One man meets five attractive ladies where he is working in the west coast of Africa, each of whom has a different background. With a farming background, he is attracted to horses and polo, which in turn captures the interests of three of the five heroines, but not at the same time. Mutual attraction is followed by explicit sex in each case. Just after Independence, Nigeria is a broad mix of individuals, many of whom are working to improve the lives and livelihoods of farmers. In the 1970s horses and polo were an integral part of life for both foreigners and locals, and went a long way to break down barriers. These are not stories of young male heart throbs, but of an ordinary middle-aged man who meets five ladies, and ends up in their beds.
“Where are you going this evening?” asked Colin.
We had just finished diner and Colin obviously felt restless.� I know that he wanted to go to see the cabaret at the Federal Palace Hotel on Victoria Island, but that would not be until much later tonight.� Some nights Colin had not come back to sleep in his room, and I envied him for being so attractive to women.� That may well have included one girl, or more, from the group of attractive Filipino dancers in the cabaret.
I’d better explain.� I worked in Nigeria and lived in Ikoyi, in Lagos, Nigeria.� Colin used to live in Kano, in the north of Nigeria, and one day had come to Lagos.� He was always good fun to be with, and I offered him the spare room in my house.� That was seven months ago, and I was happy he stayed, but from time to time he did borrow funds, which I did not resent as he always promised to pay me back, someday.
Three weeks ago he had wakened me at four in the morning just to show me what he had in his hand.� It was a fistful of American dollars, which he said he had just won at the Casino in the Federal Palace Hotel.
“How much do I owe you?” he demanded.
I was a bit groggy, having just awoken, and reached for the bedside light.� I had a small notebook in the drawer with his long list of “loans,” and I looked at it.
“You wrote here, four thousand six hundred and fifty dollars,” I said, which he promptly counted out from the notes in his hand, and placed on my bedside table.� The someday had arrived!
It also meant he now had funds with which to enjoy himself.� He was a good-looking young man, about ten years younger than I was, with blond hair, broad shoulders, and a ready smile.� He knew all the current pop music, and used to imitate some of the singers by playing an imaginary guitar as he sang.
We were both members of the Polo Club in Lagos, which was just across the road from my house.� It was not, in those days, a very expensive sport to play, but the costs of the ponies, and the bar bill, did rattle up unless you paid your bills regularly.� This was partly why his debt to me was so high.
“What about Bobby Benson’s Night club?” asked Colin.
“That’s right along the Ikeja road,” I countered, but felt myself weakening, as I had never been there.
“I’m told that the African Ballet there is very good,” he said, “and the Ghanaian dancers are worth looking at.”
“Come on then,” I agreed, “and we can go to the Federal Palace later?”
We both showered and found some clean clothes, and got into my car.
It did not take too much time to drive to Lagos Island, and from there to the mainland, then along the road towards the airport.� Bobby Benson’s was easy to find, on the left hand side, well lit up and noisy, and we found a place to park easily.� Inside the nightclub, it was dark and just as noisy. �The saving grace was that there were no walls in the building so that the air could circulate easily, aided by a battery of ceiling fans in the roof.� The live band employed by Bobby Benson was raucous and alive.
We found a table and ordered two Heinekens, and then sent the waiter back to bring two glasses.� The beer was not in small bottles, but large 70ml green glass bottles.� We drank and looked around at the other quests, in case we saw anybody we knew. We didn’t.
The cymbals crashed, and the snare drum rolled announcing the beginning of the cabaret.� A man announced a series of singers and dancers, whom we duly applauded.� One section of the audience shouted advice to the performers, sometimes crudely, but mostly funny. �Most the performers ignored them.� Then the lights went out and the announcer came on to the stage. With a single spotlight on him, he announced, “All the way from Ghana, the African Ballet!” But he didn’t name the dancers.
Some men dragged onto the stage a large tray of broken glass.� A single spotlight displayed a Ghanaian girl, wearing a bra covered in fur, and panties to match, followed by a young man wearing only a cotton loincloth.� The girl had heavy eye shadow, and dark lipstick.� She did not really dance, but just swayed her body in time to the music on one side of the stage.� The young man danced towards her but her attitude illustrated she was clearly not interested in him.� He went across to the tray of broken glass and danced on the glass. The girl turned her nose up and continuing swaying by herself.
The vocal section of the audience shouted.
The young man came to seek help from the audience, and took an empty beer bottle from one table, and another from our table.� ��He took them to the tray of broken glass and smashed them hard together, so that they broke.� The vocal advice shut up.� We could all see it and we all knew it really was broken glass.� He danced again �on the shards but the girl still showed only her disdain.� He then lay down on his back on the broken glass, yet she was still not interested.�
The music increased in tempo and volume, and the man turned over and lay with his chest on the broken glass, and moved his body up and down in tune with the music.� Now the dancing girl now began to show some interest and swayed across the stage to where he was still lying on the tray of broken glass.� She stepped on his back and swayed again to the music.�
The cymbals crashed and the lights went out.�
When the lights came back on the two dancers were still there, and the man danced forward to show the audience his undamaged chest, not even a scratch.� The girl swayed by his side and the two danced off the stage together.� It was a simple act, but well portrayed.� The applause followed them out.
The lights came back on when the cabaret was over.� Some people in the audience left, but Colin and I decided to finish another beer.� After a while, Colin looked at his watch and said he was going to the Federal Palace.
“Don’t worry,” he said, “I’ll grab a taxi.”�
As he was leaving, the two Ghanaian dancers came to meet the audience, now wearing a few more clothes.� They went from table to table, and the dancing girl took Colin's vacated chair and sat down opposite me.�
I could see her better now.� She had a dark brown skin, and only wore pale lipstick.� Her hair was short, cut close to her head.� The eye shadow had been washed away, but her smile exposed lovely white teeth.
“Hi,” she said. “My name is Cora.� Where are you from?”
“My name’s Adam”, I replied, “and I’m from England but I live and work here in Nigeria.”
“What do you do?” she asked.
“I’m a farmer,” I replied truthfully. “I work with groups of small scale farmers.”
She smiled, and her smile lit up her face.
We talked a bit about Ghana and the area she came from, Ashanti.� A waiter brought her a glass of water with a slice of lemon floating on the surface. �I refused another beer.� �The male dancer had disappeared, as well as most of the audience.
“Could you give me a lift to my lodging?” she asked, smiling again.
I ushered her to my car, which was almost alone in the car park outside the nightclub.� She directed me across the main road and down a side street, and asked me to stop outside a two-story building.
“Come in,” she said, not waiting for an answer.
I locked my car and followed her up one floor.�
She opened her door and went inside, indicating that I should follow her in.
I sat in a chair, whilst she floated around the room.� Finally she came to sit near to me and I could smell her strong, earthy perfume.� She leaned across to kiss me on the cheek, and then got up, and started to take off her clothes, very slowly and making sure I could see her, and went to her bed, completely naked.�
She was a dancer and did not have an ounce of fat.�� She was no so tall, but had nicely rounded hips, and fine legs.� She got into the bed and looked at me.
“Come on, get undressed, and come to bed,” she commanded.
I felt awkward as I took off my trousers and shirt. I stood still wearing only my underpants.� A single glance from her and it was obvious that my penis was pleased at her attention.
She sat up, held out her hand towards me, and smiled.� My pants dropped to the floor and I got into the bed alongside her.� She immediately reached for my penis, which grew and hardened in her hands, and she nodded her approval, which gave me a power of self-confidence.
She kissed my lips to encourage me, and I leaned forward to kiss her breasts.� They were not big, but each had a dark brown nipple that hardened as I kissed.� Cora held my head close to her breasts.� Her skin was soft, cool, and dry.� I was sweating, but she was not.
She wriggled down in the bed and smiled at me again.� She held my penis in her hands, pulling me towards her, so that I lay down beside her.
She guided me on top of her, trapping my penis in between us.�
I was throbbing with anticipation.� She opened her legs and I moved my body between her.� She put her fingers into her vagina to make sure it was wet.� I moved up the bed a few inches so that I could just touch her clitoris, but not actually go inside her vagina.� She kissed me and moved her pubis towards my loins.�� This made my penis enter her a bit more, and she wriggled again, so it went all the way in.
She held me tight and shuddered.
“You are my first white man,” she said, closing her legs as far as she could.�
As the pressure from her legs grew on my scrotum, I stopped her from closing any more.� She moved some muscles in her vagina, which made me want to explode, but I waited.
I moved slowly inside her and she arched her back.� She was breathing hard through her teeth, as her climax approached.� I waited until I heard her groan and felt her orgasm.� Then I could not wait any more. �I exploded into her body, throbbing under the pressure several times.
She held me very tight for a few minutes, and then relaxed.� She was sweating as much as me, and she took a towel from somewhere to dry both of us.� I began to sit up, but she pulled me down and made me lie beside her.�
We both fell asleep eventually.�
Hours later, as daylight approached, I tried to slip out of bed.
She stopped me with a smile, pulling me towards her again. I lay on my back as she straddled me with both legs.� She kept smiling as my penis grew in size. �With one kiss from her soft lips it became fully erect.� She impaled her vagina on my penis, again.
I think she actually gritted her lovely white teeth as she forced the muscles in her vagina to imprison me.� It was a wonderful feeling.� I thrust as I could, driving her towards an orgasm.�
She moaned as I rolled her onto her back.� I lifted both her legs up to my chest, so that I had maximum penetration into her.� She smiled and wriggled, and I just could not wait so I ejaculated my semen into her lovely body.
After a bit, I rolled away.� The sweat was pouring of both of us again.� I was limp and flaccid, and Cora lay exhausted beside me.
Finally, she got up, and completely naked walked to a small fridge, and took out a small bottle of beer.� She smiled at me, and used her lovely teeth to take off the metal top.� She sipped a bit and then gave me the bottle.
She showed me that there was a small bathroom next to her room, so I put on my trousers to get there, but there was nobody in the corridor to see me.� I took a cold shower and was almost finished when Cora walked in, still naked, and came close to me under the running water.� She kissed me, and held me, but I was so spent, I could not respond.� She washed her vagina, and smiled at me as my semen came out of her.
We went back to her room, and I thought it would be good to spend the whole day with her in bed.� Instead, she got dressed, and handed me my clothes, which were still cold and sweaty from last night.� In the end, I put on my shirt and my trousers, and said I would go home to get some clean clothes.
I offered to give her a lift, but she refused and gave me a kiss.� I drove home and changed, but did not go to work that day.� I went back to the nightclub several days later to find the African Ballet had moved on, probably back to Accra.�
I never did see Cora again.