From the dates to the lines, sex, ups and downs and everything in between, the 40+ Anonymous monthly series covers the dating life of our 40+ anonymous writer.
When I was ten years old, I was terribly sick. I eventually landed in a hospital, hooked up to a drip for several days.
This illness occurred during a visit to a Nigerian “eatery” known for its soft serve ice cream — the kind that swirls into a cone straight from a machine. Although I eventually recovered, the experience left a lasting impact on me. From that day forward, I found it impossible to consume soft serve ice cream, or anything resembling it, without triggering a gag reflex. Hold this thought.
If you’ve read my previous story, you’re aware that I’m the template in many roadside plastic surgery clinics in Nigeria today. To be perceived as “sexy” comes with privileges, one of which was lack of exposure to flaccid penises during intimate moments.
I met a man named Anthony once. He was a strikingly handsome, well-built man, standing at an impressive 6’4″, with a jawline that could cut through stone. I felt like I’d struck gold. However, statistics show that the likelihood of winning the lottery in one’s lifetime is less than 1 in 14 million. If only I had known this at the time.
Anthony and I began dating, starting with lunches, progressing to dinners, and eventually, outings with friends and larger groups. We engaged in kisses and flirtatious banter, but he maintained a PG-rated approach and never seemed in a hurry to reach the final destination. This change of pace from my usual thirsty encounters was a breath of fresh air.
The innuendos intensified, and I recall sending him a photo of myself dressed up for a friend’s wedding. His response read, “That dress looks amazing on you, but it would look even better on the floor.” It felt as if we were building up to an extraordinary climax.
Finally, the day arrived unplanned. After spending time with friends at a bar, indulging in a few drinks and dancing, we ended up at his place.
Before this man had even managed to remove his shirt, my clothes were scattered on the floor.
Are you laughing at me?
Abi, you wan make I form?
Konji no dey look person face o.
Call it pride or vanity, but in my natural state, I am truly a sight to behold. Yet, this man surpassed me — a sight that deserves an emphatic 100 marks. However, as my eyes travelled over his physique, I noticed a distinct absence — the lack of an erect penis. Before I could think too deeply, he kissed me, his hands exploring every inch of my body. And I forgot about the absence.
As time passed, my own hands began to wander. When they finally reached the promised land, they were met with far less than had been promised.
“Are you okay?” I mustered the courage to ask.
“I think I may have had too much to drink. Maybe you can help encourage him,” he responded sheepishly, smiling.
Coaxing a reluctant male member was not something I was well-versed in, but I decided to give it my best shot. I began with my fingers and hands, at one point straddling him, desperately trying to arouse his flaccid manhood. Kasala burst when I finally resorted to using my mouth.
I threw up all over his penis.
After successfully avoiding each other for the few years that followed, fate decided to throw us back together professionally. During what turned out to be the world’s most awkward coffee meeting, we revisited the night that abruptly halted a blossoming relationship. Here we sat, two strangers attempting to address the elephant in the room so that we could work together without complications.
“I still suffer PTSD from that night,” he began. “I wish you’d been more patient with me.”
“I was patient; I tried everything I knew. It didn’t help that you looked me directly in the eyes and told me it had never happened to you before. That did wonders for my self-esteem, as you can imagine.”
The ensuing silence was thicker than the cakes my sister forced me to try when she was starting out as a baker.
“I’d started taking blood pressure medication a few weeks prior. It turns out that was the culprit,” he said, finally breaking the silence.
At that moment, I wanted to share the story of the soft-serve ice cream that made me sick as a child, and how his flaccid penis reminded me of the worst time in my life. However, deep down, I knew such a revelation wouldn’t be helpful.
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly, discreetly signalling the waiter to bring the bill.
