Posts Tagged With: Naija Romance

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

Introducing the Queen of Awkward, Tara Olu-Browne

Upcoming book, Lessons In Love

Upcoming book, Lessons In Love

Omotara Olu-Browne (Tara) is 26, impulsive, uncoordinated – both in talk and walk, and she swears she will never wear jeans and a t-shirt publicly because of her big butt and large breasts. Her assessment, not mine. One more thing: She is absolutely sure she’ll die a spinster because one, she has a zero social life (the girl is either reading or writing); and two, she often talks and acts without thinking things through, which tends to make guys shy away from her. It’s unfortunate that her impulsive nature sometimes lands her in some very awkward situations, you know, like that time she accidentally sent an email to her boss asking him to, um, kiss her ass. She says she actually meant to write that email to herself, but oh well…. stuff happens, and stuff always does happen to the sistah. You’ll sometimes find her mother yelling, “Utter inanity” when Tara finds herself in hot water.

Tara really thinks she is a total mess (her family agrees somewhat), yet, I think she has some good qualities, and I hope you’ll think the same when you read her story.

So stay tuned as I unveil my upcoming book Lessons in Love featuring Omotara Olu-Browne. Coming soon!

Categories: Blog, My Stories | Tags: , , , , , , , | 9 Comments

When emailing goes awry: An excerpt from ‘Lessons in Love’

lessons in love 2

I go back to my inbox, and attach my manuscript.

I type:

Dear incomparable Tara Olu-Browne, you’ve done it again, and Mr. Jimi Akintaylor can just go ahead and kiss your lovely ass for a job well done.

I click send to email the doc to myself.

“There! All done!” I whisper lovingly to my laptop. Wow! Do I feel euphoric.

I start typing again, and I’m still on my first word when my euphoria dissipates and a dark feeling gnaws and spreads in the pit of my stomach; and no, it has nothing to do with Lara George’s song coming to an end.

It hits me!

Heck! What have I just done?

I frantically open my inbox. My email addressed to me isn’t there. Oh no!  Who did I just send that email to?

Oh no!

I open my sent folder and my hands fly to my mouth, but the gasp of horror still manages to escape.  I plead for mother earth to open up and literally swallow me. Right on the very top of the sent folder is my email, and it’s addressed to Jimi Akintaylor!

“Tara, are you okay?”

I turn stunned eyes to Mummy who apparently heard my cry of distress from her bedroom and came running.

She stares at me and shakes my shoulders. “Talk to me Tara. Are you okay?”

I turn my head in the direction of the laptop and her eyes follow my lead. She quickly scans the words on the screen.

“Tara, did you type that?” She is practically yelling. “To him?”

My head feels heavy.  Please can I die now?


Because I thought I was emailing myself. But I can’t reply Mummy right now. I’m too stunned to speak.

“Utter inanity!” Mummy yells.

I’ve become a little girl again. I bite my fingers.

“If they’re doing you, should you do yourself?” Gone is intellectual Mummy. Her alter ego, a superstitious, Yoruba woman who isn’t always far away now replaces her.

Nitori Oloun! Tara. Tara. Tara. How many times did I call you?” And my mother bursts into a flurry of Yoruba where she blames herself, blames me, and finally blames my dead father for my latest blunder. Before I know it, Tolani and the twins are in the living room, clustered around our dining table and reading the missive I’ve sent to poor Jimi.

Kiss your lovely ass?” Tolani whispers, and in my shocked state, I manage to register my sisters’ dismayed expressions. Mummy hasn’t stopped her blame exercise by the way.

“I thought I was emailing myself,” I finally say in a small voice. Oh why, oh why do I always end up in embarrassing situations like these?

“I didn’t know I’d pressed the reply button to his last email.”

“Well, you’ve sure given the man something to think about tonight,” Tolani mutters under her breath so Mummy doesn’t hear.

“Oh. My. God,” Tumi says, and suddenly, she bursts into  her all- thundering, bellowing laughter, taking all of us by surprise. I glare at her, but she ignores me. “I can just imagine the look on his face when he reads your email.”

And I don’t know why this is funny, but the rest of my family apparently thinks it is because they all erupt in howls, well, with the exception of Mummy who is still wondering aloud if someone in my father’s village is controlling me via black magic to go on a self-sabotage rampage.

“Just send an email back to him and let him know it was a mistake,” Temi- as ever, the voice of reason – says.  She has recovered somewhat from the mirth. Her brows knit together with concern.

I stare helplessly at my hands. “What will I say?”

“Dear Jimi,” she says and I begin to type. “Please kindly disregard the last email I just sent you. It was  accidentally emailed- ”

Accidentally emailed? I stare up at her.

She cocks her head to the side and gives me a sardonic look. “Do you have a better explanation in mind?”

I mutter “No.” For being my younger sister, she’s such a bossy, little thing sometimes. I do a finger signal for her to continue.

“- and I sincerely apologize for any negative mind-set I might have caused by it. Thank you for your kind understanding. Sincerely, Tara Olu-Browne.”

I click send and bite my index fingernail frenetically.

“Don’t worry,” Tolani’s deep voice pipes up. “Let’s go to sleep. Chances are, he’s asleep too. He probably won’t read both emails until tomorrow morning.”

As if on cue, a ping noise emanates from my laptop. My eyes widen at the sound, but it’s not just me. It’s the rest of my family.

It’s an email. From Jimi!

With a pounding heart, I open it.

Tara, no negative mind-set here. I quite enjoyed your synopsis, and the first two chapters of Lagos Blues. Can’t wait to read the rest of the MS. Keep up the good work.

J. Akintaylor.

President, Akintaylor Enterprises.

“Well?” I hear mummy  whisper behind me, and I’m now aware that I’ve been holding my breath. Mummy has read the email too and appears calmer.

I grunt out my relieved sigh, as does my three sisters.

“No negative mind-set,” I murmur, and briefly, I wonder what that means. I’m not sure if it’s the huge amount of relief I suddenly feel, or maybe it’s the residue of mortification that still haunts my brain, but I find myself resting my head on the table, and as I do, the strangest emotion overtakes me and I erupt in the loudest, most primitive laughter I’ve ever expressed in my life.

Categories: My Stories, Reflections | Tags: , , , , | 11 Comments

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