Mercy my passionate sweetheart

The annual sporting event was held between the five schools within the district. The hosting of the event was rotated and was keenly contested by the schools. A trophy was at stake and each of the contesting schools was always keen to come out as champions. The event was also an occasion for the girls to flaunt their lovely, plump and full behinds. Harriet a super slender girl from the Airwaves School triggered some envious eyes during the event with her top of the range dresses. She exemplified anything that is feminine. She spotted well-defined curves at the top and bottom and had an attractive big bum. Many of the boys lusted for her ample assets. Mercy turned up on the day in a skimpy party dress that revealed her breathtaking zesty chest. I was entranced by her unique looks and I stared longingly at her youthful cleavage. Reverie, fantasy and delusion Mercy was an embodiment of all these stringed together. I was lost in the labyrinth of time.

It was the turn of the Airwaves School to host the games so we went in our school bus. Many of our girls wore figure-hugging dresses, to expose their stunning curves. It was an attention seeking tactics aimed at getting hold of boyfriends. Mercy looked effortlessly stylish on the day. She insisted she would sit by me in the bus. She rubbed her toned legs on mine throughout the journey. Festive cheers spread all over my face and I shrieked with delight. As soon as we arrived at the host school, we were greeted with the usual foul four-letter rants and the whole school was in uproar. The Airwaves School unlike ours had children with parents that indulge freely in vices one could imagine. Free for all extra-marital dating, bribery and corruption. Fathers having two or more wives with concubines were a norm. Wives had to learn to live with such unfaithful husbands because protests from reluctant ones may result in them being labelled as malicious wives. On rare occasions, some bold dissatisfied spouses hunted for pleasure from secret lovers when their men were away on night duties or keeping peace in the Sudan.

‘Crabs do not begat robins’; an elder once said. The students from the Airwaves school were never fed up of being raunchy with their short-skirted girls. Their hands wandered around the eye-catching curves of their girls with enthusiasm as they walked arm in arms on the fields. It was a nuisance to the baffled soul. Mercy idolised Harriet for her love for high-life. She idolised her and felt liberated in her company. She picked few bad habits from her and became more daring with her affections. She saw the lecherous pranks of Harriet as a more passionate way of expressing love. The first encounter I had with Mercy after her stint with Harriet was on the second day of the games. She came that day with a well-prepared meal neatly tucked in a basket covered with a lacy covering cloth. The size of the basket was too large to contain food for her tiny self. I knew she was up to some tricks. I was proven right when she later informed me I had a share in the food.

During lunch break, I was with the rest of the guys on the track when Amon signal to me that Mercy was looking for me. I left them reluctantly. I found her soaking up the sun on the lawns on the compound of the Airwaves School with the basket half opened. ‘Sit down my sky flower.’ She pointed to the lawns when I got there. She stopped what she was doing and came over to me when I sat down. ‘I am here to please you’ she continued and in a twinkle of an eye, I felt the warmth of her velvety lips on mine. She held me close to herself and squeezed me softly. ‘May I feel my love in the sun waves for once? Cling to my turtle dove with glee for tomorrow could snatch him away from me’. I was not sure if Mercy was reciting a line from a love ballad or not nonetheless, the tunes from the loved one hit me with a force. The breeze blowing from the luxuriant trees nearby added some glam to our romantic get-to-gather. It all happened in a flash and the next thing I saw was Mercy sitting on my lap. She rubbed her hands all over me. In my trance, I did not notice it when she thrust her hands into my shirt. Her daintily hands were magical and suddenly she started singing a sombre tune from a popular hip - life song.

‘You are not the only miserable turtle dove without a loved one. It is an endless list of desperate folks, so be glad my sky flower’.

I drew her attention to the students walking about our fairy-tale hideaway. She reluctantly went to the basket and dished out the lavish meal and we ate in silence. Intermittently she offered me a spoon full of the rice from her plate and I did likewise. We chatted intimately as we take our lavish lunch. Mercy’s closeness to me I must admit was forged by real love; and she has so much of that to give.

It was later I realised Mercy was influenced by Harriet, the girl who took the style crown during the games. Harriet showed off her sensational curves in her see through dresses and this made her the most desired lady of the moment. She had legions of fans craving her voluptuous behind. She settled for a lanky sprint runner, who found fame at the games. This notwithstanding she had a secret lover who was a lead singer in police band near her school. This fuelled speculations that she was rotten girl who was up to no good. Her secret lover was twice her age and the story was told that he gloated over his exploits with teenage girls. ‘The lead singer funded her fashionable lifestyle from bribes he collected from miscreant taxi drivers plying the 37 Military Hospital areas’. Mercy explained. ‘He had strings of ex-girl friends’. She continued. Apparent during the game Harriet took Mercy to the hordes of her secret lover and passed her over to another playboy who was guitarist in the police band. Mercy luckily had a narrow get away from the clutches of the predator.

Incidentally, Mercy kept her encounter with the guitarist from me until after the sporting event. I had seen her a few times with Harriet walking towards the bandstand area but I suspected nothing fishy. All the same, I was so uncomfortable with her association with the wannabe glamour girl. Then she sang the poplar hip-life song at the least chance. ‘You are not the only ill-fated bumble bee with a lost cherished queen. It is an endless list so be thankful my purple flower’. That was unlike Mercy. She used to sing hymns like ‘Amazing Grace how sweet the song that saves a wretch like me….’ When I asked, why she liked the tunes of such a sombre music ‘I would tell you some day’ was her response. That was never to be. She never told me until this day.

Francis Kwaku Egu

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