Men Are The Same

Men Are The Same

For the past two hours, you’ve been bored; and although you came to this club to have fun, to forget about the fact that you are lonely (despite being crazily rich), you still felt like you were in a desert. Earlier, you had finished a bottle of André wine, and as you ordered another one, the barman looked at you oddly. You knew what he was thinking, what he saw you as: a wanton woman. Perhaps one of those who had rich sugar daddies, had no real jobs and spent money like it was printed in their houses.

At that particular thought you let out a low chuckle. If only he knew that money wasn’t your problem, you thought. And certainly you didn’t need any man to give you a dime. As a matter of fact—

That was when you sighted him. He was seated at a corner of the bar, all alone, drinking a glass of Heineken. From his looks, he didn’t have much money. Which was perfect, because you knew that what you wanted from men would only be given by those who didn’t have enough money. It was a bit hard to do, but you knew that money—the right amount of money—would soften the edges, and make him willing to offer you his services.

With that thought in mind, you downed the last drops of your wine, dropped some excess cash for the barman and sauntered towards him. As you methodically took one cat-like step after another, you imagined yourself being a lioness—a huge, hungry lioness, with a big appetite; and him? He was the prey. Maybe an antelope, but the prey nonetheless.

He had just poured the last of his drink in the bottle into the glass, and as he raised the foamy liquid to his dark, succulent lips, you came into his view. You watched with glee as he looked hungrily at you, saw his Adam’s apple bob up and down, and noticed that he took a longer time in finishing his drink.

“Hello,” you said, sitting down beside him. It was probably rude to sit down without being invited to, but you were sure that he would not have minded. You almost had him in your palms.

“Hello, pretty girl,” he replied, smacking his lips noisily. That irked you. You weren’t sure which one irked you the more—his poor attempt at flattery or the smacking of his lips. You finally decided that it didn’t matter now. You had a need that needed to be met as soon as possible.

“Hi,” you began, “I’ve been watching you for a while now. And I must confess that I am interested in you. I want to have sex with you.”

Thank God he had finished his drink before you told him that. Otherwise he could have been choked to death from the shock that was evident on his face. Although he had nothing in his mouth, somehow his saliva found its way into the wrong opening, and that led to a bout of coughing and wheezing. That was the opening you needed. You edged closer to him, patted him on the back, while calmly whispering soothing words into his ears.

Finally he gained control of himself. Then he said, “Excuse me, what did you just say?”

“I said that I want to have sex with you. Don’t you want to fuck me?”

You saw his eyes dilate. You knew what he was thinking. The others had thought the same thing too. What kind of woman is this? he must have thought. After some seconds—precious seconds—he finally nodded his head. Maybe he didn’t trust his voice to deliver his agreement.

“Good, my car is outside. Let’s go to my place,” you said, and practically dragged him out of the club. He nearly stumbled on a man who was in his way, but at the last moment, he gained his balance and left with you.


Twenty-five minutes later, he was sprawled on your bed, naked and waiting for you. He had wanted to take a bath first, but you had stopped him. I like the smell of a man’s sweat, you said. And truly you did. You liked the dank, sticky scent of raw sex the more. And while most people would like some amount of air into the room during a fuck, you preferred to lock everywhere up to retain the smell. You have come to realize that it quickened your orgasm.

Then you approached him, knelt before him and grabbing his hard, long and vein-enriched dick, you took him, all of him, into your warm mouth. You heard his sharp intake of breath, and a knowing smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. With a skill you knew you had, you worked him, licking and sucking him till he exploded into your mouth. As he heaved heavy breaths of satisfaction, you stood up, went into the bathroom, and rinsed your mouth. Not that you didn’t like the taste of his juice, but you weren’t in the mood to swallow it.

You came out, and as he started to kiss your neck and run his hands over your breasts, you held his hands. “I need you to return the gesture,” you said.

“Huh?” he croaked, his mind too far away to piece together any coherent thought.

“I need you to give me a head too,” you whispered, your voice masked with naked need.

“Well … okay,” he reluctantly said.

“There’s one thing though,” you added. And at his expectant look, you continued, “I am on my period. I want you to give me a head now.”

His shocked and incredulous shout of “What!” made you angry instantly. But you couldn’t show it, not now.

“Are you out of your mind?” he asked, looking at you as though he hadn’t received a similar gesture few minutes ago.

In response you made him an offer. “I’ll give you five hundred thousand naira for you to do it now. One half before you start and the other after I’ve reached my orgasm.”

That was the reason you had chosen him. You knew that he would never refuse the money offer. Not when he was obviously broke or about to be broke. He was silent for about a minute, perhaps mulling over what such an amount of money could do for him. You could see the wheels turning in his head, so you let him be, and went into the bathroom. For some strange reason, you decided to take a shower today before the act. Maybe you felt that he might die from the odour.

When you came out, a look at him confirmed it before he said it. “I’ll do it. But you have to give me one hundred thousand naira cash and transfer the rest into my account.”

You smiled. Men are the same, you thought. They can never resist a good fuck and a good amount of money.

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