HOLY SEX

By pŕıćéĺèżż in 11 Sep 2015 | 23:11

pŕıćéĺèżż pŕíņćě

Student

Posts: 473

Member since: 2 Jul 2015

EPISODE 1

Your pastor secretes holy milk.
That is the story being whispered by
everyone in the church—choristers,
ushers, and the women.
They say he is God’s anointed. A man
anointed by God must have all his body
parts and fluids blessed too.
With just a wave of his hands, people fall
in multitudes. When he talks the breeze
ceases and the roof trembles. He
commands the crippled to rise, and they
rise. He lays his fingers on the blind, and
they see. He touches a widow’s sick son,
and he is healed.
Your pastor secretes holy milk.
If a woman has been barren for long, she
is asked to wait behind for special prayers
so that your pastor can minister to her in
private.
That is why every Sunday, women who
are barren give testimonies of what God
has done for them.
“If not for Pastor Samuel, there would be
no baby suckling at my breasts! Praise
God!”
‘Halleluyah!’
***
You have been attending the church for
four months, which approximates to how
long you have lived in this city.
Saving Grace Incorporated is located in
the heart of the city in a gigantic edifice.
A magnificent sight to behold!
You are attracted to the church because
of the aura that surrounds it. At your new
office everyone talks about it. For every
trendy woman in town, there are three
things in vogue: Blackberry Z10, Saving
Grace Inc and pinging dresses—in that
order.
Your pastor is handsome. His nose is
finely chiseled. His clear white eyeballs
are draped in long eyelashes. His lips are
full and sensuous. His broad shoulders fill
out his designer suits. And when he
doesn’t wear a tie, his 22 carat gold
necklace sparkles in the reflection of the
glass pulpit. A thick gold ring on which is
mounted a cross and a bleeding heart
adorns the finger he uses to swipe the
ipad screen during his sermons.
Every lady in the church love listening to
his melodic voice and basking in the
intense stare from his glistening eyes.
The first time you attended Saving Grace
Incorporated, you fell in love with your
pastor.
It was not a carnal passion, but deep
reverence, the kind one feels for spiritual
leaders. But now, you cannot remove your
eyes from his face, his suit, his shiny
black shoes and his iPad. You love the
way he walks. In his church, your soul
finally finds rest like a hare thirsting for
water. Your soul yearns for his words.
You feel his gaze lingering over you the
three times you go for offering before the
end of the five hour service.
Now you dream of him on most nights.
You see him standing before the
congregation, holding his iPad and his left
hand resting on the pulpit. In your dream,
his face looks angelic. His black suit and
white starched shirt sparkle like the robe
of Jesus Christ. When he notices you, he
drops the iPad, walks down the aisle to
the pew you are seated and suddenly kiss
you. Sometimes you dream that after
kissing him, he walks down the aisle with
you, people clapping and singing:
Here comes the bride! Parararam !
Here comes the bride! Pararararam ..!
When you wake, you don’t know whether
to pray and bind the evil spirit that put the
dreams into your sleep or to thank God.
Sometimes, you notice wetness beneath
your night gown and throughout the day
you lick your lips and savor his kisses.
***
In your office, Zainab wonders why you
are always in a daze—one moment,
smiles tug at your lips and after a while
your lips contort in a worrisome pucker.
She calls you the worrying-smiling-lady.
You always talk about Saving Grace Inc.
in the office, telling everyone why they
need to desert their own churches. You
talk to them about Pastor Samuel—how
angelic he is, how divine he is. You tell
them that God has sent him to change
and heal the world of all afflictions. You
recount the number cripples that can walk
because of him, the blind that can see,
and the insane that have been made
sane.
You tell them about Alhaji’s wife, a
Muslim converted to Christianity who
attends the Saving Grace church. How she
donated a Murano jeep to Pastor Samuel
and he invited her to a special prayer
session and she conceived. You speak
about her testimony last Sunday and how
she has promised God to sow a seed of a
Lincoln Navigator when she delivers the
baby. Zainab shakes her head, calling you
Pastor Samuel’s messenger.
You eventually convince her to follow you
to church.
You are dressed in your new jeans
trouser, the one that Zainab’s brother who
lives in London bought for you. He thinks
that by sending you gifts from London, he
will get you to marry him. You wonder
why men do not realise it when women
do not like them. You enter the church
and heads turn and stare.
You sit with Zainab as she looks around
the large church, admiring the chandeliers
hanging elegantly on the ceiling, the tall
white air-conditioners in all corners of the
church and the large projector-screen on
the wall which Pastor Samuel uses to
teach prosperity and success.
The church is not full yet, but Pastor
Samuel climbs onto the altar, checks on
the microphone, and places his iPad on
the pulpit. He looks up and scans the
congregation. His eyes connect with
yours, and he beckons on you.
“Me?” you whisper as if talking to Zainab.
He says, “Yes, you. Come!”
You walk elegantly to the altar, conscious
of the hundreds of eyes that trail the
movement of your buttocks.
“Can you please help the ladies over there
with the curtain?”
“No problem, sir.” Your mouth quivers.
His eyes lock with yours. You look down,
and your eyes descend on his well
polished shoes. His cologne wafts into
your nostrils. You stare at the curly hairs
on the back of his palm.
You turn to go and he says, “Excuse me!”
“Sir?” You turn.
“Are you alright?”
“Yes, Pastor. I am fine, thank you.”
“Please see me after service.”
“ Ermm … yes, Pastor.”
You move to the side of the altar where
some young ladies are having some
difficulties drawing the curtains. As you
lift the first curtain into a bunch and tie it
into a knot, a beautiful lady, average in
height, walks out from the vestry and sits
at the end of the altar. She is Mummy
Ada, the pastor’s wife. You gape at her—
her head-tie, her long skirt, her blouse,
and her beautiful make-up. You are
jealous as you imagine her in bed with
your pastor.
After service, you walk to the back of the
church with Zainab. There are a lot of
young girls waiting to see Pastor Samuel.
There are some rich men and women too.
Your pastor is standing with his wife. She
shakes hands with everyone who comes
close to her husband and talks briefly
with them. When some hand envelopes to
your pastor, she collects them and smiles.
Sometimes, your pastor steps aside
shortly to discuss with a person who has
come to see him and then rejoins his
wife. So when it is your turn, he says to
his wife:
“Excuse me, Sugar.” He takes your hand
and steps some feet away from his wife.
“My name is Pastor Samuel. I am the
Senior pastor here.”
His alluring eyes search your face. So you
look away and say: “My name is
Blessing.” He smiles.
‘You have a nice name. What do you do?’
“I am a call centre attendant for MTN. I
am new in Lagos.”
“You have a nice work. How long have
you been in this city?”
“Four months, sir.”
“Lagos corrupts good girls—which is why
I am glad that you are always in the
church. I see you here every Sunday.’
“Oh, Pastor. Out of your over one
thousand-member congregation, you
manage to notice me?’
“Yes of course–”
“You wanted to see me, sir?” you ask,
because you are conscious of his wife,
who must be wondering what he was
discussing with you. Your body is hot
inside already and you cannot remove
your eyes away from his long fingersas
they clutched his iPad.
“What do you do every Wednesday? We
hold special prayer session for young
people. Perhaps you may like to come?”
“I will be delighted. I have been meaning
to come for some time.”
“See you next Wednesday. And dress just
the way you look today. Exquisite.” He
whispers. He walks back to his wife. You
turn and say “Good bye, Mummy’ to his
wife, at which point she approaches you.
You wonder what she wants with you.
“I love your top,” she says.
“Thank you, Ma.” You tell her your name,
and she asks if you can come to their
house on Tuesday. She was hosting a few
business partners and would love for you
to help her prepare food.
“I will be delighted to help, Ma,” you say.
It is an opportunity to meet with the
pastor again. By then your heart is
thudding like your mother’s pestle against
the mortar.
“Give me your number, and I will text you
our address.” You give her your mobile
phone number and leave with Zainab.
“What were you discussing with that
man?,” Zainab probes on the way home.
“He is not a man. He is the Pastor,” you
snap at her.
“And the Pastor is not a man?
“He is, but you shouldn’t have said that
man. You should have said ‘what were
you discussing with the pastor'” Haba!’
Zainab laughs aloud. “Okay, now tell me,
what were you discussing with your
Pastor?”
“Nothing. He thanked me for helping out
in the church with the curtains. He said I
should always come for the Wednesday
prayer sessions for young people.”
Zainab is quiet for a while. You both
arrive at the main road and are about to
hail a taxi when Zanaib ask, “Okay o. So
will you attend the Wednesday prayer
session?”
“Oh yes, and you must come with me.
Won’t you?”
Zainab says nothing. The taxi drops you
off at your house, not very far from the
church and leaves with Zainab. As you
unlock your door, you get a text message
from her. It says: Be careful with Pastor
Samuel.
That Sunday, you prepare ofe akwu and
play Asa’s The Way I feel several times in
your self-contained room-and-parlor.
You cannot sleep that afternoon because
his image has fogged your head like
smoke.
***
Two months have passed since the day
he spoke to you after church. And you
have not missed a Wednesday prayer
session.
In town, people still talk about Pastor
Samuel. They mention the number of girls
that have aborted pregnancies for him,
and how they cannot talk because he
pays them off. You are convince yourself
that it is not true. If it were true, he would
have made sexual advances at you on
one of the several visits you have paid his
wife.
Each time you visit Zainab, you talk
nonstop about Pastor Samuel, but she
retells a tale she heard in a hair salon
about his escapades with women. She
tells you that sometimes he uses his
connection to get visas for his female
friends and fly them to London or Canada
or Romania for a day or two, on his short
holidays or meetings which the church
finances. At night you remember Zainab
and all the people gossiping with your
pastor’s name in your prayers.
It is another Wednesday, and you are
surprised that your pastor has asked one
of his junior pastors to call you. You meet
him at the back of the church, and he is
talking and going to his car at the same
time. When he gets to his car he stops.
“You are really a child of God. I see that
you have found a special place in the
heart of God already.”
“Why do you say so?”
“The holy ghost has ministered to me
about you. You are always at the church
on Sundays and on Wednesdays. I like
that. That is faith at work. And most times
you help out in arranging things in the
church. I am pleased with you. You are
doing God’s work, and he has His
blessings in folds reserved for you.’
“Thank you, Pastor.’
He unlocks his car. “Now tell me, what
troubles your heart? Yesterday I saw you
in my dreams, the fourth time since the
last time we talked.” You raise your head
in astonishment and stare at his
handsome face. His eyes sparkles. You
look at the sprouts of hair on his chin.
“I see you in my dreams too, sir.”
“Oh!” he looks surprised.
He asks you to enter the car, you hurriedly
do so, turning to look around to ensure
that no one sees you as you go into the
pastor’s car. As soon as you settle into
the cosy leather seat of the BMW, he
places his hairy hand on your lap and you
shiver. You recall the stories you have
heard about his blessed hand. Images of
those times he’d placed his hand on the
blind and their eyes opened rush into your
head and you swallow saliva.
“You see me in your dreams?”
“Yes, Pastor… but I don’t mean it that
way—”
“Not to worry, my dear sister Blessing,”
he turns his face to you. “God is talking to
you. God is telling you to open your heart
for the blessings that have been blocked
from you for years by the kingdom of the
wicked ones.”
You open your mouth to speak but he
removes his hand and starts the car and
drive out of the church slowly. You
unconsciously stretch your skirt to cover
your laps very well.
When the car eases into the Lagos traffic,
he says, “Sister Blessing. You are
beautiful, you know that?”
“Thank you, Pastor.”
“Oh, Blessing. Why don’t you call me
Samuel. Always, call me Samuel. That is
what my friends call me. Or are you not
my friend?”
“I am your friend, Pastor.”
“Samuel.”
“Samuel,” you respond. Both of you
laugh.
You find yourself giving him the direction
to your house and when the car stops in
front of your house. He says to you,
“What food did you cook?”
“Pastor, I have vegetable soup in my
fridge–”
“I am famished.” He alights from the car
and you find yourself walking into the
building and opening the door of your
apartment for him. Once inside, he grabs
you swiftly to your surprise and kisses
you so tenderly on the lips.
“Pastor,” you moan as his lips cover
yours. The room is very dark as you have
not touched the switch. His hands are on
your waist, moving down to your large
buttocks. He presses himself so tight
against you and suffocates you with his
kisses. You hit him on the shoulder lightly
as you call, “Pastor… Pastor…”
He lowers you on the rug and lies on top
of you. His hand finds its way down your
blouse, and he undoes your buttons. He
finds your right breast and takes your
nipple into his mouth. You moan.
“Oh God… Oh God…” you call, and even
though it is very dark, you see an angel
on your roof. You are sure.
When you see the angel, you close your
eyes and kiss him back fervently. He
unbuckles his belt with one hand and
unhooks your bra with the other.
“Pastor, no!” you call as the image of his
wife, who is your friend flashes in your
mind. You use your two hands to cover
your breasts.
“Pastor… this is a sin,” you stutter.
“Who said so? What do you know about
the bible?”
“Pastor!”
“Yes. There are a lot of portions of the
bible that were deleted to brainwash
Christians. Haven’t you heard the story
before?”
“No, Pastor.”
He laughs a little quietly.
“Don’t you know about Emperor
Constantine and what he did with the
bible and Christianity?”
“I don’t know, Pastor.”
“Now listen to me, I am your pastor. I
cannot lead you into sin or into what will
lead you to eternal condemnation. We are
about to make love, the greatest gift God
gave to mankind. Through love, the world
is replenished. Why do you think God
made sex the sweetest thing on earth?
And we are His children and He loves us.
Do you think God would deny mankind of
that pleasure?”
You hesitate. “No, Pastor,” your voice
crackles. “But it is meant for married
people.”
“That definition was giving by humans.
Who knows God’s heart? No one, the
bible tells us. How do we know that God
did not sanction it? Was it not man that
wrote the bible? I cannot deceive you–”
“What about your wife, sir?”
“My wife? Some people have found favor
in the sight of the Lord, you, my wife and
a few others. And–”
“Do you have sex with others?”
“Blessing, I am a Pastor. When I say
finding favor, I mean God’s blessings. I
pray for people and they receive
blessings. I lay my hands on them. If I like
you I lay my hands on you. My wife is a
very successful woman because I don’t
just lay my hands on her, but make love
to her. And each time I see you in my
dreams, God tells me to reach out to you.
This last one, I saw us making love, and I
knew you needed his blessings, especially
as you need to make a choice of a good
husband and to know if that guy in
London is the best husband for you.”
You tremble. You wonder how he got to
know about Zainab’s brother.
“How did you know, sir?”
He kisses your lips again. “Do you doubt
God?”
“No, sir.”
“Then, allow this holy milk to quench your
thirst for blessings.”
His lips find your neck. Tears trickle down
your cheeks. You moan.
***
It has been going on for three months
now. On his way to midnight prayers at
the church, he stops by your apartment
and often stays until 11pm.
You cook Jollof rice with a lot of pepper.
Other times, you prepare vegetable soup
with a lot of kpomo and gizzard. He
showers in your bathroom and applies his
cologne now permanently placed at your
nightstand.
Each time he leaves, you curl yourself
into a ball and weep, half out of
frustration and half out of love. You
consider putting an end to the affair.
There is this nagging feeling that you are
committing a huge sin. But you are in love
with him. Besides, who is to say that sex
with Pastor Samuel has nothing to do
with the blessings pouring into your life?
A month after he came to your apartment
and gave you his holy milk, you were
promoted at work.
On a Friday, he enters without knocking
because the door is open. Your pot of rice
is simmering on the fire in your little
kitchen. He sits with you on the couch,
and you help him unbutton his shirt as
you tell him about your day. He talks
about the new branch he is establishing
in Abakaliki. The TV is on, and the music
video for Davido’s Aye is playing on
Channel O. He kisses your lips and
prevents you from talking as you try to
explain why you did not come to see his
wife.
“Wait, Samuel. I was telling you that I
didn’t bring Madam’s new micro SIM-
card today as I’d promised her. I forgot.
Now, she cannot make calls because of
my stupidity.”
“Don’t worry, Sugar. I will take it to her.”
“What? So where will you tell her you met
me. There is no midnight prayer at the
church today.”
“Yes, I told her I was going to visit a
church member whose wife is sick at
Apapa. I could tell her I passed by the
church and saw you.”
He begins to kiss you again and you raise
your hand as he removes your night
gown. You unbuckle his trouser, and he
steps out of them. A few minutes after he
has entered you, the door opens just at
the same time that you hear a knock.
Pastor Samuel halts. You turn and both of
your eyes behold the chocolate-
complexioned woman standing by the
door. Her mouth is wide agape. Her eyes
empty.
When his wife runs out of the apartment,
he reluctantly dresses up without a word
and leaves. You sit on the couch, naked,
tears running down the sides of your
face.
Just then you recall that you have not
seen your monthly flow for over a month.
*****************to be continued..

11 Sep 2015 | 23:11

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*EPISODE 2* Your friend, Blessing, is nowhere to be found. She has left Lagos for over a month now. Where she has gone to, no one knows. Before Blessing disappeared, she was behaving strangely. She used to be a boisterous young woman. She was the first to report to work and the last to go home. She was the office chatterbox, always talking about one thing or another, going on and on about about her church, Saving Grace Incorporated— mostly about her pastor. She even got you to attend the church. But two months ago, she began to recoil into herself. She stopped talking about Saving Grace Inc. Whenever Pastor Samuel’s name was mentioned, she would avert her eyes and seem to tremble as if the name conjured evil thoughts. Pastor Samuel is the talk of the town. Everything about him is news—how he preaches with an iPad coated with gold, how his suits and shoes are worth millions in the shopping malls in London, how his healing powers come from his wife who is as beautiful as mamiwater. The stories are endless—a mixed of gossip and rumor, like milk mixed with hot akamu—stories about how he sleeps with the most beautiful women in the church, both married and single. To be perfectly honest, who doesn’t want to sleep with God’s anointed, these days? There is talk of his wife knowing about these illicit affairs and doing nothing for fear of losing one of the most beautiful men in Nigeria. Some say that even Jesus trembles when Pastor Samuel calls his name in prayers and hastens to the pastor’s requests. You had warned Blessing about Pastor Samuel’s interest in her. She paid deaf ears to all your advice and accused you of cursing and rumor-mongering with the name of God’s anointed. But now, your friend is missing and you wonder if it has anything to do with Pastor Samuel. Every night, when you return to the three bedroom flat you share with your mother, you wonder if Pastor Samuel had so fallen in love with Blessing that he organized for her to travel to London, New York, Nairobi or to any other big city where he could always join her in one of his numerous tours so they could continue with their affair—oh, you wonder if they even had an affair. You wonder. You stop going to church. Every Sunday, as your mother whistles worship songs and prepares for mass, you cook white rice and prepare ofe akwu with roasted meat. The aroma travels through almost all the doors in your neighborhood. The tasty food shuts your mother’s mouth when she returns from church. She never asks why you’ve stopped attending church. You are so weak this Sunday. You roll and turn on your big mattress like a wounded elephant. You think about Blessing and what might have happened to her. After sometime you stand and shower, dress rapidly as if a force is propelling you. You put on a fuchsia mini skirt, a white chiffon blouse with a plunging neckline, and finish off with a pair of black pumps. The sermon is underway when you arrive at Saving Grace, Inc. Pastor Samuel is dressed in a tailored charcoal suit and sparkling white shirt. The bow tie is a nice touch and gives his look a clean, dapper finish. Pastor Samuel preaches on generosity and praises members of the church who pay huge sums of money as tithe. After service, the same stubborn spirit that brought you to the church takes you to the back of the church where the pastor stands beside his wifes. He chit-chats with devotees and shares hugs and pecks with his favorite congregants. When it is your turn, you approach. His wife eyes you jealously and cautiously. She hovers around her husband as though she were his personal god, guiding and protecting him, especially from the ever ready arms of young girls that yearn for him. The pastor steps to the side with you and says: “Young lady, may God be with you. It is a long time. We have not seen you for some time.” The back of the church is filled with Acacia planted in neat rows. The breeze swells your shirt, and Pastor Samuel’s gaze falls on your light-skinned cleavage. “You remember me, Pastor?” “Yes of course. You are Blessing’s friend.” “Now, pastor. That is why I have come…” His face narrows, as if he is paying serious attention. It makes him so handsome. So very handsome. All of a sudden, you see what everyone sees in him. You can see that his face is squared. His chin and jaw are well shaved and look so smooth. His hair is shaved low and sparkles in the sunlight. You wonder what hair cream he uses. What product is it? Is it Old Spice? “Your friend, Blessing, how is she?” “Pastor, I have not seen Blessing for three months and counting now. She has stopped coming to work. In fact the office has struck out her name from the staff list. Her flat was empty and open when I checked on her. Her relatives seem not to know where she is…” Your eyes meet. You look away. He is silent and shows a lot of concern. At that instant the doubts you harboured about him vanishes like vapor. “My dear. It is a pity. This news is a sad one. May God protect us from the hands of the evil ones.” “Amen, Pastor.” “I hope Blessing is safe. My God does not sleep. He has a hold on his children. Oh, she was one of the most devoted members of Saving Grace.” You are silent. “Now, we all have a responsibility to help out. To search for her. To pray to God for her safety.” “I have been doing so, Pastor.” “Okay. We have a special prayer session on Wednesday. It holds every Wednesday. Can we meet up next Wednesday and pray for her together, joined by the other young people in the church?” Your head tells you to say yes and you say, “Yes, Pastor.” He walks back to his wife and resumes talking to other devotees. You walk down to the road to get a taxi. His face has embedded itself on your mind. You can see every bit of his face, the two lines on his forehead that becomes visible only when he is listening. The thick, well- shaped lips—kissable too. His eyes are like those of the dolls you had when you were a kid. You wonder why God spent a lot of time and resources creating just one man with more than what He would have used to make over twenty other men handsome. On Wednesday, you go to Saving Grace Incorporated. You sit at the back but he says: “Sister, ehm, What is your name, sister?” “Zainab, Pastor.” “Please come to the front, Zainab. Praise the Lord!” “Halleluiah!” everyone choruses. “We are here today as usual to thank and praise God for his deeds and to ask for mercies. We are here, brethren, because one of our members, who used to be devoted to this church and to the things of God is missing. Her name is Blessing. Her friend Zainab asks us to pray for her safety!’ The whole church stares at you as you walk briskly to the front pew and sits. You are sure that Pastor Samuel is blessed— with beauty and intelligence. His command of English language is impeccable and his knowledge of the bible, including the holy Quran, thrills you. You wonder if all those stories you hear about him are all rumors. You wonder. After the service, you stay behind because it is courtesy that you say thank you. After all, he did pray heavily and at length for Blessing, breaking the chains of evil forces that may be holding her somewhere. At the back of the church where his car is packed, he says to you: “Sister Blessing. Your friend must be proud of you.” “Thank you, Pastor. I was worried, but now my heart is at peace.” “Not to worry, Sister. God will make a way. I can give you a ride if you want.” He is opening his car door already. “I will find my way, Sir.” “I know you can, young lady. But I will give you a ride. I insist. We are Blessing’s friends. We must talk about her.” You find yourself in the car. His hand rests on your lap as soon as you settle on the upholstered seat. Yes, on the bare skin of your lap. You inhale deeply. You feel a tingle on your womanhood. You begin to sweat even though the BMW is heavily air-conditioned. As he eases the car away from the church, he begins to talk about how devoted Blessing was to the church, and you find that you are directing him to your apartment. It is 8pm.” When his car stops in front of your apartment, you say; “Thanks a lot, Pastor.” “Now, no. you must call me Samuel.” “You are my Pastor, Sir.” You notice that you cannot meet his eyes. You are shy, which is not a good sign. “I am your friend. Call me pastor when we are in the church. Do you not know that Jesus rebuked his followers from calling him Rabi ?” “I know, Pastor.” “No.” “Samuel, Sir.” “Good. I must come in and see your apartment. And pray for you—” “My mother, Pastor. She must be at home now.” You wonder why you told him that, as if both of you were conspiring to do something bad about which you wouldn’t want your mother to know. That night and the days that follow, you think less of your friend, Blessing, and more of Pastor Samuel. You know that he is God’s anointed. You recall stories of the blind that can see because of him. Now you believe all of Blessing’s stories about him. You are pleased. It is a hot Saturday afternoon. You are resting on your bed, your shirt pulled off, watching channel O. Your phone rings. “This is Samuel!” You recognise his voice. You sit up. “Good day, Sir.” “I have been having some dreams about you, Zainab.” You are scared now. “Pastor! Is everything okay? Is anything going to happen to me?” You recall Blessing and wonder if she was kidnapped and used for ritual. You wonder if the same people that did so are after your life. “What can I do, Pastor?” “We need to see, Sister. God is talking to me. He is asking me to reach out to you.” “When can we see, Pastor?” You recall that someone hacked into your bank account using a cash card and withdrew almost all your money. You are afraid that some evil forces might be scheming to ruin you. “I am at home, Sister. Can you come to my home?” “I can pastor.” “I will text you my address. God be with you as you come, Zainab.” “Amen.” “May the forces of evil never set their eyes on you!” “Amen!” “You shall be prosperous! You shall be married! You shall bless your mother with children!” “Amen! Amen! Amen, Pastor!” You hurriedly get dress but do not apply make-up. It’s the pastor’s house. No need to get dolled up. Or is there? His house is a mansion inside a large compound. His wife and children have gone for a vacation. There is a security man at the gate, who doubles as a gardener. He tells you that the cook will come in the evening, but there is food in the kitchen. “Do you care for food? Drinks?” “I am fine, thank you, Pastor.” ‘Come to my room.’ You follow him, clutching your bible to your breasts. His room is large, with a king-sized bed, a bedside lamp, and a reading table. There are three sofas opposite the bed. There is a television too. There is a small table covered with a white linen cloth by the side of the room, like an altar. His bibles and prayer books are on top of it. He asks you to kneel and you do. He is wearing a robe, tied with a rope. When you kneel, he says: “Do you understand, Zainab that God works in various ways?” “Yes, Pastor.” He kneels beside you, and you tremble. “Have you heard before, of the Priory of Sion?” “Yes, Sir. I know that they are like a cult, protecting the bloodline of Jesus or something.” You are confued. “Good. Do you know, Zainab that sometimes while praying, especially in difficult times, you engage in other means to get your prayers to God’s ears?” “I don’t understand, Pastor—” He collects your bible and drops it on the altar. He takes your left hand into his and says: “Zainab, you are in trouble. Some forces are against you. You may have been noticing for some time now that you are not progressing as you are supposed to.” Your mouth hangs open. He must be God’s chosen son, you think. Your heart is beating so fast. Your breasts heave up and down in a steady rhythm as if dancing to a harmonious symphony. “What must I do, Pastor?” you turn and your eyes meet. “You have the privilege to call me Samuel. Always call me by name, my dear.” You are silent. “You are surrounded by evil forces. The world is full of evil,” he talks with authority. “And we must fight back through a special prayer. During the prayers, the holy milk of God’s chosen son will be poured into you and you will be fortified.” You think he means the grace of God, but his hands begin to fondle your buttocks. “The Priory of Sion, like some other organizations in Christianity, makes love during special prayers. That way, during climax, when both partners are between earth and heaven, a moment when the brain becomes a tabularasa… It does not think of anything at that split moment… if at that moment you can concentrate and ask God for any favor, it will be granted to you. The gate of heaven will be opened for you.” The room swirls around. The altar appears in several places before your eyes. Your brain becomes dumb. You had once read about something like that in a book, but you cannot remember now. “Pastor, it is a sin—” “Sin is what you define it to be, Zainab. I am your Pastor. It is my duty to do the work that pleases the almighty. I cannot deceive you. Can I?” You are silent. “Do you feel a pang when you sleep with your boyfriend?” That has never occurred to you before, so you say; “No pastor.” “If it is sinful to make love, then, God would have deprived man of so many blessings each time he did. No one in the world would have been successful. I want to help you, Zainab. I should be the one being sceptical, Zainab. But I am not because what I am about to do, you may not know, most people in the world may not know, but it is not sin. It is a gift from God. Amen!” His hand caresses your buttocks and your neck. “Pastor—” His lips cover yours, and he lowers you to the rug-covered floor. He unties the rope round his robe and you feel his hairy chest on your body. His hand undoes your buttons, and his lips find your nipples. You moan. “Pastor… Pastor… Oh, Pastor….” That moment when his holy milk flows into you, you are sure that up there on the ceiling of his room, you saw Blessing’s smiling face. You are sure that something like a load was lifted off your shoulder. You are sure. ************************** To be continued

12 Sep 2015 | 04:57

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Pastor u ar somethnq else... Just dey ur female members,.. @prince of the seasons.. Sex with my son z under awaitinq moderation.

12 Sep 2015 | 05:23

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Pastor yu dey try oooo

12 Sep 2015 | 05:45

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I made a mistake by sending it unknown to me dat someone else is even Sharing de story so go to search and look for sex with my son please

12 Sep 2015 | 07:08

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*EPISODE 3* You are 37 years old. No man is discussing anything serious with you. No man is asking you whether you’re buying or selling. No man has ever asked your hand in marriage. But there is a rumour in town. Every time something strange or worth gossiping about happens, girls would broadcast it with their Blackberries. This new broadcast message you just received, this new rumour says that Pastor Samuel of Saving Grace Incorporated secretes holy milk. If he sleeps with a barren woman, she conceives. If he sleeps with a young lady looking for job, she gets a well-paying job. If he pours his holy milk into a young lady, she finds Mr. perfect in no time. So when you receive the information on your Blackberry Messenger that Pastor Samuel’s semen has these unimaginable powers—while others laugh and curse and gossip and exclaim in surprise—you dress in your most alluring Sunday wear and walk into Saving Grace Inc. You know that it is better to sleep with a pastor and be blessed with a husband than do nothing and remain unmarried. You convince yourself that even a virgin should sleep with a man to get what she wants—jobs, marriage, and money, after all, what is free on earth? Nothing. Saving Grace Incorporated is one of the most beautiful churches you’ve ever seen. It looks like the inside of a presidential villa. The walls are covered with brown- colored tiles. The roof has chandeliers descending down like angels. Air- conditioners as tall as human beings adorn all the sides of the church magnificently, pouring its chilled air at every congregant, making them so comfortable that they would have to return Sunday after Sunday. The pews are painted brownish red and the seats are stuffed with foam. You sit elegantly at the front row and wait to see this pastor whose stories are so popular that a book ought to be written about him. You’re certain that such a book, if it were written, would make the number one slot on the New York Times bestselling chart. When the pastor walks into the podium, your jaw drops. He is a gigantic man, tall, with huge shoulders. His face is square shaped, same as his jaw. His complexion looks like he has just been immersed in viscous chocolate. When he says: “Praise the lord, Church!,” your heart skips and you know that you have found a lover. The next Wednesday, you are one of the first persons to attend the special prayer sessions for young people. You already know where your pastor’s car is parked, so you wait there. When he alights from his vehicle—“thank goodness, he is alone”—you walk briskly to him. “Welcome Pastor,” you say to him and promptly offer to carry the leather bag containing his prayer books, bible, and iPad. You can tell he is struck by your beauty, enchanted maybe. His eyes move to your cleavage thanks to the slightly plunging neckline of your flowing red dress. As two of his assistant pastors approach, he says to you: “Who are you?” “I am Damilola.” “Damilola. I saw you in this church for the first time last Sunday…” “Sir, I am new in Lagos,” you lie. “I love your church. I love your preaching, I want to make Saving Grace my church.” “We will be delighted to have you. It seems you are interested in the work of God. You have to join the God’s Works Department.” “I will be delighted to.” He locks the car. The two pastors are with you now. They collect the bag from you and eye you suspiciously. “Sister, please could you cover up your chest?” one of them asks rhetorically. He is not expecting a response, but his tone commands you to do his bidding. Pastor Samuel says nothing. He exchanges handshakes with his assistants, and you all head to the church. After the service, in the evening, he asks one of the assistant pastors to introduce you to the female pastor in charge of God’s Works Department. He does, and the female pastor gives you the rules. Rule number 1 – you must always attend all church programs. Rule number 2 – you must be punctual. Rule number 3 – you should never wear anything that shows your laps or your breasts. She goes on and on with the rules. You are uncomfortable because if rule number three must be obeyed strictly then your chances of wooing the pastor are minuscule. But you take solace in the fact that as a member of the Department, you have more opportunities of staying close to him. You have been in the department for about a month. You help to clean the church, dress the altar and work at the pastor’s compound every Saturday. For good measure you play with the pastor’s children every Saturday when you go with over twenty others to work in his compound. You also help to carry his bag every time he comes to the church. It is another Wednesday, and the service has just ended. The female pastor in charge of the department blocks your way as you go to the back of the church where the pastor’s car is parked. “Good evening, Pastor,” you say to her. “Good evening, Damilola. I have to tell you that we are not comfortable with how close you are getting to the pastor.” “What do you mean, Pastor Zainab?” “It is your duty to work in the church with the rest of the people in God’s Works Department, but not to try seducing the pastor. I… we have been watching you, Damilola. And I think the pastor is uncomfortable with the way you are always running around him as if you were his dog.” Your mouth hangs open as you stare at her. You shiver and glance around quickly to know if anyone is eavesdropping. “Listen Pastor Zainab,” you say, “you didn’t bring me to this church. I am here to do God’s work and not to seduce the pastor, who happens to be my pastor and who is married. Please don’t insult me…” At that very moment, Pastor Samuel approaches and calls you. Both of you walk to him and Pastor Zainab says: “Pastor, I want to relieve Sister Damilola of her duties as one of the workers in God’s Works Department.” She is standing close to Pastor Samuel, holding his hand, taking possession of him. The way he looks at her shows you that something fishy is going on between them. Who cares? “Why, Pastor Zainab?” He asks. His face contorts as if he is worried. And just at that time, his beauty is so pronounced that you swear to God in your heart that you must one day kiss those lush lips and stroke his chins and jaws. Draw me nearer, nearer blessed Lord… “We… we think that she… Pastor, I am in charge of the department and I think that she cannot do our work.” “But I have been watching Sister Damilola. I personally recommended her to that department.” “Yes, but she is not humble. She does not respect me.” “Is that true, Sister Dami?” Pastor Zainab recoils visibly when she heard the pastor call you Dami. You are surprised too. “God is my judge, Sir. God knows that I am trying my best, Sir. She thinks that I am here to seduce you, Sir.” you blurt out. Your words surprise you even. You wonder what the pastor will say now. “Oh, Pastor Zainab, how could you say a thing like that to her? How could you even conceive that in your mind?” he stares at both of you. “Now, Pastor Zainab get into the car. Sister Damilola, continue with your work. God is your strength, and He alone will bless you abundantly.” As they zoom off, you are sure that you saw the pastor’s hand go under the female pastor’s skirt. You are very sure. As you walk home, you know that if Zainab could work her way into the pastor’s heart and be ordained a pastor of Saving Grace Incorporated, you would work your way into his heart too. One of those evenings when it is drizzling in Lagos, around 5.30pm, you ring your pastor’s phone. He answers. “Sir, this is Damilola.” He hesitates for some time and says; “I know. Before you called I knew you were going to call. What can the Lord do for you, Sister?” You are surprised. Then you begin to wonder whether you are on the right track. You wonder if all the rumors you’d heard are true. You wonder if you are about to make a costly mistake. “Pastor, I wonder if I can see you. If I… it may not be today. But I want to see you for a private prayer.” He is silent for some time. Then he says: “Private prayer? Sister, what is the problem?” You are silent. He is patiently listening and waiting for you to talk. “Pastor. It is about marriage. I am thirty-seven, and no man is asking me if I am buying or selling.” “ Hmmm , where are you?” Your heart skips. “In my apartment.” “You will need a very special private prayer. Perhaps next Wednesday, or any other day.” You feel disappointed. You thought he would say he wanted to come. When he drops the call, you fling yourself on your bed and hit your pillow. You feel frustrated and tired. That night you dream of him praying for you, his hand on your head and his lips caressing your neck and your ears. So two days later, when your phone rings around 10pm and you see the caller’s name, sleep vacates your eyes. You find yourself calling out your address to the caller. You find yourself re-dressing your bed, sweeping out dust from your rug, spraying air-refresher in your room and putting on your air-conditioner even though it is drizzling and cold. When he steps into your apartment, he says: “Your room smells good, Dami.” “Thank you, Pastor.” “No, you must call me Samuel.” “Yes, Samuel.” As soon as he drops his bible on your bed and wants to sit on the only plastic chair in the large room, you grab him and draw him close to you and cover his large lips with yours. You push him to the bed and cover his face with your kisses, and it does not surprise you that he responds so easily and yearningly. His hand finds your breasts under the silky short gown you are wearing and squeezes them in a way that no one had done before. He turns and rests on top of you, using his lips to caress your nipples and just then you call out. “Jesus… Jesus….” You remove your hand from his manhood and unbuckle his belt for him and help him step out of his trousers. He helps you remove your gown as you raise your hands. You remove your panties and fling it to god-knows where. When he enters you after several minutes of teasing you with his fingers, you shout: “Oh God! Oh God!” After both of you finally reach the gate of heaven together, you begin to weep. You weep so much that he comes out, puts on his trousers and covers you with the duvet. He leans on the bed close to you. “What is the matter, Dami?” “I am sorry, Sir. I didn’t know what came over me.” ‘ Shhhhee ! Hush! Shush!’ “I am sorry, Pastor.” “Listen, Dami. I am not a pastor when I am with you, I am Samuel. Okay? And again. I liked you the first time I saw you in my church. On that first day, I fell in love with you.’ You keep calm, sniffing. You listen with astonishment. Your dreams are coming to reality. “I think God wants to bless you. Now that I have made love to you, you will see unending blessings coming your way. You will be amazed at the blessings. You will be. You need not have regrets.” “But you are married, Sir.” “Yes, but who says because I am married I shouldn’t make love to someone I love.” Your heart does a twerking dance. “Is it not adultery?” “The bible that defines it as adultery was written thousands of years ago. Don’t you think that if the bible were written about a hundred years ago, most of the things in it wouldn’t have been there?” You hesitate and say; “I think so, Pastor.” That night, before he leaves your apartment, he makes love to you the second time. This time, you are sure that the face you see on top of you looks angelic. You close your eyes and feel blessings pouring on you. A few weeks later, Michael, one of the Accountants in your office, takes you out on a date and asks for your hand in marriage. Pastor Samuel comes to your house on Wednesdays after service. He has stopped dropping off Pastor Zainab. Each time he comes into your apartment, you make love. It has been going on for months now. You have told Michael, your fiancé, not to come to your house on Wednesdays because you always go to church and stay late. Your traditional wedding has taken place. You are getting ready to move into Michael’s apartment at Victoria Island the following week. You have been busy planning the wedding, inviting friends, buying clothes and beads. Three weeks and counting, you have not made love to Pastor Samuel. Both of you have agreed that it will be his last visit, even though you know that you cannot stop dreaming of him, that he is the one you really love, that each time Michael is on top of you, you see the face of Pastor Samuel instead. The Wednesday after your traditional wedding, Pastor Samuel picks you up from work. As soon as you return to the apartment, you notice the car parked in front of your apartment. You notice that Michael is inside your room. You ask Pastor Samuel to drive off, and he does. You walk in and Michael grabs you. You tease him, and he says he has missed you all these while. He removes your clothes and lowers you to the bed. When he takes your nipples into his mouth and enters you, you call out. “Oh my God! Oh my… Samuel! Oh Samuel! Oh Pastor Samuel.” ********************* To be continued.

12 Sep 2015 | 07:28

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Lolz,

12 Sep 2015 | 09:06

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Lolz, i no fit laugh oh!

12 Sep 2015 | 09:06

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nawa.....oh for dis kind pastor

12 Sep 2015 | 09:39

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Am tired of sex story jare

12 Sep 2015 | 10:48

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I like sex stories well well am horny I want big dick to enter me oh my Goodness

12 Sep 2015 | 10:51

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Lol,,, na divorce sure pass

12 Sep 2015 | 11:01

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Haaaa Pastor samuel don scatter yur head I no fit laugh alone ooo

12 Sep 2015 | 11:55

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12 Sep 2015 | 12:18

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Pastor or devil samuel u don enter am @ dami see as dis pastor samuel, hmmmmmm sorry devil samuel dey quote bible as if na him nd jesus wrote it 2geder lolzzzzzzzzzzzz

12 Sep 2015 | 14:17

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What a fuck?

12 Sep 2015 | 14:26

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I dnt like u d proverb used 2 address d main character

12 Sep 2015 | 16:45

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Holy pastor with his holy milk.hmmmmm

12 Sep 2015 | 18:46

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EPISODE 4 Do they know what it means to be fruitless? Do they know what it means to be referred to by your husband’s people as fruitless, as a pumpkin with no seeds inside, as a wombless woman? Do they? If they knew what it meant to find oneself in that kind of situation, then they,d not blame you for sleeping with your pastor. *** You have a friend named Iya Bola. She has been your friend for God-knows-how- long. She was with you while you were growing up in Ibadan. As kids, you played together in school and in the streets. When you left secondary school, one godforsaken boy put you in the family way. Iya Bola was there to help you remove the blood. She called it blood and told you that it wasn’t a baby. Who would want to have a godforsaken baby, right? Your friend has been with you through thick and thin. When your husband’s people began calling you names and persecuting you, she was there for you, suggesting things to do and what not to do. All the thirteen exorcists and diviners you have visited, she suggested all of them. She suggested the herbal medicines you have taken, countless of them. She was the one who suggested that you travel to Nsukka to meet with one native doctor who knew all the secrets about producing the fruit of the womb. After your stressful trip to Nsukka and all the money you spent. Nothing happened. Today, Iya Bola is very jubilant as she enters your boutique. Your salesgirl serves her a bottle of Heineken. When she is done drinking, she says to you: “Sade. All your problems are over. The baby we’ve been looking for in Sokoto is right here in our shokoto! What we’ve been searching for in faraway lands has been right next door all along.” Her voice is high pitched. She re-ties her wrapper and brings out her mirror to check if the tumbler she used to drink her beer has smeared her lipstick. You are silent, watching as she reapplies the lipstick and retouches her headgear there and there and there. When she is satisfied that everything is in perfect order, she says to you: “Are you going to ask me what this new solution is? ” “What is the solution, Madam Solution?” you tease her, trying to mask your burning interest. “Sade. All the bickering from your husband’s people is over.” You are getting slightly impatient with her theatrics, but you brighten up nevertheless. Something in her face tells you that Iya Bola may gotten it right this time. This new solution may be the right one. She is looking so serious, so very sure of what she is about to divulge. She lowers her voice and says to you: “Have you heard of this church called Saving Grace Incorporated?” “Who hasn’t? Is it not Pastor Samuel’s church?” “Yes. That’s him. Now I acquired this information from the right source. They say that he is so powerful that he can make a barren woman conceive merely by looking at her.” “Serious?” “I have never been more serious.” Iya Bola narrates all the stories she’s heard about barren women having babies with Pastor Samuel’s help. “Do I have to become a member of Saving Grace Inc.?” “Not quite. All we need to do is pay him a visit at his office and tell him that you have been coming to the church for some time and that you like the work God is doing through him. We will tell him your problem and hope that he will assist.” You are silent for some time. Customers come and go and their voices intermingle with the hums from the air-conditioners in the boutique. You are silent, studying your friend. After some time, you say to her: “Ok, Iya Bola. I will do as you have said. We will go.” *** The pastor’s office is huge, like the size of your husband’s bedroom. He is seated on a swivel chair behind an oak table. There are bibles and prayer books on the table. There is a new novel on the table too, Ghana Must Go by Taiye Salasi. The walls of the office are lined with pictures of the pastor in different countries. You are struck by the picture of him standing at the foot of the Taj Mahal in India. He asks you to make yourself comfortable. After exchanging pleasantries, he says to you: “Madam. I’m pleased to have both of you in my office today. How may I help you?” “I am Sade Abimbola, and this is my friend. We are members of this church.” The pastor stares at you. His forehead contorts and lines appear, bringing out the beauty of his face. You have never seen such a handsome man in your life before. He is almost as beautiful as a woman. There are new sprouts of hair on his jaw that looks so sexy. You caution yourself not to feel lust. After all, he is a man of God, and you are a married woman. “Madam, how long have you been coming to my church?” Iya Bola answers. “Just a few Sundays now, Pastor.” “Oh! Because I have not seen your faces before. You are welcome.” “Thank you, Pastor. How is mummy, Sir?” “Oh she is fine. God is good.” “All the time!” both of you respond. “Pastor, look at me.” Your voice changes and tears roam your eyes, threatening to pour out. “Pastor, can you believe that I have been married for nine years without any child to suckle at my breasts.” You touch your breasts unconsciously. The pastor’s face contorts again. He places both hands on the table and wears a deeply pensive look. “Pastor, my home is on fire,” you continue. “To make matters worse, my husband’s people are threatening to throw my things out. My mother-in-law has threatened to poison me or use witchcraft if I don’t leave her son alone. Pastor there is no sort of name that I have not been called.” Iya Bola speaks up. “Pastor, she has lost everything. Her husband who used to love her so much has literarily abandoned her. He sleeps around. He drinks… he messes up and beats her. Pastor, we have prayed and fasted all to no avail.” Pastor Samuel is silent. The office is calm except for the ceiling fan rotating and humming. You notice that the curtains are made of rich brocade. “Madam, first I want you to know that there is nothing impossible before God. Only you must have faith.” “Pastor. My faith is as strong as a rock.” “Have you attended our special prayer service for barren women?” “Oh, I wasn’t aware of that.” Iya Bola nudges you. You bend down, lift your handbag from the floor, and unzip it. You bring out a cheque and hand it to the pastor. “Madam, what is this? This is too much. What do you expect me to do with this kind of money?” “It is from my heart.” “Yes. It is from our heart, Sir. Use it and buy milk and drink. We know that you fast all the time,” Iya Bola jokes. He laughs. “Six-hundred-and-fifty-thousand naira? This is too much for milk.” “Yes Pastor, I can afford it. It is my tithe. See it as sowing a seed.” The pastor turns the cheque over and over in his hand. He says: “I am speechless. What can I say?” “Say nothing, Sir. All I need is your prayers. I have heard about the work God being done in this church through you. I am delighted that you are a blessing to our world.” Iya Bola touches you. You rise to your feet reluctantly. The pastor stands up too. He says that you should give him your hands. You do, and he says a brief prayer for you. “You must see me on Saturday, madam,” he says when he is done with the prayers. “I will, Sir.” “Come here on Saturday. In the evening, by 8pm.” “Must I come with anything?” “No. Do not come with anything. If you have a bible, please come with it. I will take care of everything. Don’t come with your friend. Just come alone. Okay?” “Okay, Sir. Thanks a lot, Pastor.” “Thanks, Pastor,” Iya Bola says. “We must run along now, Sir.” The pastor’s eyes fall on your breasts, and even though you are dressed in a shirt, you wonder if he has dissected your body with his eyes. You wonder. But then you remember that he is a pastor, a man of God. You ask God for forgiveness. Who are you to think evil of a man of God? *** You are wearing a lovely dress on Saturday when you tell your husband that you are going to the church. He says nothing. He is sitting on the couch in the living room, sipping on a glass of Red Label and watching Aljazeera. Your husband’s sister, who has come to ask him for money, eyes you with disrespect. She sighs. You ignore her. You arrive at the church and notice that Pastor Samuel is the only one around. He is in the reception area reading the bible from his iPad. He leads you into his office. He asks you to sit on the couch and then takes the seat beside you. He offers you a chilled glass of Chardonnay and insists that you feel at home. As both of you sip from your glasses, he says to you: “I admire your determination, Sade. You must be passing through a lot in the hands of your in-laws.” His statement floods your mind with thoughts of your misfortune. You tell him all that you have passed through. He is a good listener. He is dressed in a white long-sleeved shirt and jean trousers. He has on a pair of leather slippers. His Omega wrist watch had to have cost a fortune. “I have lost count of the number of women who have become pregnant after this kind of session I am about to have with you.” “Amen!” “See, Sister Sade. God is good and he works in mysterious ways. You see, some men cannot impregnate their wives. And because our society has always been unfair to women, the woman takes the blame.” “It is true, Pastor.” “But some men are blessed by God. For example, you may see a very poor man who can barely feed his family, yet anytime he sleeps with his wife, pum, she conceives…” “That is true, Sir.” “Some men are wealthy, extremely wealthy, but cannot impregnate their wives. Everyone has his blessings. I am blessed, Sister. When I place my hands on the sick they get healed. The blind see. The lame walk and the barren conceive. But sister, I must tell you that there is no woman, none that I have touched who did not become pregnant.” “Wow! You are strengthening my hopes, Pastor.” You imagine what it will feel like to have children running around in your large compound, playing on your husband’s laps. “You are a good woman. God opened a lot of things for me in my dreams yesterday after my fasting and prayers. A lot of people are after your life, Sade, coupled with the fact that when you were nineteen, you had an abortion.” He takes you by surprise. You become scared of him, scared of this man with the power to see your past. You wonder what he would say next, so you drop your glass of wine on the table in front of you as tears stream down your cheeks and fall on your dress.” “I was a child. I did not know anything…” “We all make mistakes, Sade. The most important thing is being willing to correct those mistakes?” “I want to correct my mistakes, Pastor. I want God to forgive me and give me a child. Even if it is one child.” “You see, Sade. You have not conceived not because of the abortion. It is because of some spiritual forces against you.” “Oh my God. Pastor!” “Yes, Sister. And I will help you. It will be a special kind of prayer. You may find it bizarre, but do not be scared. Do not doubt God.” “I won’t, Sir.” “I will make love to you,” he says calmly. His gaze is fixed on you, awaiting your reaction. You are speechless. Your hands begin to tremble. Your lips tremble. “Pastor, why? That is a sin. A huge sin.” “Who said so? Look, we are going to make love. As you climax, I want you to ask God for just one favor. Ask him for children. Ask him to break the yoke of sorcery and evil. Do just that and, you will be amazed at what you will see.” “Pastor. I don’t understand. I can only make love to my husband.” You sit back and move away from him. “Sade. Listen to me. I am a man of God. I have lost count of the number of women who have had babies because I offered this special kind of prayer on their behalf… countless babies suckling at their breasts because of me. God reveals to me that through the pouring of holy milk into them they can conceive. My semen has been blessed by God, especially when it enters into a few women, to whom God directs me—often times against my wish. Against my wish because I have a wife who I love and respect and adore. But what can I do, my dear? God owns me. He owns the power that I have. He directs me on what to do, and I do them. He has never failed me.” There are a lot of things going through your mind now. What is this pastor saying? Is he to be trusted? You recall the stories you have heard about the women who were in your position but now have babies of their own. You recall that he informed you of the abortion that happened years ago. You wonder how he knew. You wonder. Just as doubts begin to fog your mind, his hand, his long and smooth hand, wanders to your dress. He lifts it and reaches your thighs. You recoil, but he pulls you close. “Pastor! Please…” “I am not forcing you. And I cannot deceive you. I am doing this against my wish, but I must obey God. Open your mind, pay attention and release yourself and your soul will be released. The very moment you receive my holy milk—the moment you reach orgasm—ask God what you desire and see the wonders he will do in your life.” “Pastor, I am confused…” Tears pour down from your eyes like torrents of rainfall. You allow Pastor Samuel to lay you down on the sofa and take your soft lips into his. He kisses you the way no man has ever kissed you before. Your cries are intermingled with moans of ecstasy. When you climax, you are sure that up there on the ceiling of his office, you see something like a shadow, a silhouette, hovering. You compose yourself and hold him so tightly. You realize there and then that he was right. You hold him tightly. When he tries to pull out, you refuse. It happens twice that night and twice on every other night that you come for special prayers. Just when you are about to lose hope that God will answer your prayers, you vomit one morning and the next. Your doctor confirms that you are pregnant. *********************

12 Sep 2015 | 18:54

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Idiot pastor

12 Sep 2015 | 19:24

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Weldon pasta jaja

13 Sep 2015 | 02:19

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Hehehe............. This pastor na die!

13 Sep 2015 | 07:03

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Dat is what most pastors do dis days. Sleeping around with single ladies even married women. The punishment of God is upon dem.

13 Sep 2015 | 09:16

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Oh! God

13 Sep 2015 | 09:27

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Holy milk,

13 Sep 2015 | 10:56

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Samuel is playing with these intelligence. I will follow dis to d end.

13 Sep 2015 | 11:04

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EPISODE 5 You didn’t love your husband so much when he was alive, so you slept with young men old enough to be your children. You took them along with you on trips. You bought them expensive cars and made charms to ensure that no young woman came close to them. You didn’t give a stinking damn what your husband said. He could go to blazes for all you cared. Now he is dead, and everything is fine. No more unmarked cars following you about. Your phones will no longer be tapped. No erratic man sitting cross- legged waiting for you at the door when you returned from your rendezvous with boys. No more endless cross- questionings. You let yourself lose. You’ve become a kite escaped from the hands of the little child holding it. You fly and soar, and you don’t give a fucking damn. *** When your friends, all of them, began attending Saving Grace Incorporated, you joined them. Most of them attended because they needed the fruit of the womb, others because they wanted more success, others prosperity, some because the church is the new vogue in town. You attended merely for the thrill of being able to gossip with them about the men with new Hyundai cars, about the ladies with Brazilian hair, about the young men wearing blazers and sport coats worth hundreds of thousands of naira. You also joined the church because since it is a new generation church and a lot of young people troop into it, you are sure that there will be lots of handsome young men to wink at. You love Saving Grace Inc. because even though it is large, there are enough air- conditioners to go round and cool the place. The first time you attended the church service, the senior pastor wasn’t around. He was out of the country on a trip. Your friends told you that you missed his preaching. But when you visited Anna’s office the next day, she said that you did not just miss the Senior Pastor’s sermon but also his handsome face. So today, you sit side by side with Anna and Oseh, discussing in hushed tones when a tall, broad-shouldered man with a squared face and well shaved jaw mounts the podium. You raise your face, behold him, and lose your breath. “Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” “What is it?” “Oh!’ you exclaim, ‘This man is the sexiest man I have ever seen in my life—“ “He is the pastor,” Oseh informs you. “The Pastor! He is nothing like what I see on the posters and bills…. He is simply breath-taking.” You all discuss in hushed tones. You begin to feel sweaty even though the air-conditioner is on. You watch his every move, the way he walks in giant strides, the way he flips his long fingers on the screen of his iPad, the way his alluring voice draws your soul away from your body and sends you feeling sleepy. You marvel at his voice when he sings praises to God. You envy God for having such a divinely handsome man in his service. By the time the church service is over, you are already feeling wet beneath your underwear, so you rush out to the back of the church where the pastor is standing and shaking hands with some of the congregants. You are trembling, and your friends are asking you to be calm. “God! I think I am in love.” “In love? You are fifty-two!” “Does it matter? I look younger than fifty- two!” You all laugh aloud. When it is your turn to greet the pastor, your friends are with you. The pastor shakes your hands. When his hand touches yours, you notice that it is warm and sensual. You imagine it caressing your neck, the back of your ears, your breasts. Yes, you feel it tickle your nipples. “It is my pleasure to meet you, ladies, in my noble church,” his gaze is fixed on your face, for you are the most beautiful of your friends. Even though you are fifty- two, you are still extremely beautiful and in shape. Your curved waist and protruding butt make men, especially, young men to swallow some saliva when they see you. “It is an honour to become members of this great church of God, pastor,” you reply. “We are very delighted. Pastor, I enjoyed your sermon.” “This surely is your first time in my church. I haven’t seen you before.” “Oh no, Pastor. We were here last Sunday. Our first time was last Sunday,” Oseh informs him. She is faking a new voice that sounds so sexy but childish. You wonder if she has fallen in love with this handsome pastor too. You wonder. “Do you know every member of this church? The thousands of them?” “I don’t know everyone, but I notice new faces easily. It is my pleasure to have you in my church. I hope you’ll continue worshipping with us?” “Pastor, can I see you briefly?” you nudge your friends to excuse you. They do. You step aside with the Pastor. You stare steadily at his face and say to him: “I need your prayers.” “Oh, dear sister. My prayers you must have then, for I always pray for every member of this church.” “I know Pastor, and God will bless you for that. But, I need special prayers. I am a hardworking woman, a widow who is working hard to survive in a bad economy. My kids are all abroad with their uncle. I am all alone here.” Your words are suggestive. The way you say them, even the way you wriggle your hands when you say them are sexually provocative. You wonder if he gets the meaning of what you just said. “My dear sister, sorry for the loss of your husband. I hope you have been managing well?” “Pastor, financially, yes. I manage, but then, sexually…Look, I am a woman, a wealthy woman at that, and a lot of men are disturbing me. I don’t want to fall into temptation, Pastor. I am a child of God. I don’t want to sin.” “You don’t have to sin, sister. Our body is the temple of God, and when we sleep around it is a sin against God. But then, sister, always pray, and God will give you the strength to overcome temptation.” Pastor Samuel takes your hand to assure you that prayer can do all things. He releases the hand, and you wish he held it longer. “Thanks a lot for your kindness, Sir.” “What kind of special prayers do you need, madam?” “ Ehm … Pastor, special prayers for God to give me the strength to overcome my husband’s people who are a thorn on my flesh.” This is a lie. None of your husband’s family have dared to interfere in anything you do, even the way you manage their son’s wealth after his death. “I would also love you to pray for God to help me conquer temptation.” “I will always pray for you, madam.” “I wonder if we can pray together. Sometimes, when I am in my home I feel scared. I feel as if evil forces are roaming around the premises.” “Then we will have to pray for you…” “In my home?” “Sure. In your home.” You stare into his eyes and lick your lips unconsciously. “Now I have to run, madam. Can we talk some other time? Here is my card.” “Thanks so much, Sir. I will ring you in the evening. Is that okay?” “Anytime, madam. May God protect you from evil forces and against your enemies!” “Amen!” When you walk down to the car park with your friends, you swear to them that you must sleep with the pastor no matter what it costs you. “Janice! That man is a pastor,” cautions Anna. “Since when did pastors become reverend fathers?” “Even priests sleep around too.” Oseh butts in. “I once slept with a priest in secondary school.” “Oseh, you never told me that story” Anna says and laughs aloud. Oseh is glad to repeat the lurid tale about her affair with a priest. It thrills you. *** In the evening, when you have showered, you sit on your bed, your white fluffy towel tied around your body. You pick your phone and ring the pastor’s number. He picks after the fourth ring. “This is Pastor Samuel on the line. How may I help you?” “Good evening, Pastor. This is the lady you met after service today…the lady who came in the company of her friends.” “Oh, I remember now. So tell me, what it your name? There wasn’t any introduction earlier today.” “I am Janice.” “Nice name, madam.” “How are you, Pastor?” “I am fine. God is awesome. I was studying some documents when you called.” “I just took my bath. I’m calling so you’ll have my number… and to talk about the prayers, Pastor.” “Thanks for calling, madam—“ “And why don’t you call me, Janice, sir.” “And why don’t you call me, Samuel.” “You are my Pastor, Sir.” “Yes, but you are my friend.” “Oh, really? We are friends? I am delighted.” “Yes. We are friends. So Janice, you said you needed prayers.” “Can you make out time to come to my home, pray with me, bless my home?” “I’d love to, but I am so engaged these days.” “I am all alone in this mansion. Most nights I feel scared sleeping here alone.” “Don’t you have maids, servants?” “Yes I do, but they stay in the quarters. I am all lonely, Samuel.” Your voice becomes drowsy, like someone who just woke up from a deep slumber. You caress your laps with lotion as you listen to the pastor’s melodic voice. His voice tells you that he likes you too, but you wonder if he is like that to every other person, if he’ll feel insulted the day he comes over to your place and you make a move on him. Perhaps you need to entice him with money. “By the way, I’ve been researching on the church. It is amazing what you have been able to do within a short period…” “Thanks, Sister Janice. We do all things by the strength of God. He is our redeemer.” “I’d like to contribute to the church…I mean sow a seed.” “That will be very much appreciated sister Janice.” “I thought, Samuel, that we agreed on Janice. Just Janice?” “Oh, pardon me.” “I like your voice, Samuel.” “Thanks, Janice. Now tell me. What are you doing tonight?” “Nothing…aside from rubbing some body lotion all over my body and settling down to drink some wine, after which I’ll lie in bed.” “May God be with you! May he protect and bless you.” “Amen! So when will you come to my house?” “Wednesday. After the special prayer session for the young people.” “Pastor, I hope you don’t plan on coming with your prayer staff” He laughs and says amusingly, “I will come alone, or with one junior pastor…” “That won’t be necessary, Samuel. You are more than enough for my prayer needs.” You let your towel fall to the floor and search for your night wear in the wardrobe. “What if I sow a seed of five-hundred- thousand naira? Will it be too small for God’s work?” You can hear him exhale. “Nothing, absolutely nothing is too small or too big for God,” he breaths into the phone, “Thanks a lot, Janice. Wednesday night then.” *** Wednesday night. Lagos is shrouded in a sheet of hazy skies and drizzling rain when the pastor drives into your compound. You walk to the car to welcome him and lead him to the sitting room. “You have a nice place.” “Thank you Samuel. It is the Lord’s doing.” You take care not to call him pastor so that it won’t jostle him back to his senses. You offer him wine. He sips it gently while you sit opposite him, sipping and interacting with him about business and church. When you hand the cheque of five hundred thousand naira, you make sure your finger caresses the back of his palm. He withdraws his hand, thanks you again, and hides the cheque inside the pocket of his brown trousers. “You look cute today, Samuel.” He sips his wine. You turn on the television to Chanel O. You rub your hand on your face as you wonder if your mascara is okay on your face, if your lip- gloss isn’t too thick. You wonder if the Mary K foundation covers the pockmarked patches on your face. You wish you were at least ten years younger. You wonder about the pastor’s reaction when you make your move, the move you have calculated for nights. How would he react when he will feels your flabby stomach and flabby breasts? You wonder. “Thanks a lot. This money will go a long way.” “Don’t mention, Samuel. More will come from where that came from.” “Praise be to God!” “Amen, Samuel! Amen!” You leave your seat and move to the arm of the couch on which he is sitting. “I am always scared here,” you venture. “I am here now, Sister Janice.” He raises his face to stare into yours. You wonder if he sees your beauty still, if he sees beyond your age and recognizes that you are still beautiful. You wonder if he noticed the swaying of your buttocks when you walked him through the house. Your right hand goes to the button of his shirt and plays with it. “Did we not agree on just Janice?” “Oh, I forgot.” You play with one of the buttons. When he remains mute, you touch the back of his ear. He says nothing when you kiss the ear and the back of his neck. You kiss his neck faster, then his face. When you find his lips, you swear in the name of your dead husband that no lips have ever tasted that sweet. When your hand finds his nipples he says: “Please stop!” You are breathing very fast. Your body is on edge: “Why?” “Because I am a man of God.” “Don’t you like this? Is it because I am older than you? Am I not good enough?” “No Janice. You are beautiful, quite beautiful for your age…” “You like me then?” You take your hand to his nipples again and try to find his mouth. He pushes you away. “The bible condemns this. Besides I am married.” “Your wife won’t find out. And God is not here.” “But he is seeing us, Sister. Please I can’t.” He tries to stand but you climb on his lap and sit astride, holding his neck. “No, Janice!” You plead: “Look, I fell in love with you the first time I set my eyes on you. I love you, Samuel…” “But I am married. I cannot do this.” “Please.” Your hands caress his body. “No one will find out. I will take care of you. Do you need more money?” “You didn’t give me money before… so why ask if I need more money? You only gave money to Saving Grace Inc.” “Okay. I will give you money, but you will love me, will you?” He is calm. You are encouraged. “Seven hundred thousand?” You find his nipples, and he is calm, so you mutter: “Please don’t say no, okay?” You kiss his nipples and unbutton his shirt. He is still saying “No, no, no…I can’t do this… Janice!” But he is saying it like he doesn’t mean it. He is now lying on the sofa. By the time you unbuckle his belt, he grabs you and throws you on the sofa and climbs on top of you. *** Pastor Samuel tells you that he is aware of your numerous boyfriends and that if you must continue to sleep with him, you must get rid of them. He doesn’t want to risk any of them seeing him in your apartment. You swear in God’s name that you have no boyfriend. He continues to come to your house once a week. Sometimes he sleeps over. He asks for money. You give him double of whatever number he requests. You gossip with your friends and tell them everything. You tell them that no one kisses like him. They envy you. So this Saturday, Pastor Samuel visits your house. You’ve just paid a lot of money into his account that afternoon. You also agreed to fund his trip to Sweden for an evangelical conference, so he has come to say thank you for paying four million naira into his account. You are prepared for the rounds of sex that he will dish out to you as his way of saying thank you. You don’t wait for him to come in through the door when you jump on him. You stroke his neck and his chest, and he carries you to the sofa. You giggle because it is the first time he’s carried you. He massages your back and your waist slowly. He caresses your flabby stomach and plays with your breasts and tells you how sexy they look. You even see love in his eyes, and you feel like crying. Who are you to be loved by such a man so handsome, so blessed by God? “I love you so much, baby,” you say to him. “And I adore you, my Sweet-pie.” You undo his belt. As he steps out of his trousers, he helps you out of your nightgown. He is halfway through taking off your panties when the door opens. Both of you turn. At the sight of the person standing at the door, you are transfixed, turned into stone. “Mum!” yells Niyi, your oldest son. ****************

13 Sep 2015 | 11:07

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Pastor!! Girls... Ladies... Women... Dey fall 4 u... What of d men.

13 Sep 2015 | 12:34

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Fake pastor

13 Sep 2015 | 13:38

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May God saves you

13 Sep 2015 | 14:47

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U re under trouble now,pastor!

14 Sep 2015 | 08:28

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praise the lord

14 Sep 2015 | 11:36

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kasala don burst on top samuel head....

14 Sep 2015 | 14:10

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Hmmmmmmm

14 Sep 2015 | 14:11

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Episode 5 & d final You wake up one day and discover that you have been living a life built on unquantifiable illusion— a long life built on deception. You look back at your life and wonder if you’ve been under a spell or something. The first person you contact when you get back into Lagos is Zainab. You are worried about meeting her. You are worried about calling her line. You worry about how she will behave when she realizes that the voice on the phone is yours. You wonder what she will say when you tell her that it is you on the line. You don’t even bother about your parents. You know that by now they’d have forgotten about you, cried over your presumed death and buried an empty coffin. When you find yourself standing in front of Zainab’s door, you can’t stop your hands from trembling as you knock on the metal door. There is a little girl by your side, holding your hand tightly, as if you’d leave her by the door and run away. After knocking for some time, Zainab unlatches the door without asking who the intruder is. She rubs the back of her right palm on her eyes. When her eyes adjust to the light outside and she notices who is standing at the door, she screams loudly: “Jesus!” She bangs the door on your face. Your little girl begins to cry. You can feel Zainab’s back at the door, breathing heavily. You can hear her muttering some prayers, speaking in tongues. Shoribababa Jesu! Shoribabababa Jesu! You knock very hard on the door, “Open the door, Zainab. It is me. It is me, Blessing. I am not dead. I am alive!” you call. When after some time she doesn’t respond, you knock loudly again. “You are dead!” Zainab calls from inside. “I am not dead, Zainab! Dead people don’t talk, do they? And I know they don’t go walking around in the company of a little child. My baby is crying, Zainab!’ Zainab is confused. After a while she says; “Who is the child with you?” “My child. Her name is Ara! Abeg open this door. Zainab I am tired of standing here.” The door opens hesitantly. Zainab steps back and surveys you and the baby. You walk into the room, and she takes care to ensure your body doesn’t touch hers. When you turn and your eyes meet and she see the tears that escape your eyes and run down your cheek, she swoops you into her arms and hugs you so tight. Both of you stay like that for what seems like eternity. Ara is standing by your side, giggling. By the time both of you pry yourselves apart, Ara is already playing with the television remote control. ‘I can’t believe this,’ Zainab says. She offers you a seat. She hurries away to her small kitchen and returns with two glasses on a tray and a pack of some kind of orange drink. She pours the juice into two cups and offers you one. The smaller cup—a plastic cup, she gives to your baby who she has made to sit on the floor beside her. As Zainab talks to you, she studies the baby. You know that she is wondering who she looks like. When she lifts her face, she says: “This baby is Pastor Samuel’s?” You nod. Tears fall from your eyes. Ara looks up and asks innocently: “Mummy. Why are you crying?” You quickly wipe your eyes. “I am fine, baby. Now, drink your juice.” “Where are you coming from? Where have you been, Blessing?” “Lithuania.” “Where is Lithuania, Blessing? What have you been doing in Lithuania?” You tell her that Lithuania is in Northern Europe. “Zainab. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you have to believe me. I didn’t mean to end like this. Look at me. I ruined my life. I fell in love with… was it love? I think it was lust. He took advantage of the feelings I had for him…Pastor Samuel…he brought me home one evening after the church service… remember when he invited us to the Wednesday service?” Zainab nods. “He brought me home, Zainab. As I unlocked my door, Pastor Samuel descended on me. He made love to me… not like he raped me. I yielded, after he brainwashed me. I think he brainwashed me, told me a lot of crap, and because I was already lusting for him, believing that he had extraordinary powers, I yielded. Zainab, this went on for long, for months! I didn’t want to tell you… I am sorry. I knew how much you hated him, and I didn’t want to tell you what was going on. He would come to my apartment every night before going for his night vigils at the church.” You take a draft of the juice. Zainab watches you lick your lips. You can see tears in her eyes. You can see worry too. And fear. “I became friends with his wife too. But she never knew that I was sleeping with her husband till one evening. She came to my house to collect the sim-card she had requested that I buy for her. She entered my sitting room when Pastor Samuel was making love to me…“ “Jesus!” “I was devastated, Zainab…“ “Gosh!” “Yes. The woman ran away. She nearly committed suicide then. That was when I discovered I was pregnant. I confronted him, and he wanted to save face, so he used his connection and got me a visa and flew me to Lithuania. I have been living in Vilnius all these while. It will be two years next two months.” “God. How have you been managing?” “He paid some money into my account. After some months, I took a job in Vilnius as a kitchen help in a restaurant.” You make your baby to sit beside you, her head resting on your lap. “All these while I have only seen him twice. He visited us while en-route a program in some country. One time, he spent four days. The other time he spent just a night.” There is silence for some time. Zainab asks about Ara, and you tell her everything. You tell her that pastor Samuel is not aware that you are in the country right now. Zainab tells you about one Damilola, and how the pastor took advantage of her. She tells you that the young woman was seduced by the pastor and that he ruined her marriage just few days after her traditional wedding. Now the girl is having some mental problems and ever since, the pastor always asks his congregation to pray for all the mentally imbalanced people they know, including the insane roaming about in the streets. But Zainab doesn’t tell you her own story. She doesn’t tell you that she was devastated after you got missing and ended up in the pastor’s trap the same way you did. She doesn’t tell you that since then she has been sleeping with Pastor Samuel, even up till the last couple of nights. She meets him at his home because his wife and kids have gone on a vacation. Instead of telling you about her affair with Pastor Samuel, she tells you some more of his scandal. A young man and his friends who had just returned from Mexico pursued the Pastor naked to his home. Apparently, the young man had caught the pastor on top of his fifty-two year old mother. “Oh my God! I can’t believe this. What is wrong with Samuel?” “He’s been overtaken by evil spirits.” “He is not even worthy to be called a Pastor. As far as I am concerned, he is not a Pastor.” “So what will you do now?” “I don’t know. I need some time to think.” “I think you need to alert your family. Let them know that you are safe. Let them know that you are back in Nigeria.” “My family? No. Not yet. I need to sort myself out first with Samuel.” Zainab reflects on what you’ve just said and then responds. “If I were you, I’d leave him alone. Let this matter die. What can you do? Who will believe your story? People will call you names. They will say you are a prostitute. They will even say you are the daughter of Lucifer who has come down to the earth to ruin the life of a man of God and his family…” “Do you think I care? I need to settle down first and clear my head then I will think of the next thing to do.” Both of you are enveloped in an uncomfortable silence. “How is your brother, Zainab?” You really don’t know why you asked. Zainab says nothing. You decide to go back to your hotel room. You are not comfortable with Zainab’s demeanour. You wonder what she is hiding from you. She doesn’t mention to you that she is sleeping with Pastor Samuel, and that soon she plans to be his wife. *** Pastor Samuel is a man with many secrets who would do anything to protect his image and investments. You are afraid of what he might do to you if he finds out that you are in Nigeria, and you wonder if he will bundle you to the Third Mainland Bridge in the middle of the night and throw you into the river. You feel goose pimples appear on your smooth skin. But your heart hardens. Your eyes turn into red and tears force their way down your cheeks, dropping on the quilt of the hotel bed. You look at your life, the two years spent in a foreign country, where you had to suffer, working day and night to fend for yourself and your baby. You recall the racial discriminations you faced. You recall that day in Vilnius when you walked into your boss’s office and demanded for the coming week’s wage to enable you buy medications for Ara and he refused. He said he’d agree if you had sex with him, or if you agreed to suck his manhood. You stormed out of the building but had no other option but to return two days later. As soon as you walked into his office, he pulled down his trousers, and you took his little flabby thing into your mouth and sucked it till he came. He gave you your wage upfront and invited you to Crown Plaza hotel, and said he’d make things more comfortable for you if you slept with him. That was how you began to make love to him every week for money. Your life is ruined, and you need to reclaim it. You need to confront Pastor Samuel at his home, preferably, with people around so other will hear your story. It is 4pm when you board a taxi to the Pastor’s large compound. Ara is with you. You’ve dressed her in her jean trousers and white polo. Her hair is cornrowed. When you get to the Pastor’s house, the gateman recollect your face and opens the small gate immediately. “Is madam inside?” you ask the gateman. “No, aunty. But one female Pastor dey with oga. Pastor Zainab.” “Pastor what?” “Pastor Zainab. You no know am?” You wonder if it is the same Zainab that you know. “Na your baby be this?” the gateman asks, touching Ara’s shoulder, “fine girl,” he says to her. “Yes. Thanks.” You wonder if he can notice the striking resemblance with Pastor Samuel’s children. You carry Ara and walk to the front house. The compound looks just the same, nothing has changed. The mansion is painted white. The four columns in front of the building is painted brown. There are flowers everywhere in the compound. You notice a lot of Bougainvillea, clinging to the wall like you used to cling to Pastor Samuel. You reach the door and press the door-bell. When no one answers, you push the door. It opens, and you step inside. Pastor Samuel is just climbing down the stairs to the sitting room, perhaps to answer the door, when you step in. He is startled at seeing you. He is dressed in singlet and boxer shorts. “Oh my God! Oh my God!” his eyes bulge out as he screams, “What are you doing here, young woman?” You force yourself to be calm. You place Ara on the nearest sofa beside you and raise your face to stare at him. “Did I not tell you not to come back to Nigeria?” He climbs down the stairs. His gruff voice sounds threatening. You will your body to be still and to be brave. “You abandoned us! You ruined my life. You ruined our lives, your daughter, Ara.” You scream at him so loudly that your voice reverberates in the building. “Lower your voice, young woman!” Just then a voice calls from the inside, perhaps from the kitchen; “Honey! Who is there?” Just then you recall what the gateman said. “Who is the whore you are fucking this time, Samuel?” Just then a woman enters the sitting room, holding some vegetables and a kitchen knife. She is dressed in tight mini- shorts. She is wearing only her bra, and her hair is tied with a scarf, her feet bare. She is your friend, Zainab. She drops the vegetables on the floor unconsciously. You don’t need the Holy Ghost to come down and inform you that they are sleeping together. You wonder when Zainab fell for Pastor Samuel’s romance antics. You wonder why she didn’t mention her name when she enumerated to you the number of women the Pastor slept with. “ So you also fell for him?” You shake your head in disbelief. “So what. Why don’t you go back to where you are coming from?” She screams at you, pointing her kitchen knife at your face. “Calm down, Pastor Zainab. Please go back into the kitchen.” “So this is it? You are the Pastor Zainab? Who made you a Pastor? This idiot? This nincompoop?” You ignore Zainab and walk towards Pastor Samuel. Zainab blocks your way, posing with her kitchen knife. “Get out of my way, Zainab.” You can hear Ara crying. But you ignore her. “You abandoned us in Lithuania! You wicked man! You evil man! You cocksucking motherfucker! You are doomed forever, Samuel!” You are pointing your fingers above Zainab at Pastor Samuel. He is sweating, pleading with his eyes. Asking you to leave. “Get out of here, Blessing. You are the whore. You are the one who ruined your life. You allowed yourself to get pregnant…” “I am not talking to you, Zainab!” you wonder why Zainab has turned against you. You wonder if she is scared that since you are back, the pastor might leave her for you. You wonder if she is planning to marry the pastor. “Get out of here, whore! European whore! Get out!” Zainab screams, “Go back to where you are coming from. Leave my husband alone woooooh wooooh wooooh!” Zainab’s left palm is clapping on her mouth as she makes the sound. “Who is your husband?” Pastor Samuel asks, surprised. “Stay away from this, darling!” “Stay away from this, Zainab!” you scream. You try to side-step her, but she blocks your way again. “Get out!” she calls. Somehow your make you way past her, and when you are in front of Pastor Samuel, you slap him on his face. “This is for running my life!” you scream. You are crying now. You look up to see that Zainab’s face is ashen. You notice that her eyes changes to something you’ve never seen before— like the eyes of a zombie. She swoops on you and pushes you to the ground. You grab her throat and bite off her left ear. While Zainab’s ear is in your mouth, you scream as her kitchen knife penetrates your stomach. The room is dark now as your eyes begin to close. You can only see images—in silhouettes. You see the image of the gateman hovering over you. You hear Ara’s cries heightening to an endless shriek, calling you, “Mummy! Mummy! My mummy” And finally, your eyes are filled with void. *** No matter how much you try to find out where they took your daughter to, you cannot. You flew to the hotel. These days, you don’t walk or enter taxis. You fly. You flew to the hotel, to Zainab’s house, to the church, to your village, where you saw your mother crying over a coffin that had your body inside it. You stood by and watched her crying and rubbing her two palms on the gold-coated coffin, which you overheard someone saying was provided by the church. You still cannot find Ara. You go to Pastor Samuel’s house. He is loading some luggage into the booth of his BMW. His wife is loading some into their jeep. You call him, but he does not hear you. When you try to touch him, your hand enters his body and comes out at the other end. You cannot reach him. You call his wife. “Mummy! Mummy Ada!” but she cannot hear you. “Mummy Ada, I was killed by your husband and my friend, Zainab.” But she is adamant. She cannot hear you. She is busy giving directives to the members of God’s Works Department who are helping them load their things into the cars. Pastor Samuel’s four children are running around. You kneel on the floor and weep. You watch as they enter the cars, all of them. You wonder where they are going. You wonder why Pastor Samuel’s wife is still married to him after all that she has heard about him—about the number of women he sleeps with, not to mention those he forced to commit abortion. You wonder if she sometimes thinks that her husband might be a murderer. You wonder if she believed the story that you killed yourself in the pastor’s sitting room, while the pastor went upstairs to get you some money because you confessed to prostituting in Lithuania. You wonder if the woman knows all the truth about her husband. You tell yourself that she must be aware. After all she caught her husband red-handed with you. You wonder why she didn’t divorce him back then. It dawns on you, as the cars are driving away, that she may be under a spell, under an enchantment. “We will miss Pastor Samuel.” You can hear one of the girls that work in the church say. “Oh yes. He will enjoy Abuja. He is going to head Saving Grace Incorporated, Abuja branch. They are lucky to have him.” You call on the girls, but they cannot hear you. “Please listen to me! Pastor Samuel killed me. Pastor Zainab killed me! Both of them killed me! They lied to the church!” You tell them. You are still sprawled on the floor. But they do not pay any attention to you. “Listen to me, please! Listen to me, bitches!” you curse them. You rise and swoop on them, but you cannot reach them no matter how hard you try. “Ara! Where is my child, Ara!” They ignore you. You watch them move towards the gate. The cars have left the compound, heading to Abuja. You watch in anguish and scream in sorrow: “My Ara! Oh my Ara! Where is my Ara?” Then you are sprawled on the floor, as empty as a vacuum. The End

14 Sep 2015 | 15:29

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Chaii...Holy shit!! Lyk pastor,lyk member...buh i'm wondering,how does he know bwt people's past n even their problem..hmmmmn..smtin is fishy!

14 Sep 2015 | 19:18

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I think he dey use charm jhoor not afta someone committed all what he did people will still be telling him to head another branch

14 Sep 2015 | 20:42

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I can c whole of members and family is unda a spell.. Afta all dey heard dey still blive him...

15 Sep 2015 | 03:55

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Thats end time for you...Blessing made a mistake though...she should have move on with her life...

15 Sep 2015 | 06:01

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What would now happen in abuja and what about ara Nice story sha

15 Sep 2015 | 08:27

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Hmm *take a deep breath*

15 Sep 2015 | 13:33

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hmm. lack words.

15 Sep 2015 | 14:02

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Hmmmn see juju pastor

15 Sep 2015 | 14:33

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God dey oo,i thought people might hv learn frm dis awesome story,welldone

15 Sep 2015 | 15:15

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This pastor is a ritualist,na for pple wey dey change church like wrapper,make una take time oooo

15 Sep 2015 | 16:07

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smh! I can't believe am crying

15 Sep 2015 | 17:03

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Blessing's soul will surely fight.nw where is her daughter?

17 Sep 2015 | 20:32

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Hmmm..this story got me thinking...Pastors...am beginning to suspect most of them

12 Oct 2015 | 12:33

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