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African Romance snippets

First Love Diaries…the ones that walk away

three women, same story

Get my bestselling novel, for Wale Taylor, my first love Here

Remi

There are days the pain is too sharp, I can hardly breathe, and there are days when all I remember are the happy times – the times he said he loved me; the times he said I was funny. Eccentric. Sometimes cute. But never beautiful. No, he never, ever said I was beautiful. But he did say I had a brilliant mind, and that I was sure to go places. He wore a chain – a thin, gold chain around his sturdy neck, and he had a gold stud to his left ear. If you had the patience to wait for him to take off the dark sunglasses he wore on both sunny and not-so sunny days, you’d find brown eyes that held secrets. He was tall, too. Tall, brawny, dark, handsome – all of those adjectives you’d find in a romance book for a hero. I remember him laughing; it was always such an unusual chortle…almost like he was chuckling to himself, secretively. I remember him holding me one warm evening and looking straight into my eyes. The world was perfect that night. Everything stopped, including my heart. I was lost… lost to the awareness of him; lost to the awareness of my deep feelings for him. Lost to an ocean from which I knew I would never find my way out.

Yes, all those things, I remember about my first love.

Tosan

Seven years I’ve waited for my first love, hoping he’ll come back…wishing he’ll tell me he loves me and that he’s made mistake about me. About us. But he’s married a woman that is conventionally woman – petite; light, even toned skin; with an accent that screams intelligence in its foreignness. Even now, I still do not know what I ever did to him that would make him walk away. One moment, he said he loved me. The next, he is married. One moment he said he loved me, the next… he says he wasn’t planning to fall in love with someone like me – too dark, too tall, too skinny girl with too wide lips. One moment he said he loved me, and the next, it almost feels like he can hardly bear to look at me. And now, many years later, and finally, physically beautifully in all of the right places, the pain of his rejection remains a gaping wound screaming for help; for healing.  It screams for attention from anywhere, and anyone willing to listen.

Yes, all those things I remember about my first love.

Rola

First love? Ha! Let me tell you about my first love. He had kind, warm eyes that caressed you long enough to make you feel you were the most special woman in the world. Yet, he chose his parents over me. I wasn’t exactly what his folks would have liked for him to have, so he did some choosing  and, well, it hurt. Very much.  I needed repair, so I did a little walking of my own, searching for the filling that would stop my emptiness. It’s a walk that seems to have no end in sight.  I’ve become a heartbreaker in my quest for finding love. I take your love, and never give back. I make you believe I love you, then, just when emotions are running high with sweetness and the spirit of giving, I walk away. I walk, and leave you hanging, confused, hurt, and alone. I walk on, in this journey called life, searching, constantly searching for the approval of the first love that wouldn’t stay.

Yes, all those things I remember about my first love.

Get my latest book, Lessons in Love, now available at Amazon and in Nigeria, exclusively at Takada Books.

 

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Categories: African Romance snippets, My Stories | Tags: , , , | 1 Comment

When the Queen of awkward made an unconventional request – an excerpt from Lessons

Available HERE:

Upcoming book, Lessons In Love

Upcoming book, Lessons In Love


We’re now in his kitchen. He lets go of my hand. I doubt if any cooking ever takes place here. It’s so clean. So new. So contemporary. It ought to be in a museum. I lean against the granite countertop while he strides across to the very modern stainless steel fridge – I’ve not seen the likes of this before; in magazines, maybe. From where I stand I see the refrigerator is well stocked – all kinds of flavored drinks and a wide variety of assorted snacks. He mechanically procures a coke and tonic water from the fridge, empties it into two tall glasses which he has retrieved from the cabinet above the fridge. Then he reaches over to the wine cellar and brings out a bottle.  He twists off the cap and shortly pours it into the glasses. He carries both cups and turns to face me. His eyes glow with something I can’t decipher.

“Here,” he says, handing me one of the drinks. He is close enough for me to smell his crisp, mesmerizing scent, and frankly, it disconcerts me.

I eye him doubtfully. Truth be told, I’m nervous. I’ve just told this man I want him to sleep with me and he hasn’t made any attempt at giving me a reply.

He takes a long swig of his drink, then places it on the counter top and gives me a quizzical stare. “Are you okay?”

I shrug, trying hard to tamper down this mortification that’s washing over me in waves. “You’ve not said anything Jimi,” I say.

His eyes burn into mine. “Tara, cut me some slack. You’ve just stomped me with a request that’s a little disturbing…something out of character for you. A man needs a drink.”

Disturbing? What’s all this self-righteous talk? “But you were so willing to say yes yesterday,” I say bravely. “You didn’t need a drink then.”

“Tara, yesterday…I was speaking without thinking, something I rarely do. You were upset and defensive. I don’t know, I just lost it. ” He stops and grimaces. “When I said sex mechanics yesterday, you do know I wasn’t asking you to sleep with me, right?”

I nod. “I do.” In hindsight, I realize it was one of those awkward situations I get myself into where the conversation just spirals out of control.

“Look, I don’t know how long you’ve had sex but the way you wrote about sex in Tomorrow and Lagos Blues, it’s just … implausible. For two people who supposedly love each other, there was no tenderness there.”

I roll my eyes. We’ve been here already.  He has made me listen to the comments of other readers. Why are we rehashing how bad of a writer I am when it comes to love scenes?

“So when I said sex mechanics,” he continues, “I meant…” he rubs his hand on his head, struggling to find his words.  “Crap,” he spits out. “I don’t know what I meant. Tara look, you are the writer. Do what you need to do to get your material. Just make sure it’s good material.”

I frown, shaking my head. “But Jimi, I’m doing what I need to do to get good material.”

He gives me a blank stare like he has no clue about what I’m saying.

“I’ve never really been in love before.” Well, until now. “I’ve also never had sex before and I’m asking for your help, and you haven’t given me a reply.”

“What?” He whispers. I think he’s about to implode. “What do you mean you’ve never had sex before?”

I ignore his shocked expression and trudge on. I am a desperate woman on a desperate mission and I’ve got to air my piece, now that I still have the courage to say it.

“Look Jimi, all I know is that yesterday you were so willing. Today, you’re…..I feel like you’re trying to let me down nicely.  I’m no charity case. If you don’t want me, tell me and I’ll go ask someone else to do me the favor.”

I sense his menace before he voices it. “Over my dead body,” he says, and before I can take my next breath, he pounces on me.

Categories: African Romance snippets, Blog, Books, My Stories, News, Novels, Romance | Tags: , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

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