“Instinct is a marvelous thing. It can neither be explained, nor be ignored.” Agatha Christie.
DICKSON didn’t start off his day thinking about how he was going to sweet-talk the weird chick in red, he was a serious enough student and so he was focused on his studies until the bulk of it were over and he was free to hit the school’s main library right after midday. Since he’d first run into her there the day before, he figured it was a good place to hope for luck.
And he was in luck. Just as he came through the side of the building, he saw her, seemingly coming out of the Library and heading down the walkway. She was dressed much the same like the evening before—that was, too elegantly. It was flared mini skirt this time and a tidily tucked-in lightweight top that clung over soft curves. It was still an all red ensemble—blood-red ensemble down to the heeled sandals on her feet. There was no hat though and her long hair—and, if that wasn’t extension, Dickson wryly thought, then the stylist that handed out that long, straight pitch black gorgeous array must be a real pro.
Lady in red, that’s what Lekan had nicknamed her yesterday. It was apt, and weird. It was baffling why anyone would wear red all through. Maybe Osawe had a point. Maybe they should let go this one bet. There was something odd, and disquieting, about her. He moved his foot, to retrace his steps and head back to his faculty, but found himself stepping forward and tugging the crotch of his jeans trousers as he felt a distinct tenseness there.
“Hello!” He called, and inhaled because he suddenly felt feverish.
Or was it, heated?
She halted and slowly turned, cocked her head to one side and sauntered, like a predatory cat, towards him. “I have been waiting for you.” She said.
The whispery, almost sultry voice heightened the tension in his trousers and intensified his feverish, or was it heated, feeling. In her eyes, a deep-set pure black pair, desire blared like rich flickers of fire. She wanted him. That stark reality briefly reminded Dickson of their bet and forgetting his discomfiture, he gloried in the win he was certain would be his. He would have her. They would see, and pay. Then he would have her again. Once won’t be enough. Not for this beauty and not for the fiery passion in her eyes.
And in his boxer-shorts, he added the thought with a sly smile. “And I’ve been looking for you.” He let the smile roll to broad and confident. “Red is obviously your favourite colour. You must have a wardrobe full of it.”
“It is and I do.” Her teeth were oyster-white and they blinked as her red-painted pouty lips dipped in a come-get-me smile. “Can we go now?”
A puzzled frown filtered across his features. “Where?”
“Your room, I should think.”
Whoa! He had been right. She was stalking him—and putting the moves on him. Slutty little she-devil, aren’t you? “Are you through with your classes for the day?” There was no need to hurry just because she was on heat.
“No class. I came here for only one thing.” She took a step and leaned her face towards his. She smelled like wild hot sex. “I came here for you. Only for you.”
“You did?” Dickson struggled between desire and confusion. “I don’t understand.”
Her smile turned coy. “You want me, don’t you?”
“I do.” Her eyes were like pools of unending streams of water and he felt like he wanted to drown in then. “But I don’t know you. Who are you?”
“You will know me soon.” She caressed his lower lip. “Take me home with you.”
Dang! She wasn’t just a slut but the mother of all sluts. Still, she came easy and his man was ready to pounce anyway. “All right, as my lady pleases.”
Her hand trailed to his jaw and held there. “I am not your lady. I will never be. Now let’s go. I can’t wait anymore.” She turned, with the graceful move of a cat, and sauntered in the direction he’d come from.
Dickson stared after her for the briefest baffled moment. Then he shook himself, slid out his phone and sent an instant message to Lekan. Then allowing a triumphant grin bury his bafflement, he hastened his steps to meet up with her. Though she was on heels, at least four inches long, she walked with a fluid speed that was awe-inspiring.
At the hostel, he unlocked his door and stepped aside for her to go through first. “Welcome to my humble abode.” He said, following her closely behind.
He expected, at the very least, an expression of being impressed since his self-contained room was top-notch furnished and never ceased to earn compliments from male and female students alike. But she said nothing and her expression was near insouciant as she gave the room a careless glance-over. Maybe she was the daughter of some millionaire, Dickson thought with mild irritation at her indifference. They were usually spoilt rich brats and tramps. Well, he was about to win some cool cash off her cheap little ass.
It wasn’t a bad ass too, he privately chuckled, dumped his backpack on the table and expansively gestured to the black leather-covered loveseat. “Make yourself comfortable, please. May I get you anything?”
She glanced at him. “Only yourself.”
He wanted to splutter out a laugh at her outrageous words but the quick tightening in his loins and her penetrating eyes locked the laugh in his throat. “Ah… I’ll be back in a minute then.” He fled into his bathroom, slammed the door after him and braced his back against it.
Jesus! Who—or better, what was she? There was something about her. She had this… force. This energy behind her eyes… about her. It scorched him with a ravenous hunger to grab hold of her and—just feed. Damn!
Dickson breathed and glanced down at himself. His erection was now iron-hard turgid and straining against his trousers. He almost felt embarrassed. What was wrong with him? Can this just be desire for sex? Desire to win a bet? He’d never felt like this.
He raised his hand, and finding it quivering slightly, hissed before rubbing it over his face and pressing it hard against his pounding heartbeat. He wanted her. That was blatantly clear and the sheer desire for her, like flaming embers, burned through him. Unable to contain it, and himself, any longer, he yanked off his chequered shirt, kicked off his loafers and tugged off his trousers. His shaft stood swollen and throbbing inside the striped boxer-shorts.
Dickson flung open the door of the wall-nailed cabinet, grabbed a pack of condom, considered sliding it on. But his hand was quivering so bad, he was certain he’d flounder at it. He would allow her do the honours, he thought, puffing out a feverish breath and nudging shut the cabinet door.
He entered back the room and his mouth dropped open.
She was on his bed, naked as a jaybird, and her legs widely parted.
His popping eyes zeroed in on her gleaming vagina. A curly mass of hair—red hair—covered the V-shaped centre and glistened with alluring wetness. Dickson vaguely wondered if a black woman should possess red pubic hair. But since she had a milky brown complexion like she was off mixed-race, he let go the thought—which wasn’t any hardship since every thought in his head had evaporated.
“Come to me.” She invited, her voice a smoky sultriness.
He didn’t need a second invitation. Dickson felt like his feet were running as he marched forward and climbed into the double-size bed. He hunched in between her legs and just stared hungrily at her naked body. Her complexion wasn’t only flawless and perfect, it seemed to shine and shimmer with no visible sign of inking or piercing on it.
“Gosh, you are beautiful!” He rasped out.
She said nothing.
Quivering and bizarrely fearful, without knowing why, he raised his hand and buried it in the glistening curly red mass over her vagina, and helplessly moaning, he started to massage the soft mound beneath.
She didn’t moan and didn’t show any physical sign of pleasure, yet she was dripping.
Dickson found it odd, and annoying—and scary. He stopped the caressing movements of his hand and fingers, heaved up and tugged off his boxer-shorts. Then he realised that he had dropped the condom. His head told him to go retrieve it but his engorging shaft sent him back on his knees and pushed him towards her.
“I think I will ride you. You like to be mounted and ridden, don’t you, Dickson?”
He did. A chick on top of him and working him was his highest form of pleasure. But a puzzling thought crept through his blank mind. “You know my name.” He croaked, the powerful need surging through him drying his throat. “I don’t recall telling you my name.”
“I know you.” She said simply, her eyes flashing with a strange light.
“Oh.” He licked his lips. “So, what is yours?”
“Rouge. That is unusual.”
“It’s French for red. And we have talked enough.”
With a swift movement that was shocking in its quickness and strength, she grabbed hold of him and turned him over so that he was on his back and she above, hunched, knees apart, over his body. But before he could question that fast move, she lifted up her hips and lowered it again, her dripping vagina clenching over his eager shaft like a caressing fist.
Dickson let out an involuntary groan, shuddering as pleasure spread through him. His eyes fluttered close and he surrendered himself to the wicked pleasure of her rising and descending hips in rightly-paced tempo.
Gosh, she tasted so good. So damn good. He opened his eyes and reached out his hand to circle her waist and was surprised to find her body cold. “You’re cold.” He murmured, his hazy mind bewildered. But she wasn’t just cold; her body was freezing and felt chilly under his palms.
And that wasn’t the only thing freezing, her previously sweetly-warm vagina was slowly becoming chilly as well and its clenching hold now tighter than an iron-fist. “Ah, could you ease off a little?” He was beginning to feel the pain of the increasingly tightening grip. “God, you feel so cold. Should I turn off the air-conditioner?”
Even as he asked the question, he realised he hadn’t turned it on in the first place. His teeth started to chatter and other parts of his body trembled as the coldness from her froze him. She was still heaving up and slowly down on him, and with each move, his shaft sunk deeper and deeper into her and the iciness that lodged therein, twisting his hard-on into a turgid solidness.
The fear that was teetering in the background, rose to the surface and snapped to live his senses. “Stop!” Dickson cried. She was killing him. Oh God, she was going to kill him! “Get off me!” He tried to push her off but his hands felt limp and felt back on the bed.
Fear mixed with panic and he stared at her frantically. She still looked flawlessly beautiful. She wasn’t trembling, not from the cold that flowed out of her and not from passion. Her expression was impassive. Her eyes were empty—and frozen.
“Jesus!” Dickson cried out. “Oh God, please help me!” He wanted to scream, to yell out the words, but the words would only come in whimpers.
“He won’t, you know. Not when you are breaking his number six law.” Her tone was soft, whispery and conversational. “What was it he said?—if any part of you causes you to sin, cut it off. I think we should cut this sinful part of you off, Dickson.”
And she lifted off him, reached forward her left hand and locked it around his solid-frozen shaft, then pulled. At the excruciating pain, Dickson opened his mouth to scream but she hefted up her body and slammed her mouth over his, swallowing the cry of piercing cry that was surging out.
It wasn’t a kiss. And her mouth wasn’t a mouth anymore. It opened up and took the shape of a crocodile’s, enormous and consuming, with teeth that were jagged. And she gnawed and hacked off his flesh.
“I can’t believe you called me out of class just so we can watch Dick do some girl.” Osawe was mostly pissed at himself for abandoning his class to come play peeping-tom.
“Stop whining like you’re not dying to watch them do it.” Lekan taunted. He’d recovered from his last evening’s spooked state and primping to watch live porn.
“I am not!” Osawe denied, affronted. “We should all outgrow this bad habit already. It is shameful and sickening. And how do you even know Dickson wasn’t bragging as usual? How could he have gotten the girl into bed so soon? Na jazz?”
“Which is why we are here, to make sure he’s not lying to us.” Lekan sent him a gleeful wink as they strode down the corridor that divided the rows of rooms.
The three of them had this sizeable square-cut hole sawed into their doors through which their peeping was done. It had been Dickson’s idea. The dude was a hard-core evil mind and Lekan sometimes wondered if he’d ever outgrow his wicked ways. Not yet, he thought lasciviously with a burst of eagerness as they neared Dickson’s door.
But it was slightly ajar, when they reached it. It wasn’t what stopped their feet and filled them with sudden unease though. It was the inexplicable feel of bad omen and the distinct acrid smell that festered in the air.
Both their heartbeats had begun to thud but neither of them spoke of it.
Maybe because he was the one in front or the one with more courage, Osawe would never know what made him reach out his hand and nudge the door inside. “Oh Jesus!” Was the quick shriek that stuttered out of his moth as he came face to face with the most horrifying sight he’d ever seen in his life.
Dickson—what looked like Dickson—was lying on the bed stark naked on his back and masked in blood. His face, no longer a face as part of it seemed to have been chewed off by what must have been gigantic teeth, was partly soaked with blood that surged out from the mangled open-hole that must have once been his mouth. His eyes were open, wide open, with fear still blaring through them even in death. His legs were apart and something that looked like his yanked out manhood lay in between his legs.
A scream tore out of Lekan and his feet gave out underneath him as he keeled over in a dead faint.
All Osawe could think as he stood there immobile with terror that held him frozen and shivering from the strange coldness that filled the room was that he had known something was definitely wrong with a woman clad in all red attire on a Wednesday evening.
The End… I think?
Dedication: Specially dedicated to all November birthday celebrants.