Dial episode 1 – 2

DIAL
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Sequence 1
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©Aaron Ansah-Agyeman
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I watched her as she slowly peeled her snip of a p-nty down her sleek legs.
To say she was a beauty would be an understatement.
Now this girl was a re-classification of beauty.
She was dark, probably the darkest girl I had ever been with, but her darkness glowed, as if she had some kind of light beneath her skin that came on when she was unclad.
Her tummy was hollowed out, punctuated by that round dot of a navel that added artistic beauty to her general aura of mystique.
Her legs were long and perfectly-formed, her thighs sleek and stream-lined. Lord, her br-asts were perfect orbs of sublime beauty, standing firm and proud but curving gently outward from a heavier down-t—-t.
Her back…now that was something else!
Twin m—-s of succulent beauties that a man could watch and play with forever!
She looked at me out of those large, wide-set eyes that for a moment were filled with a level of uncertainty again.
Now I was getting tired with her uncertainties, and I was in no mood to convince her all over again, and so I reached down and pulled my boxers to my ankles, flinging them off with a toss of my right leg, and then I flopped back on her large bed and held out my hands to her with a sweet, loving look on my face.
“Oh, Akushika!” I whispered with a catch in my voice. “You’re so beautiful! The loveliest girl I’ve ever seen! I’m going to spend my life with you because I love you so much! Come to me, my Ga angel, my Queen, my love.”
She looked down at the juncture of my thighs and saw the nodding appendage there, and then she smiled uncertainly and put her right knee on the bed.
“I love you too, Yao,” she whispered, her voice now very unhappy. “You know I’ve stayed a Christian for so long, three years now, and in that time I haven’t slept with any boy! My first boyfriend – the one that took my V-rginity – married a girl from his hometown. I swore I wouldn’t let any other boy see my uncladness until marriage! So why can’t we wait, Yao, please, if indeed you love me and want to marry me?”
It was a story I had heard over and again in the eight months I had pursued Akushika. She was the beauty in the neighbourhood, the one they said no boy could have. Her heart, they said, was cast in tempered iron and surrounded by a fierce volcano.
No boy could have her, they said. She was a Christian freak too, and it would take a special angel from heaven to open up her heart.
Well, we had been here before, right here in her bedroom, where she had been ready to do a little tumble, and then she had started that wh0le speech-thing again.
This was about the fourth time, actually.
The first three times I had played the part of a smitten, understanding and loving boyfriend whilst inwardly amused. Somehow, her confusion always set off a tiny pinprick of guilt in my guiltless body, and I always stopped myself from forcing her to make love.
Well, this time it was not going to happen again.
I had wasted enough time with her already, not because I couldn’t force a closure, but basically because I had enjoyed the thrill of the chase, and I had wanted to prolong it a little bit more.
This lady had taken me on a hot chase, sure, and at a point in time of the game I had been convinced that she was the real deal, the exception to the rule that the great Yao Biko always, always got his prey.
I got up on my knees and put a hand on her wa-ist, looking at her with fake eyes of love, with adoration dripping off my face in waves, but inwardly I was chuckling to myself.
With trembling l-ips I claimed her right n—-e, and she shook violently like a tsunami was taking place within her sweet body. Her hands fell on my shoulder, and she made to push me away.
“Yao!” she mo-ned softly. “Please wait…wait, please…”
My right hand sneaked around her neck, and my l-ips covered that protesting mouth of hers, and I k-ssed her slowly and deeply. She went pliant like melted butter, and then I pulled her gently onto the bed.
I was still k-ssing her and slowly running a hand across her n-pples, causing her to tremble with sweetness and lustful desire playing a rhythmic accordion on her body.
My hand sneaked to her thighs and played with the hair under her abdomen, but when I tried to car-ss her, I realized her thighs were clamped together like clams, and no matter what I did she refused to open up.
Well…
I could give up and try to talk her into a mellow mood, but I knew that would be futile with Akushika. Once that uncertainty about making love to me entered her heart, the results would be another unattained goal.
There was always another way of opening up a girl’s thighs when they were clamped shut that tightly. Now, this approach of opening up a girl’s thighs was not a sure-fire route, no, because some girls might have a total aversion to the wh0le act.
However, a greater number of them, especially those who hadn’t tried it before, always opened up for a probing tongue.
It was time to find out if Akushika could carry on her charade forever, or she would go for the adventurous.
My hands left her thighs, and my tongue descended across her belly, rotated merrily around her navel, and then descended down to the close-cropped hair nestling on her Netherlands.
I probed deeper, expecting her thighs to tighten up and perform a vice shutdown like Alibaba’s greedy brother getting trapped in,side the thieves’ cave, but they relaxed, and a little space was created.
“Yao?” she whispered tremulously as my tongue darted onto the knob of delight above her Gate of Honey. “What are you doing?”
Now, why do girls always ask the silliest of questions around this time?
My tongue was playing some finely composed jazz lines on your w-t points and you were asking me what I was doing?
I am cooking yam, I almost shouted at her, and then I stopped myself just in time and giggled.
“I’m loving you, my sweetest Aku!” I whispered instead, and my voice was tenderly tender.
Her thighs flopped open, admitting me fully.
“Oh, Yao, my love, my King!” she whispered.
Once again I almost giggled.
King? Really?
I used my tongue, and soon she was tossing and mo-ning like a hummingbird. I opened one eye and saw that the fingers on her right hand were bunching up the bedsheets in blissful sweetness, and her legs were spread very wide now, her toes clenching and unclenching as if she had some motor reflex disease!
Her left hand was on top of my head, pressing my head down into her like she wanted to pop my head in,side her and give birth to me.
Well, these were the signs that a woman was lost, and she wouldn’t close her thighs again even if her father appeared with a gun.
I eased up her body, using a part of the bedsheet to wipe my mouth clean, and then I was on top of her, teasing her entrance with my entry request.
She was bucking and whimpering, and looking at me like a lost orphan, her face all twisted up with passion.
She draped her calves across mine, and for a moment I almost drew back, but her right arm went around my neck and pushed my head down, at the same time she reached down with her left hand, held me and performed a divine guidance where there had been a devilish closure a few minutes previously.
There was only one thing to do then…
Ooooooooh yeaaaaaah!!
****
Two hours later I pulled my T-shirt down and stood staring down at her.
She was asleep, breathing gently with a happy smile on her face. She was tired and absolutely worn out. It had been that kind of session. In the end, she had lost all inhibitions and let herself go.
I had that effect on them, and I could draw out their passions and make them do things that they normally wouldn’t have dreamt of.
There was a tiny pinprick of guilt in my heart again as I looked down at her angelic face.
Here was a girl who had treasured her V-rginity, and in the end given it to a boy she thought loved her. He had eventually left her for another woman from his hometown, and she had immersed herself with Christianity, vowing never to make that mistake again till she got married.
And here I was, Yao Biko, smashing her stocked-up barriers and making her do s€×ual antics that a professional would have been proud of.
I sighed deeply and pushed my baseball cap on my head, and then I gently left her room. I went through their living-room where their house-help was cleaning the dining-table and reprimanding Aku’s younger brother who had evidently messed up the table with fufu and palm-nut soup.
A few minutes later I was in my car, driving away, when Aku’s call came through.
I looked at the screen and ignored the call.
She called twenty times more, but I didn’t pick up.
My WhatsApp pinged and kept pinging!
I dragged down the notification, and saw twenty-five messages from her…and still counting.
“Sorry, love,” I whispered and muted my phone, turning it upside down.
When I got home she was still calling through and messaging and sending voice notes! I sighed heavily and just switched off my phone.
First things first, though…
I sat down in front of my laptop and powered it up.
It was in hibernation mode, so it came on pretty quickly.
There was a folder on my desktop with a girly icon named HONEYZ.
I opened it up.
There was a word doc-ment in there named DIAL.
I opened it up…
It simply contained a list of girl names.
I scrolled to the name bullet-numbered 39, and I hit the enter button.
40 automatically entered, and I typed her name AKUSHIKA.
I closed it up and looked at the folder name DIAL…
Now try and read that backwards…
DIAL.
LAID.
Akushika just made it on the Yao Biko DIAL list.
She got laid….

Sequence 2

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Akushika was number thirty on my DIAL list.

I didn’t have any compunctions about deceiving and making love to her, no.

I knew that in a way I hurt her, maybe badly, but that was the way it was. Really, I wasn’t wicked, no, far from that. I knew that she would hurt for a while, but she was wiser with that, and it would make her more experienced.

She would probably hate me, and probably hate boys too, but if there was real love then someone would eventually come along, heal her broken heart, and make her happy.

I wasn’t the settling-down kind of guy. For starters, love didn’t mean cowhide to me. It was all sentimental crap. I just couldn’t understand how a guy would tie himself with one girl and believe he was happy. No girl, in my estimation, was worth that sacrifice.

I was a realist, and I knew I would get bored with one body beside me. No girl had ever convinced me that I couldn’t live without her, and that meant that love really didn’t exist. To me, the fun was in the chasing, and then the real fun was in getting the girl unclad and knocking her up. After that, she ceased to be an interest.

Life always moved on…and I moved on with it.

My thirtieth birthday was coming up.

I had the money, and I had the looks, and I could marry and comfortably take care of a hundred women if I had to, but I wasn’t interested.

This might sound callous, and might brand me as an unfeeling jerk, but both adjectives couldn’t be farther from the mark. My father was an industrialist. He struggled through life to make it, and he stuck to life with a rugged tenacity that eventually made him a rich man.

He was thirty-five years when I was born, and he was was just a carpenter then, without much of an education. The girl he loved, my mother, was the daughter of wealthy parents. They went to school together, and fell in love, or so my father thought. However, he couldn’t continue with his education because his parents couldn’t afford to pay his fees through university.

My father had had no option than to help his father with his carpentry vocation. Around that time my mother got pregnant. Actually, they planned it so that her family would let her marry my poor father.

Well, it seemed she went through an awful period of time during pregnancy, and somewhere along the line she decided she really didn’t love my father that much. She gave birth to me, but didn’t want to see my face. The doctors called it Post-partum depression – PPD.

Well, sure, whatever.

Anyway, her parents came to dump me on my father, and they sent my mother abroad. So I was raised by my grand-mother. She had to be injected with some drugs that produced hormones which made her get br-ast-milk to br-astfeed me.

So, I s-ckled at my grand-mother’s titties because my mother and her parents didn’t want me. Crap, wasn’t it?

But my old man, bless him, wouldn’t give up. Turned out he was a natural with wood, and he churned out incredible furniture and other wooden innovations that sold like the hottest cakes.

He made his money, and diversified. He was shrewd, you see, and his decision and investment plans were top-notch. My father made money, and put them into valuable ventures for me. Obviously, he didn’t want his only son to go through the same painful life that he had.

He never remarried, and he never brought women home. I knew he had other women, but he settled with any of them, or made them comfortable in his home. Obviously he was protecting his heart from being broken again.

By the time I was twenty years old, I was alone with my father because my grandparents were long dead. Father always drummed in my ears to kill my heart, and never let woman treat me like sawdust. Apt, wasn’t it?

He told me, in one extremely sad moment when he was showing me photographs of my mother, to live my life like Solomon who had three hundred wives and seven hundred mistresses.

He was drunk then, and he was only jesting, but I saw a sadness in him that day, and I did read about King Solomon. My old man taught me how to invest, and very soon I was running the businesses with him.

The girl that broke my V-rginity was a married woman.

She came to the shop one day to enquire about some of the luxury beds. She wasn’t quite satisfied with any we showed her, and so I took her to the back room to show her further samples.

When we were alone she simply locked the door, dropped her clothes, took hold of my throbbing appendage, and we made love on one of the beds. She refused to tell me her name, despite my probing, and eventually she got dressed again and left.

She was back a week later, Thursday night, four in the late afternoon.

We did it again, and once again she didn’t tell me her name. After the third time I simply wrote down her name on my phone as MYSTERIOUS LADY.

Later on, I kept staring at that name on my phone, and then casually I added 1 to it, and it became:

1. MYSTERIOUS LADY

And that was how the list began.

Later on, I met a girl at a dance club. I didn’t know her from crap. She was high on some drug, and I was quite drunk, and she was gyrating and grinding against me, and suddenly she held my hand and pulled me along to the washroom where we spent about twenty minutes pumping away against the wall.

Afterwards, when she was leaving the club, she came over to my corner, k-ssed me on the l-ips fully, and drunkenly declared.

“I got dial, baby!” she whispered. “See you sometime soon.”

“Dial?” I had enquired, then she and her friends giggled themselves silly.

“Try pronouncing that backwards, baby boy!” she said, and then they were gone.

I dipped the tip of my forefinger in a glass of Guinness and wrote on the dirty table: Dial.

Laid.

I god it, and I smiled, then giggled, then laughed.

Later at home, I added her to the mysterious lady:

1. MYSTERIOUS LADY

2. NIGHT CLUB CHICK

And then I paused for a moment, tapped above the names on my phone and wrote it: DIAL, and it became:

DIAL

1. MYSTERIOUS LADY

2. NIGHT CLUB CHICK

And then I was hooked on that list, and suddenly I wondered how I was going to fill it up, and how far I could go.

Eventually, it ended up in the HONEYZ folder on my laptop, and my DIAL list became active.

Thirty women…on DIAL.

Sometimes I added pictures I took of next to their names.

Sometimes some were naughty, and allowed me to take nude photos, and I added those as thumbnails next to their names.

Some were fascinated by s€×tapes, and so I uploaded my s€×ual encounters with them, captured on videos, next to their names.

There were single ladies on that list; married women, fair women, dark, tall, ski-ny, fat, African, foreign…d–n, it soon became like a kind of shrine to me, and I ended up trying to fill up that DIAL list as fast as I could.

And then I wondered if I could be like King Solomon and klonk a thousand women!

And then my obsession with my DIAL list began…

To fill it with a thousand women I had klonked!

Well, enough for that list but…oh, yes, I remember Number Seven on that list.

Actually, she was the oldest on the list.

She was tall and slim and elegant, but she was old. I met her at a rest stop restaurant. I was on my way from Kumasi, and I made a stopover at this cool s₱0t to grab a bite to eat. A passenger bus turned in, and the passengers got out to stretch their limbs and get the cramps out of their bodies.

Later, their bus wouldn’t start up, and this elderly lady was looking absolutely harassed and pressed for time. It turned out she was on her way to Accra for a very important meeting, and she feared she would be late.

She asked if I was headed for Accra, and I just informed her she could join me. No names were exchanged. Halfway through the journey after we had relaxed in each other’s company, and I was getting the right vibes from her s€×-starved body, I put a hand on her knee.

She was wearing this great cream skirt suit with a white inner, and the tops of her thighs were bare. I touched her thighs and she was so uncomfortable, trying to push my hand away, but her attempts were half-hearted.

So I pulled over, pulled her close, and k-ssed her slowly and gently.

She was p-nting like she just escaped the des**t. She was clean and classy enough, hungry enough, s€×-starved enough…and so we found a hotel forty minutes later.

She missed the meeting, but she was a tigress on that bed.

Afterwards, after she had exhibited the fiercest of lovemaking, she said there was no need to exchange personal information. She didn’t want to complicate things with me.

That was okay with me.

Once in Accra, she invited me to stay with her in the hotel for the night. Well, she had impressed me enough, and so I stayed. She was a bomb when she knew we had the wh0le night. She was insatiable, so well-versed!

I left her in the morning, absolutely deflated, and she ended up in my HONEYZ folder and on the DIAL list as: 07. KUMASI ROAD OLDIE.

We never met again.

My father died when I was twenty-five years, and I was in the deepest of agonies! He was all I had, my father, my best friend, my life!

Well, during the funeral, my mother finally showed up.

I had never met her in my life after she dumped me on my father.

She came with my grand-parents, and they were so filled with remorse. The woman who was my mother fell down and held my leg and cried. She was so devastated! She was sorry for abandoning me and my father, and she told me her three marriages had all failed because she loved my father so much.

Well, I stood there laughing.

Everybody was staring at me. Everyone was shocked, including my mother, as I stood there laughing with a mixture of happiness, shock and pain.

You see, everyone was shocked except my grand-mother whom I was meeting for the very first time.

Yes, you guessed right…

She was 07. KUMASI ROAD OLDIE.

My own grand-mother was on my DIAL list.

She was standing, and the expression of torture and acute horror was classic, so beautiful to me.

I didn’t know it at the time we made love on that Kumasi Road hotel and later in Accra.

She had driven my mother away, and ensured that I grew up without the love of my own mother. She had hated and despised my father, but her actions had ensured that she got klonked by her own grandson!

I laughed till I almost w-t myself, whilst that old lady simply keeled over in a faint!

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To Be Continued…