LIFE
IS GREY – PILOT
Lagos was pale and
weary but not quite asleep. Lagos never sleeps.
Highway lamps
illuminated dark streets with pale yellow rays, lending shadows behind all
caught in their stares. Traffic was non-existent, goading cars to hit speed
limits or die trying. One or two cars honked for the fun of it, disturbing the
otherwise peaceful atmosphere of Lekki Pennisula. 
We go soon reach there now,’ the taxi man said.
Thank you.’ She knew that. The information provided by the chatty
cabbie with an uneven distribution of grey and black hairs was unnecessary.
They were only a detour away from her destination and the realization suffused
some degree of relief over her body. Really, it wasn’t his loquacious manner
that was the turn off, or the constant, spasmodic bursts from the clogged
silencer, or the clanky jiggling of loose knots from the rickety motorcar.
Three years of work experience had accustomed her to episodes of talkative
drivers and jalopies. What she abhorred about this particular ride was the
smell of rotten fried fish. Every time the taxi man, who referred to himself as
Baba Jay, opened his mouth, an unrestricted supply of fishy odor filled the
car.  To diminish its knockout effect,
she constantly stuck her head through the window. Another option would have
been to tell the man to shut his trap. And she would have, if he was younger or
at most someone in her peer group. Effective socialization from her mother had
instilled a deep obligation to respect elders. And she took her mother’s advice
seriously. Well, most of it.
The car turned into
Road 14. She raised her left wrist and her blue, optical contact lens shot a
glance at a wristwatch: It was 9:23pm. Her appointment was for 10:00pm. She
smiled. Business was business, and she was nothing, if not punctual. 
Number 3 Funke Sabo Street, abi?’ Baba Jay asked.
Yes Sir.’ A swift paint of grimace brushed her façade as soon as
Baba Jay looked away. 
The car turned into a
street, and soon rolled to a stop in front of a two-storey duplex. Its gate was
black, huge, and menacing but it didn’t scare her. After all, it wasn’t her
first time. She alighted from the vehicle, shivered a little. Not from the cold
breeze. It was a simple spontaneous reaction with no obvious foundation. It
happened every time she met with a client. The streetlight’s silver stare
caught her glossy black bob haircut. Her black, tailored-fit, buttoned-downed,
knee-length, lightweight trench coat shone too. Her white ankle-strapped,
high-heeled sandals nicely contrasted the entire outfit. She looked about 5.7
in height.  From her frame, it was fair
to conclude that she was slim, curvy, and moderately endowed, up front and
behind. She retrieved a wad of cash from her leopard-skinned purse, counted
N5000, and paid Baba Jay. 
Thank you, omoge,’ Baba Jay winked mischieviously. ‘Don’t forget to use my card o. Available for
pick up after business,
’ he stated and zoomed off. She shook her head as
the car disappeared. There would definitely be no passenger-driver rerun with
him, for sure. She proceeded to the gate and punched the buzzer. 
Who is there?’ A soft, confident masculine voice sauntered out of
the buzzer’s receiver.
Ashley,’ she responded.
I’ll be over in a second.’ The enthusiasm behind the voice was
palpable. 
Soon the lock
unhatched from the other end, and Ashley stood facing a man of average height
wearing a white t-shirt, grey shorts and black flip flops. She was taller by
two or three inches. He was bald, of an athletic build, and had a broken nose.
He grinned broadly, showing off a recently flossed set of white teeth.  
Hello Ashley. It’s been a year or so. You look lovely.’ He
playfully sniffed the air. ‘Smell nice
too.’
 
CJ, you haven’t aged one bit,’ Ashley said, scanning him again. ‘You look trim and fit.
CJ, initials for
Colonel Johnson, beamed as he shut the door behind them. ‘Life in the Navy does that to you.’
‘That’s
untrue,
’ Ashley stated curtly as they strolled
towards the entrance into a magnificient duplex. ‘We both know that you don’t have to stay trim and fit. I have known a
few military officers who sell rotund bellies.
Sell?’ Colonel Johnson guffawed. ‘Your way with words never seize to amuse me.’ He playfully tugged
at her coat, eyeing her physique appreciatively. ‘I’ve missed the goodies underneath your trunk.
Ashley took his hand
and slipped it through the gap between two mid-section buttons of the coat. His
palm felt delightfully warm against her cool flesh. On some level, she found
CJ’s company comforting and, on odd days like today, sensual too. ‘And the trunk’s eager to reveal its content.
Just then her phone rang and she grimaced. Instinct told her it was her boss,
Dotun. He was the only one who consistently called her at that hour of the day.
Don’t you have to get that?’ The Colonel asked.
The grimace was gone,
replaced by a sensual arch of her eye brows. ‘Nah, I am more invested in the seduction that is about to begin.’
Today was the 16th of
January 2014, and it was significant to Chinwe.
Although the bathroom
door was shut, it wasn’t sound proof. She could hear jets of water splash
against skin. Today’s customer, Alhaji Danjuma, took hygiene seriously. A
shower before and after sex. He was fifty something, Chinwe wasn’t certain, but
he was absolutely sexually virile. Virility was a trait Chinwe valued in sexual
partners. She glanced at the wall clock that hung at a corner of the lavishly
furnished five-star hotel suite. Another appointment had been slated for 10pm,
a mere thirty minutes away. Thankfully, it was in the same hotel. She admired
Alhaji’s uncompromising taste for a sanitary lifestyle but it pissed her off
that he took an unnecessarily long time to clean up.
Chinwe got off the
bed. She had showered and her scent was an amalgam of lavender and lemon. A white
jacket over a simple purple dress and low-heeled black shoes complemented her
ebony black skin. Chinwe was one of the few that could pull off a crew haircut
and still look attractive.  Her
booty-booby endowment also played a vital role in exuding an aura of seduction.
The sound of jetting showers died out. She sauntered to the misty glass
bathroom door and drummed her multicolored fingernails against it. Her voice
was loud but controlled.  Alhaji, please take your time. You know I
have absolutely nothing else to do with my evening! You be woman?’
I’m sorry my love.’ His accent was hausa rich. ‘I’ll be out in a second.’
Come out now. Let me have my fee, then you can continue with your
manicure in the bathroom.
’ She had a strict policy of payment before
pleasure but Alhaji was her longest benefactor and he was the only exception to
the rule.
As you wish my princess,’ he laughed. 
Steps approached from
within and the door knob turned. Chinwe backed up quickly to avoid the
diffusion of steam. Alhaji Danjuma had a white towel wrapped around his waist,
a bulging belly lolled over the top of the towel. He was a huge fair man, with
a bald head, hairy chest, and saggy man boobs. Chinwe was unconcerned about his
looks or those of her other clients. A deep pocket was the only thing that
mattered in her line of business.
Alhaji Danjuma strode
to the drawer beside the double-divan bed and retrieved a purse.  He counted out a wad of notes and handed it
to Chinwe. Chinwe did not bother to count them. Experience had taught her that
Alhaji was a generous tipper.
She grabbed her
handbag, slung it over her shoulder. ‘See
you, same time next week,
’ she pronounced and made for the door.
Hey, young lady,’ Alhaji called. His grin was wide, hearty, and
foolish like that of an unpopular school junior who had just received a wet
kiss from a crush. He placed a finger on his lips. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’
Chinwe hesitated by
the door and looked over her shoulder. ‘Our
appointment for the day is over. You’ll get your kiss next week.
I’ll pay you for it.’ She scoffed. ‘Mugu money spender. Our appointment for the day is over.  With that, she shut the door behind her. 
Chinwe cat-walked
into the elevator and hit the button that led down to the 4th floor. The elevator
chimed, she exited it, then made her way to ROOM 29. Her knuckles had barely
rapped against the door when it swung open. 
He was tall and
muscular, dark and dashing, had a goatee and a killer grin. ‘Christy,’ He greeted in a husky voice.
Do come in.
She was Christy to
him and he was Thomas to her. They had agreed not to share their real names.
Chinwe smiled. Thomas had always had that effect on her. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ The door swung shut behind her.
Thomas’ room was a
Classic, much smaller than Alhaji Danjuma’s but it was adequate and cosy.
Chinwe dropped her belongings on the bed with blue sheets. Then got out of her
clothing, leaving on only a thin gold necklace, a silver bra and matching
underpants. She held Thomas’ gaze and waited. 
Thomas scanned her
thoroughly and nodded. The grin had dissolved into a charming smile. He took
off his English club jersey and flung it onto a nearby sofa. He sauntered up to
her.
‘Shall
we begin?
’ Thomas asked.
She scowled. ‘Don’t be a gentleman about it. Just do it.’
He smiled, then landed a hard slap on her cheeks. She barely reclined but
delight flashed in her eyes. ‘Harder.’
This time the
connection was reverberatingly louder and harder. Blood spurted off her lips as
she fell backwards onto the mattress. She adjusted her hair off her face. Her
smile was pure delight, a feral glint flashed in her eyes. Desire and desperate
passion coursed through her veins. ‘Now
Thomas. Do me.’

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.

Oluwole Olusanya
Oluwole Olusanya is the Founder and Chief Executive Officer (CEO) of one of the fastest-growing lifestyle and entertainment website in the country. He is a banker, writer, blogger, public affairs analyst and a tax consultant. He anchors Trending Topics on SHEFFA where he shares his thoughts and opinions on trending issues. He is currently studying for a Master’s Degree in Business Administration at the University of South Wales, Wales, United Kingdom. He has diplomas in Banking and Finance, Investigative Journalism, Creative Writing, and Linguistics from Lagos State Polytechnic, Isolo, Lagos, University of Strathclyde, Glasgow, Scotland and The Open University, Milton Keynes, United Kingdom.