Sugar Daddy for the Sugar girl

              “You’re a promising young woman, I can tell”, he said. I smiled, “Thank you sir”. And my day was made. How could it not be? I was three weeks into my freshman year here in UI and my academic coordinator already saw promise in me. I have never been the best in any of my classes, not even in primary school. I won’t become one of those parents who lie to their children saying – when I was your age, I always came first in my classes. No, I am not one to delude or pretend.

I am as otherworldly as I am saintly. You ask what I mean. I have sins but I have boundaries. Little did I know these boundaries were soon to be tested and in a way like never before.  It’s hard for me to share this, I have not told any of my friends. It’s only under the aegis of anonymity that I am able to share my story. Let’s call me Ralia. Yes, the sugar girl.

          My academic co-ordinator was the quintessential middle aged Nigerian man – salary job, wife and kids, potbellied; I prefer to say pregnant to be honest. I took his smile and compliment innocently, choosing to believe that for once someone saw the potentials I saw in myself despite my persisting average performances. Over the next few weeks I ran a lot of errands for him gladly. He would call me up to his office and ask how things were going with my courses and how I was adjusting to university life – the people, the churches, and the workload. He seemed like a guardian angel.

I was in my pubescent period but I already had nice features – I mean boobs and ass, not face. I don’t have a face that immediately strikes as beautiful but I was not ugly. Just an averagely attractive girl with a big heart. I was discovering makeup slowly, not the lip gloss/lip balm life of secondary days but the whole shebang – powders that fit my skin tone, lipstick of many lovely colours and shade, brows on fleek.

         On this day I was looking take-homr-to-mama and I knew it. My dress was short as can be, my cleavage drew more than a few stares, my lips looked kissable, oh and I’m a short girl. After making sure to be seen by admirers and crushes, I decided to drop in and say hi to my acad co-ord. I was starting to feel comfortable with him. He was just finishing up something he was doing and was quite happy to see me. We chatted about school for a while and as I made to leave, he asked

“Have you ever been to the staff club?”
“Ah…well no sir. It’s not a place for students and I don’t get out much.”
“Oh no! It’s not a place for just any student. It’s a place for select students and I would like you to accompany me this Friday.”
“Ah … I can’t sir.”

If he was annoyed he did not show it. He asked “are you busy?” I was not myself. He always said he liked my boldness and that it was in my voice. That day, I was shaky, speechless, and unsure what to say and how to behave. I finally managed a “Yes … YES sir! I will be busy sir.” I could tell my lie wouldn’t fool him. All he said was “I see”, narrowing his expression. Over the next few weeks, he asked a couple more times and I kept declining. I could not believe what was happening to me.

          He happened to be taking us a course that first semester. One day he decided to ridicule me in class and then ask me to meet him in his office five minutes after the class ended. When I got in this time, he was arranging papers on the desk-even then he was a neat man. He explained to me, sparing no detail, the power he held over me. No direct threats were issued like in Afmag movies but I got the message. Give in or bear my wrath. I had heard stories of girls being terrorized by their lecturers. I mean, who hasn’t? But these stories always seemed so distant, the probability it could happen to me seemed so remote. Yet here I was.

The next few weeks were hell for me. I did my best to avoid him, I even started skipping his classes except tests of course. When the semester results were released, I had failed his course. I cannot say whether he had a hand in my failure or not. Maybe all the class-skipping affected me and he tipped me even lower. Maybe not. My dad wanted a first class from his first child and I was not off to a flying start. Yes, I had a carryover. This dampened my spirits over the semester break. Throughout I pondered a million solutions and discarded them. I finally decided to seek help from my Uncle Sam – a Redeemed Christian Church of God pastor. Uncle Sam emailed him and I do not know whether it was just once or there was a back-and-forth but by time we were to resume, Uncle had promised me that the matter was sorted. I remained sceptical. Who wouldn’t be? Do such things end abruptly?

          When I returned to school, I was worried about the inevitable confrontation with him, I was returned to that place of fear where I was before Uncle Sam intervened. He was to take us a second semester course. This time there was no ridicule from him in class, he just told someone to send for me. He stood up when I entered his office and shut the door himself. My heart caught in my throat. On returning to his seat, he asked “so I am a disturbance to you?” I could only force out a “no … no sir”, inaudible to even I that spoke the words. He started on whatever it was he was working on leaving me seated there looking down in dilemma, wallowing in despair. Should I have asked to leave? Should I wait to be dismissed? He had shut the door himself and that seemed an unspoken challenge daring me to leave without his consent. Yet I could find no words to ask if I may take my leave. He let me seat there for all of 30 minutes while he worked before ordering me to get out. I must have spent another 7 minutes unsure what was best to do next. I was crippled by fear and I could not leave even when he ordered me to. When I eventually got up to leave wordlessly, he looked up, narrowing his expression once again yet saying nothing.

          Weeks went by and nothing happened. There was no ridicule, no requests to see him in his office. It was as if I ceased to exist to him. This at first deepened my fear for I was certain he had something planned. As the semester went by, my fear was replaced by uncertainty. Time flew and I was in 300 level, and still no incident. I did pass the second semester course he taught and the one I had carried over to my 200 level. My uncertainty changed to nonchalance and dismissiveness. It seemed it was all over. Or was it?

       ........ TO GOD BE THE GLORY........ 

LOL!   This isn't Afmag,  the second part of the article will be released on Sunday but guess the ending in the comment section.  The correct prediction gets a movie ticket. *winks *.