another cab rolled to a halt in front of him. He simply pulled the door open and got in. I followed. 
Where to?’ the driver inquired. Tubosun said nothing.
 ‘Where to?’ he asked again. This time his tone was sounded slightly disgruntled.
‘12a, Midgate Avenue,’ Tubosun replied finally. 
I could tell from his intermittent pauses and conspicuous facial strains, as we sat on his single bed, that it was torture for him to relive that past, but he finally completed the tale about Beatrice and the events that led to her death. ‘You see,’ he said grimly, looking down at his thighs. ‘I killed my best friend.’
Now, I saw the correlation between the news of Akin’s accident and the way he had responded.  Again, a pang of guilt hit home for my behavior in the club. I told myself I’d try to remedy his situation. ‘I’m sorry to hear about the death of your friend.’ I paused. This was delicate ground and I had to choose my words wisely. ‘I can see how you feel responsible for her death. But the responsibility wasn’t all yours.
Now from what you’ve told me, it is safe to conclude that she was an adult, capable of making rational decisions. The fact that she didn’t consider it necessary to see a doctor after the incident suggests it was an honest mistake – one that
could have been made by anyone.’
I allowed this to sink in for effect. His head was bowed, and I wanted to hold him in my arms and kiss his sorrow away. ‘We all make mistakes, Tubosun. And I know this particular one might appear too heavy to let go, but you have to. Let it go.  From what you’ve told me about her, she wouldn’t want you to lead your life this way. She would want you to move on.’
‘I – I can’t just forget her,’ he said. 
Forget her? No. Don’t forget her. Remember the fun times you shared. Remember her at her best. Remember that you are doing her memory honor by being happy. You have to move on. For her and for yourself.’ I also wanted to say for me but I didn’t.
With that he looked up. Seeing tears cascading down his eyes, I couldn’t restrain the urge anymore so I wiped his wet cheeks with my palms and kissed his lips.  He slowly pulled back. ‘Thank you,’ he said. Then his eyes registered realization and then he smiled. ‘You know I haven’t shed a tear since I learnt of her admission to the hospital.’ With that his lips found mine, and we kissed. He pulled back again. ‘I apologize for being an asshole. I like you very much, more than I have ever liked anyone in a very long time. But the more I realized this, the more the memory of Beatrice reared up. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something terrible would happen if I gave in to the feeling.’ Now it all made sense. Every action he had taken, from our first meeting, seemed justified. I was joyous about the like piece of information. Suddenly, I ached for him. And now couldn’t be postponed. I turned my back to him. ‘Unzip me, please.’ My voice sounded hushed and I wondered if he heard.  But he did. I felt steady fingers sliding my zip downwards till it reached the barrier. My heart was racing now. I slowly got up and slid out of my dress and everything else. His eyes seemed to be executing an unhurried scan of my naked frame: from my face to my round orange-sized breasts, lingering a while on the curve of my hips, before settling on the v-shaped strands of pubic hair. His perusal would have been unnerving, but for the mirror of his eyes: Pure, unadulterated hunger. His breathing was heavy and unsteady as he unbuckled the belt of his denim. He hurriedly got out his clothes. Perhaps I was inundated with lust and fantasy was clouding reality, but his chocolate skin was glowing like freshly oiled timber in sunlight. My gaze drew a line down to the little man between his legs. In truth it wasn’t little by a minuscule stretch but was erect and curious. The little lady between my thighs blushed in response. 
I lay on the bed and he dropped to his knees. He started with my legs, dropping soft tantalizing kisses, slowly working his way up. His lips felt like warm honey. My body shuddered helplessly and I closed my eyes as he drew closer to my v-region. But to my surprise, he ignored it and proceeded to my belly. I moaned in delightful sexual agony. Then, I felt his teeth on an erect nipple, pinching the other one at the same time. I moaned helplessly. He was lying on me now. Every curve of my breast was explored by his lips. Every time he touched my nipples, I received
a jolt of ecstasy.  I opened my eyes as his lips found mine. My body was trembling now, as the rhythms of our heart synchronized in magnetic oneness. Suddenly, I didn’t want foreplay anymore. I couldn’t wait.
Take me,’ I whispered. ‘Please. 
And in that moment, he did.
Kreate is a budding Nigerian writer with a flair for fiction. Writing for him began sometime in secondary school where he dabbled in poetry and plays. He has authored two self-published short novels. He is a banker and lives in Surulere. Read more interesting pieces at KREATEATALE