“Felz I’m telling you sometimes, we virgins will not even wait to be asked to display our particulars before we snatch the V card from the side pocket of a wallet and wave it about like a new weave in the harmattan breeze! I really think unless the purpose of saving your virginity is to start a crusade or protest, this is not really necessary. When people ask if I am a virgin- I swear Fela, I think this question might ONLY be asked of a twenty-something year old within certain societies; think Nigeria and Pakistan. Anywhere else it might brand the asker ‘Sadistic Serial Killer with Virgin Fetish’.

The pretty Fela’s giggles had modulated; she was cackling as she wiped her eyes.

Arit continued “For real when someone asks me, “Are you a virgin?” I always respond with, “Are you a ritualist?” As far as I am concerned, and as Nollywood suggests, the only people really keen on ferreting out virgins are people in need of virgins to sacrifice to their gods for material wealth or immortality. Unfortunately, I am being serious.” She said for her friend’s benefit as Fela was now shaking her head at the lecturing young woman.

He was in love with her. Instant, powerful and silent; he knew. He loved her eloquence and confidence, he thought listening to her nag might actually be more entertaining than annoying. He wanted her.

“I think that perhaps, when you are young and self-righteous…” The woman was not done, “… it makes sense to bring out your V Card without announcement, declaring your status as a God’s-law abiding citizen of the Kingdom….”

Why did she keep calling it the V Card?! The air quotes she made every time she used the words made her seem silly. She was cute. He was charmed.

“But I’m telling you Felz, life is sandpaper; maturity and age slowly plane down the sharper edges and can change righteousness to empathy tempered by the revelation of your own failings. A few falls from Pegasus, will make you prefer solid earth to high horse and confirm your humanity.”

A thinker!

“Sometimes it is guilt, sometimes wisdom… sometimes kindness, or even plain remembrance might make you pause in reaching for your membership card in the Virgin Club.”

He was staring.

At the back of her head no less. She was sitting at the Departure Lounge, facing the Arik counter and chatting with her friend, oblivious to the tall man seated behind her listening to her conversation.

He actually didn’t mind if she was pretty when she turned around, he suspected she had one of those personalities that so coloured outside the line, they changed their owner’s look and made their outside reflect the beauty within.
He wanted in…on this conversation at the very least.

“Since women have the power to determine what to do with their bodies, doesn’t restricting mutual enjoyment just for the sake of restriction take the human race back to the dark ages, my new friend with the beautiful words?” He was in!

The face she turned to him had him doing an internal punch-to-sky.Thank. You. God!

“Hey.” Was that his voice? He almost laughed aloud at himself; it sounded at least an octave lower than usual. She could definitely be considered a pretty girl. Toffee skin, her eyelashes seemed to make a perfect curl almost touching her eyelids. Her eyelids were an interesting feature; the deep setting of her eyes reminded him of those Chinese manufactured dolls proliferating Nigerian markets; he almost expected her to do the plural shutter eye move the dolls tended to at the slightest provocation. Instead her small lips stretched into a smile that was nothing but contagious.

He found himself returning all of her smile to her, his smile stretching to match the width of hers.

“It’s rude to intrude” straight-faced, with the former smile hovering in her eyes, she told him.

It’s rude to stare. Scatter brained, with the former smile hovering in her eyes, she mentally told herself.

He’s hot.

Her smile involuntarily widened.

I love her.

His smile shrunk.

She was almost laughing now and for one moment he panicked, wondering if she could read his mind.

“It was hard to do anything else, the topic is….riveting.”

“Riveting.”

“Mmmmm.”

They beamed foolishly at each other until Fela did the obvious.

“I’m Fela” she leaned forward, across her friend to the handsome man sitting behind them, pointing to her friend she added, “This is Arit.”
The laughing Arit also stretched her hand to him after he freed her friend’s palm.

He grasped Arit’s slender palm in his hand and linked his fingers through hers instead of shaking her. He saw her eyes widen, right before he pulled his away, brown iris still twinkling in mischief.

“I don’t think I’ve seen Arit speechless before. Congratulations err…” Fela prompted him.

“Danjuma.”

Of course he had to be a Danjuma! Arit internally moaned to herself. There had to be some Fulani to justify all that fine! Ugh. 6’5, handsome…proper, legit handsome o, not the ‘If you squint your eyes and turn your head at a 46 degree angle at 4pm on Tuesday afternoons handsome. He was a fine boy. With A BODY. Lean, solid, muscle. Woosh!

She recrossed her legs. Her dad would pass out, what with all the madness in the north and Islamophobia reaching new highs in the formerly tolerant Nigeria, she couldn’t bring a Northerner to her South-South family. South-South, double worded for emphasis in true pidgin style.

“I’m not speechless…just thinking… deep. Things.” She smiled at Danjuma.