Miracle Ad... @Frizzy @Frizzy 1 year ago You have written well big bro.
This comedy unveils the multifaceted nature of some girls on social media. There is a chasm between what you are shown on social media and what is in real life.
Nothing stirs Solomon like the sight of mountainous breasts blooming irrespective of the suffocating western thing called brasserie that conceals the protruding nipples but never its full bubbles. "What is a beautiful girl without a beautiful chest?" His mantra, he will always say to his friends - Uche and Tunde, while quibbling about what makes a woman beautiful. "Breast is not everything, Solomon. Good heart matters a lot too.'' Tunde had told him during their last outing to 99-Club in Ikoyi. "Think of me as an eccentric child," Solomon responded. "I love breast but without its milk, of course." They laughed heartily at his absurd response. He has always thought of himself as a breast fetish. For him, this arcane sexuality suits him.
He had recently broken up with his last girlfriend he met on Snapchat under the alias - 'buxomness', who flaunts her papaya-like breasts, braless; just the way he likes them. He ended the relationship one afternoon while fondling her breasts; after discovering a two-inch sutured incision scar underneath both her breasts as though she had had an implant.
"What are these scars, Sarah?" He asked, panicking since he was spotting them.
"I have wanted to tell you. I had silicon implanted in my boobs before I met you."
He had every reason to doubt his ears. To rethink where his mouth had been. I have been sucking plastic for weeks now. Suddenly, he felt the lump in the back of his throat give way.
The room walls could not constrict his yelp from sipping through them.
He hurriedly stood to his feet.
"So I have been sucking chemicals, Sarah. Why na?"
He had her walk out of his house with the relationship tucked into her purse as she left his room for good after this episode of epiphany. Sarah, carry your rubber breast go, abeg.
Not long after the 'breakfast' episode, he had begun another hunt for a replacement with a beautiful chest. Going through Instagram, where the bosomy girls displayed their unmatched endowment, he searched tirelessly for his spec until he came across the username: 'Miss_natural'. She was natural indeed. Scanning through her pictures, he could see the oval, spotless face encompassing a dazzling cat-colored iris, with a perfectly straightened nose bridge that was pointed at the tip. The finely chiseled lips with a flush of pink on the bottom lip increasing the kiss appeal. The bulging cheekbone accentuates the oval structure of the face. What is a beautiful girl without a beautiful breast? Flashed in his thought as he noticed the swell of her chest stressing the elastic of her white polyester singlet. This could be the one, he thought.
"Hello, I'm Solomon. I want to say you're extremely beautiful."
He said in his first text to her via direct message after contemplating whether or not to text her directly or comment on all her posts, lauding her beauty till he gets noticed.
"Aww! Thank you," she replied after four days.
It was time to make his move. After three weeks of constant texting, she agreed to meet with him over dinner. He thought I would be meeting 'Miss_natural' in the flesh for the first time tonight. Swinging into his three-piece black suit, which he had bought for the occasion, he drove off. Arriving at the Barcelona hotel in Ikoyi, he had picked the perfect table for the perfect evening. The table gives them a panoramic view of Ikoyi streets.
"Hello! Sorry for keeping you waiting. I'm on my way," she called and reported her situation. He was ready to wait till God eventually aged.
Ten minutes later, he saw a girl walking graciously toward him.
"Sorry, I'm late. I'm Grace. Solomon, right?"
"Yes," he said tersely.
The disappointment could be seen on his face. Her face was not oval but round as the globe with pimples forcing their way through the foundation. She had the typical African black-colored iris. The roundness of the face had hidden the cheekbones. The nose bridge he had adored looked like it had been ironed and wide at the tip like that of a gorilla. He couldn't tell whether the bottom lip was pitch black like nighttime in Nigeria. He couldn't tell because of red lipstick. The facials had disillusioned him but not the breast that rose underneath the red skintight gown.
"Thank you for dinner," she said, rising to give him a tight hug as she was leaving. Solomon reciprocated after standing up.
Where's the breast? He thought after the hug. He could not help but notice that as his chest collapsed against hers during the hug, he could feel the bra cave in as if it had been worn on emptiness.
This is a narrative poetry. It revolves around female promiscuity.
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