The church held a thousand people comfortably within its beautiful embrace .
Its walls spoke of affluence, candles hung on sconces, tapestries here and there to adorn the sparkling white walls. Voices of choristers could be heard, soulful singing, tenors and bases running through and through, a perfect synchrony.
It was time for choir practice, and Abedi stood singing with fellow choristers. He always made sure his voice stood out amongst the rest, the Adam’s apple hanging on his neck like a very malnourished scrotum.
The choir met on Fridays, and then for an hour again on Saturday they would convene for rehearsals against Sunday’s worship.
Abedi was dressed as usual; a green shirt, a pink tie, with brown slacks and a pair of off white Nike canvas to round things off.
Twelve choristers in all sang today, just two guys in the group.
The conductor of the choir was the second guy. His name was Paul. He lent his voice to the base notes at intervals. He was a tall, gangly man with a widow’s peak and eye brows that stood out like bushels on his forehead.
His face was smooth, and his jaw hard, kissed by a sprinkle of dark stubble.
More guys were ushers than they were choristers, and this was the reason our dear Abedi chose to be a part of this wondrous bunch.
Abedi knew how much these girls liked to be around Paul. They were quick to compliment his looks and sense of style whenever he came around for practice.
Occasionally, he would take two or three girls back to their various houses and despite the fact that Abedi had a car, he always went home sad and alone.
The one time Abedi had company was when Marian fell sick from a scorpion’s sting and had to be rushed to the clinic at Ikeja.
He drove so fast one would have imagined he was auditioning for the next James Bond movie. Meanwhile, two other ladies sat with the distressed Marian in the backseat of his car, urging him to go faster and faster.
All he got from that affair was a text message that said a lot of things about gratitude, and not even a peck on the cheek, or anything physical, which was all Abedi really craved.
Two years. It has been two years since Abedi tasted a woman’s lips on his, and the other day just when he imagined he might have Natasha to himself…
He sang louder, and the rest of the choir stopped in their tracks, nervous and accusatory stares were thrown his way.
“Abedi”, Paul said, ” you are going off beat.”
“Sorry boss”, Abedi replied, ” I got carried away.”
His eyes met with Eloho then, who stood beside Marian with Yetunde flanking the left side of her.
He had always had a deep admiration for Eloho. Her charcoal black skin, her easy, captivating smile, and her pointy nose.
She was the most shapely in the group, a figure that curved like waves on a sea.
But everybody knew that Eloho was engaged to the priest’s son, and every time she boasted to anyone who would hear about being a virgin.
Today she wore a black tulip skirt that hung just below her knees, and a purple shirt that embraced her figure, keenly.
As Abedi saw, her buttocks were like two giant balloons, bubbling every time that she lifted her voice to sing.
Abedi imagined what it would feel like to one day, spread her butt cheeks apart and impress his dick into her coochie.
But then these thoughts quickly dissipated every time that he remembered she was engaged to be married.
But what if the husband to be was a cuckold? Might he watch as Abedi made a lesson of his wife?
Abedi smiled to himself at this.
They sang about Jesus. And how he came to save men from their sins. Then they sang a song of praise for this gesture, yet all the while all Abedi could think of was nailing Eloho to a cross, and fucking her insides out.
There would be nobody to save her, he thought, not even her husband to be.
When rehearsals were over, the choristers stood around Paul’s car outside, sharing jokes.
Yetunde who was lithe, and spoke quickly in a thin, shrill voice, rapped about how handsome Paul was looking today.
Abedi watched on in shy silence.
“But Paulo wait o”, Yetunde said, “why you fine like this? Who you wan dey impress with all this your fine dressing?”
Paul laughed, that laugh of his that sounded like a deep chuckle, his face aglow.
“I sure say your babe go dey enjoy sha. Fine man with a fine voice and fine ehem…”
Other choristers, the ladies, laughed. Attention was divided. Some scrolled through their phones, others made calls to family, while three, Abedi inclusive, listened intently to the hot exchange between Yetunde and Paul.
“Yetunde”, Paul laughed, ” You don come again. Abeg nor dey whine me. I no get your time this evening.”
“You better get my time o”, Yetunde smiled. “You know say e don tey since when I dey toast you.”
“But Yetunde if Paul no dey gree for you, see me I dey here now”, Abedi blurted. And regretted as soon as he said it because Yetunde stared at him for a second, smirked very derisively, and then shifted her attention back to Paul.
It was almost as if Abedi was non existent.
To be continued..
Written by Dear Mac.