Page 5 of Two’s Better

“Esther. Right! Are you telling me you dated for all those months and didn’t do anything?”

“It was nine weeks, actually,” I replied dryly. Esther had been … very present in my life, which sometimes made most of my friends confused about just how long we’d dated. She’d also been the longest I’d seriously dated since Hope, who I’d been with for practically all the six years of my secondary school life. The same length as Ofure and her secondary school sweetheart, Daniel, as she’d pointed out last night.

“And you never had sex?” Prince was gaping at me.

I let my lip curl into an amused smirk. “Why do you think we broke up?”

“Guy,” Prince began, adjusting his position so we were facing each other. “Guy, what the fuck are you even saying? What about, uh, that sporty guy with the motorcycle …?”

“Maddox. And nope.” Yeah, him I’d actually gone home with, but we’d ended up talking and binging episodes of Family Guy. I’d been really into him, and while he’d been equally attracted to me, he hadn’t been over his ex; they’d gotten back together literally the day after that, thanks to my “talk” with him, so that had been over before it’d even began.

“All those people?”

I shook my head, openly amused.

“But you at least got to second and third base, right? Sucked some breast? Stroked some dick? Touched some punani?” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Ey,” I said, but I was laughing. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“What even brought this up, sef?” His expression turned devious. “Wait, do you want to ask me for some tips? I can help you out if that’s what you want. At least with the ladies.” He winked.

“Can you please be serious for one second in your life?”

Prince laughed. He clapped his hands then rubbed them together. “Come on, then. Hit me with it. Some hot specimen catch your eye?”

I hesitated.

Maybe Ofure was right, and guys like me were unicorns, but it seemed I had the exact same problem she had, because almost every single person I’d ever dated or tried to date took it very fucking personally when I told them I wanted to take it slow, or that I wanted my first time to be special. Weirdos aside, some of them only went along with it because they assumed I was doing them a favour, like me wanting to wait meant I was simply trying to be a “gentleman” or some shit, because a big guy like me didn’t need that kind of reassurance, right?

Of course, it was absolutely fine that the people I’d dated didn’t want a slow build; it was the fact that they’d lied about not minding, then grew angry and petty and frustrated the longer I didn’t make a move that I hated. The only thing that had prevented me from developing some kind of “complex”, as Ofure would have called it, was Ofure herself.

Considering our almost identical dating histories, I could understand her frustration perfectly. But all this talk about “lowering” her expectations? About being “realistic”? That was fucking bullshit. Ofure deserved the world. If she wanted the “perfect” first time, she should absolutely get it. It was just … fate, right? That our goals seemed to align.

“Uzezi, I’m going grey here.”

“Look, just hear me out.” I paused. “Ofure,” I blurted, feeling like I’d just jumped off a cliff.

“What happened to her?” Prince asked, for a moment not getting it. It sank in half a moment later. “Wait, Ofure? Your best friend, Ofure?” His expression was hard to interpret.

I bristled. “Why the fuck not? What’s wrong with Ofure?”

“Nothing!” Prince held his hands up in surrender. “Nothing. I’m just—where on earth is this even coming from? I thought you guys didn’t see each other like that.”

“We don’t. But—look, me and Ofure, right, we used to talk about how we want our first times to be perfect.” Memories of That Titular Night—capitalisation and all—made me feel strangely warm yet simultaneously grossed out every time I remembered it, which I tried not to do. Because, again, while the moment itself had been hot in an abstract kind of way, once it was over, it had just been plain weird. “Not perfect in the literal sense, just—we want it to be good. Sweet and romantic and shit.”

“That’s … kind of cute.”

I threw a pepperoni slice at him. He moved lightning quick and caught it with his mouth, the clown.

“You remember that guy she was dancing with last night? Yeah, she’d actually wanted to go home with him. She just wants to get it over with, she said. That it’s unrealistic to want a first time like that.”

“I mean …” Prince eyed me. “She’s not wrong, though, is she? My first time was a fucking disaster. I lasted like, three seconds, I’m telling you. Don’t you dare fucking laugh; I’ll fucking kill you! I was sixteen and—Uzezi, shut the fuck up!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” I clenched my jaw.

“As I was saying, that romantic shit only happens in movies. What exactly are you even picturing, sef? Rose petals? Wizkid and Tems crooning, you don’t need no other body into your ear?”

I shoved him, both of us laughing. “Why are you like this, abeg? And it’s nothing so serious. We just want someone we love and trust and are one hundred percent comfortable with. Someone who’d probably take it slow, you know; listen to us, make it good.”