Living With My Grandma Episode 1

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🧏 Living With My Grandma Episode One:

Fair warning: The story you’re about to read contains some explicit contents. This is to as many who frown at stories with such contents. Unapologetically, I did it to bring sparkles and spices up the story. I hope you enjoy reading this—because I really enjoyed writing it. Happy reading.

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Some years ago, I lived with my grandmother; a diabetes patient. It was just the two of us living together. She was allergic to salty food. Even though salt doesn’t affect blood glucose levels, too much salt could raise her blood pressure.

So, I’d always prepare our meal together but whenever I wanted to dish mine, I’d add uncooked salt to my own portion. I always did that when the food was still hot. It was particularly the major thing I detested then living with her. She didn’t choose to be diabetic, so I had to manage and adapt.

Grandma was in her late seventies. She was ageing with gray hairs. There were least of things she could do at her age but she never liked to miss being at the church premises. A devout catholic mother. Well, let me not bore you more about grandma, as you go on to read the rest of my story, you’ll surely find out whom she was and what she’s made of.

My name is Victoria, but my grandma preferred calling me by my Igbo name, Ziora. But friends and acquaintances called me Zee, my siblings inclusive. I’m what you might describe as a chubby girl. Though some folks felt I’m fat but I hate to admit that I’m fat. Literally, I’m not. I’m pretty satisfied with what I see every time I stand before the mirror.

My parents and siblings lived in Abuja while I was staying with Grandma in the village—somewhere in Anambra State. In the family of six, I was the only one who accepted to assist grandma while schooling in the village. And that really transformed me to a pauper village girl. None of my siblings accepted to stay with her due to numerous reasons, health issues inclusive. I had empathy for grandma—and that made me more closer to her. There was this bond between us.

The good thing about living with my grandma was I had everything I ever needed. She had six sons, my father inclusive—and all were doing very well. Two were outside the country while the remaining four lived in Lagos and Abuja. My uncles were used to sending money weekly and monthly, depending on needs. Truth is, I could bill the five of them today and get credit alerts the next day. They cherished me just like I cherished living with their mother. I had enough clothes, shoes, wrist watches and other luxuries, but those stuffs didn’t really made me happy enough. I still missed my family—my siblings were such a vibe that living together with them was nothing to compare with.

Grandma and I lived in his first son’s storey building. Sometimes, it was terrifying living in that big mansion. The serenity and calmness was too dangerous for my likeness. We lived in a two bedroom flat downstairs but once in a blue moon, I do clean up the flats upstairs and the remaining flats downstairs. I had always dreaded going into those rooms all alone. Even though we had a standby generator and Dstv, it wasn’t really enough to kill boredom. Besides, I was bad at operating the oversized sumec generator.

Living with my grandma changed me in a way; I became used to running errands here and there, visiting places I never knew. Normally, my family visited villa only during festive periods, so I barely knew places until I started living with grandma.

Then I had a boyfriend, Emeka. But I called him Meska. My day one nigga. Instead of the normal Zee I was known for, he preferred calling me Ziggy. Even though it sounded masculine, I loved it. He was the very first person I fell in love with. Though I was young and naïve. I was just eighteen and had written Waec the previous year.

Emeka was cute and alluring. And that was what really attracted me to him. His lips, curly hairs and of all, his command of English language was top notch. His presence was so so electrifying. And don’t think I asked him out because of the way I described him. No, I couldn’t just do the approaching. I felt it was normal for guys to do it and not the other way round. He was actually the one who did the ‘chyking’ and wooing. After initial ‘gragra’ I accepted to be Meska’s lover and the rest they say was history.

Meska was an undergraduate at Unizik. He was studying Fine and Applied Art. He was a badass artist. His drawings and artworks looked great just like him. He had good numbers of followers on Instagram who followed him because of his amazing works and crafts. The prospect of being in a relationship with him grew by the day. There were days we talked about the number of kids we would have when finally we get married, and other days we quarreled and fought. But at the end of the day, we’d always make up and move on. I was really crazy about him. His hairstyle then was ‘Gallas’. You’d never see Meska on any other hairstyle aside ‘Gallas’.

My best moments were the days he came for holidays or weekends. He would always drive me around the village with his father’s motorcycle. Oftentimes, we went swimming at the river till red eyes. Thinking about these lovely memories with Meska kinda makes me feel nostalgic.

Meska and I were dating but grandma never knew about our relationship. The least thing she expected from me was seeing me around boys. She had cautioned me severally to keep off from them—and I knew her fear was premarital sex that could lead to pregnancy. Grandma said something I’d never forget and it goes: “Don’t get deceived by their sugarcoated mouth. They don’t love you. They only want to sleep with you and move to the next person.” Till today, I still haven’t forgotten that.

Despite her warnings and cautions, I still didn’t adhere. I was blinded by youthful exuberance. Meska was the source of my happiness those days. He was simply my joy giver. Waking up every day and realizing I had someone as him in my life was a big flex. It lessened my boredom and made me feel excited by the day.
I did everything possible to hide him away from grandma. Anytime Meska was in our house, bear it in mind that grandma had gone a far distance journey or perhaps at the market. I was that careful that she never suspected any silly movement.

Another silly act I did was giving out our foodstuffs to Meska whenever he was returning to school. We actually had more than enough and there was no way grandma would suspect any missing foodstuffs. How would she even gonna find out? Not to exaggerate, her monthly money for upkeep always totaled in six figures. And funnily enough, I gave Meska from that money. Isn’t that crazy? Garri, rice, beans, tinned milk and tea, onions, red oil and other provisions were what Meska always got from me each time his holidays were over. He was really grateful for everything I did.

His parents weren’t that rich. I could do anything for my Meska. I was so in love. I was mad over him in Runtown’s voice—and that was when that hit song was trending. I eventually used it as my ringtone. Now, I don’t even know if Runtown is still singing, shey baba don retire ni?

There came a time when Meska was done with his second semester exams (200l). He visited home a week after the end of his exams. And that was the month of August; August meeting had started. It was on the second day of the meeting, Mama had gone out dressed on her CWO attire; white and customized blue wrapper. The moment she left, I quickly called Meska on phone. I hadn’t seen him in a long time and there I was, impatiently waiting for his arrival. I couldn’t wait to behold his face.

He promised to come in the next thirty minutes but after an hour, Meska didn’t show up. I got tired of hearing him say things like: “I’ll be there soon.” I dropped my phone angrily. Not long after I called him last, he finally showed up. My joy knew no bound. Even when I was clearly sad. He came in through the big black painted gate.
He was all smile seeing my angry look. His smile was infectious and that got me smiling sheepishly. I rushed him with a hug, almost throwing him off balance but Meska didn’t allow us fall. He apologized for being late. His mother had kept him doing one thing or the other; he narrated.

“It’s fine. How’s school? Your girlfriends are really treating you well.” I teased him. He went into momentarily laughter. After which he said there was no such person he loved the way he loved me. And that really got me emotional. I hugged him again and this time we held each other’s arms for some seconds. He was taller. So, he kissed my forehead. “I have missed you so much.” He whispered softly into my left ear. “Meska, I missed you more.”

We went inside—straight to my already arranged room. It was covered with darkness, I drew the curtain and light from the beaming sun came through the Louvres. There was no light, I asked him to turn on the generator. Luckily, there was enough petrol in it.
The blue bulb gave a dim light. The ceiling was in motion up there and that gave the room enough ventilation. He reached for my bed and sat there while pressing his phone.

The bed which was neatly against two walls—one of which was painted yellow and smattered with posters. A pillow neatly propped against it. I didn’t even get to offer him anything before joining him on the bed. I had missed my nigga so much. He smelled so nice on his vintage shirt.

“So, you won’t offer me anything?” He teased in Igbo. We laughed.
“Food is surplus in the house. I want to eat you first then we’d both eat whatever you want.” My silly response.

He threw a pillow at my face. I found the second pillow, threw it at him. I stood up hastily, while he ran after me. Before I could get to the door, he grabbed me from the back, I turned with a smiling face. Our eyes got locked in contact—starring at each other affectionately. And that lead to crashing of lips. He grabbed my protruded ass while kissing my lips. He made way towards the direction of the bed; he pushed me down when he reached the high bed. And just like two dogs on heat period, we began rolling on the sheet. He pulled my top and my bum short, leaving me with my undies and bare breast. I unbuttoned his vintage shirt while he pulled his trouser.

I couldn’t get enough of him. I was tired and sore but I didn’t care. I wanted him in me. His weight on top of me. I wanted to squeeze him in further and further. I wanted to watch his face. I wanted his sweat to drop on top of me. I wanted to drop mine on him. I got on top of him. I’d never done it before. I couldn’t believe it; I was inventing something. I held him and put him in. He felt deeper in me. I’ll never forget it. I was totally in charge and he liked it. I held his hands down. He pretended he want to break free.

Then I let my tits touch his face. He did something, I copied him. I did something. He copied it back, forced more of him into me.

Twenty minutes on, we heard a car honk at the gate. I jumped up. I popped out my head through the window, cold shivers ran through my spine when I behold who alighted from the Mercedes Benz.

TO Be Continued