Rock of ages cleft for me
Let me hide myself in thee
Let the water and the blood
From thy riven sides, which flowed,
Be of sin the double cure
Cleanse me from its guilt and power
Led by the choir, the congregation was on its feet reciting the Sunday service closing hymn from hymn books, but I didn’t need mine. I had every word rammed into my brain from my days at boarding school so I sang away from memory.
Yesterday’s outing with the guys had been wonderful. The concert had been delightful and the tennis game with Pascal, which I had won three times over, had been very rewarding indeed both physically and financially. My mood, helped by the Prophet’s powerful sermon today, was light and very relaxed.
The church was overflowing with members, new and old, but as an official Patron, an assistant church Elder of sorts, I had a special seat alongside the other four official Patrons and their wives in the second row from the altar. In the very spacious first row sat the full Elders of the church and their wives. I was the youngest and only VIP, the only one without a wife so the seat next to me was empty, my Bible and personal effects were on it.
As the Prophet had promised, the service hadn’t lasted long. The hands of my watch stood at five minutes past twelve noon as the Prophet said the final grace and hurried off the altar towards his office, even as Pastor Johnson appeared by my side to whisper his summons in my ear.
The door to the side of the altar led to several offices beyond and the largest of them was the Prophet’s office. The office was modestly furnished and the prophet was already seated in behind the big brown desk when I walked in. His pretty fat wife, Deaconess Okafor, filled up one of the two big wooden chairs in front of the desk.
“Good afternoon, ma,” I greeted her very respectfully, fondly, taking her proffered hand in both of mine with a deep bow.
“Larry, my dear,” she cried delightedly, putting her free arm easily around my shoulders in an affectionate hug without bothering to get up from the chair. “How are you?”
“Fine, thank you, ma.”
The distinguished matron was a mother of seven in her late forties, a gifted spiritualist and preacher in her own right. Everyone called her ‘mummy’ or if you had some prestige ‘Deaconess’. She was held in the highest esteem like her husband and her extreme generosity and kindness had a lot to do with it. Years ago, as a poverty-stricken teacher, I’d gotten many a free meal from her.
“Good afternoon, sir,” I said, turning to her husband.
“Afternoon, Larry,” replied the Prophet.
We shook hands warmly across his desk and I sat down in the other chair half facing them both.
“How is the child doing?” asked the Deaconess at once.
I shook my head. “He’s not doing well at all. I really need that wet-nurse badly.”
“And you shall have her,” said the Prophet firmly. “We have been working ceaselessly to find the best opinions for you or rather my wife has. She literally took over the whole matter as soon as I told her of it and I felt it best to leave things in her capable hands because, one, breastfeeding is really a woman’s affair, so as an experienced mother herself, she would know best. Two, she has handled this particular type of problem before for one of her brothers whose wife died in childbirth. She handled everything very well and it all turned out perfectly fine. God is with her and with her abundant wisdom, no evil comes of whatever choice she makes in any matter. I want you to listen carefully to what she has to say now and base your final decisions on it.”
He gestured me at his wife and I turned my attention at once to her.
The Deaconess spoke readily.
“Larry, I want you to understand one thing clearly first,” she began. “Unlike other countries overseas where wet nursing another person’s baby is common; it is not so here.”
I nodded. “I know that.”
“It is very hard, generally, to find a very healthy and willing woman in a suitable condition to take in another child, so it is often wise to make allowances for one or two minor problems that may be in the way to getting the best choice at hand.”
I nodded in agreement.
“There are eleven nursing mothers in the church right now, but only four have babies within the two-week age range of your child. Of those four, we have discounted one completely due to her troublesome husband who doesn’t really come to this church. There is another one, a newcomer who we really don’t know that well yet so I cannot recommend her with complete confidence. We have talked to the other two women and their husbands as well and both couples are very willing and ready to meet with you today and talk things over. You remember Sister Felicia Ibe?”
“The head usher’s wife?”
“Yes, and there is another girl, her husband is a fairly old member who you won’t really know. Mrs. Ibe has the experience, but her body is thin and her breasts are too small. Her body won’t produce rich milk to keep two babies well-nourished and healthy at the same time.”
I nodded in agreement at once. Mrs. Felicia Ibe was a wire-thin woman with small breasts and no buttocks at all yet her energetic thickset husband seemed to get her pregnant on a yearly basis. This new baby would make it like eight children now.
“What about the girl, how old is she?”
“Nineteen, her husband is a commercial motorcyclist who is very interested in the money you are offering. The girl is willing enough and her body is full and healthy, her breasts are full too. But this is her first child and her mother is not with her. She is greatly lacking in experience and confidence.”
I was losing hope fast. “Are there no other options?”
The Deaconess smiled. “There is someone special I want you to meet. She’s new, but already a very solid member of the church.”
I sat forward at once. “Special?”
The Deaconess nodded firmly. “Very special, that is if you can overlook the small problem of her baby being a week over the age limit you want.”
I thought a moment. “What’s so special about her?”
The Deaconess smiled patronizingly and threw her husband a cryptic look.
“Everything is special about this woman,” she said to me. “Her body is very full… it is very rich and very healthy. Her breasts are big,” the veteran matron held out her hands in front of her own fairly impressive bosom to show just how big. “Her body will very easily produce a lot of rich milk to nourish two babies at the same time, and being a very gentle-hearted, natural mother, she will love and cherish your son very well, which is very important because looking after two babies at the same time is very hard work that will tax anybody’s patience and endurance to the limit. She also has the advantage of living alone, she is currently separated from her husband, so there will be no ‘angry man’ problem to worry about at any point. Again, this is her only child so she will have time and space to give your baby all the extra care and attention he needs to develop well.”
“If this is her first and only child does that not speak to a lack of experience and confidence as with the young girl?” I asked.
The Deaconess shook her head firmly. “Not in this case. This woman is quite matured and simply wonderful with children. She is a natural mother like I pointed out before and also a nurse which is a very good thing given your child’s delicate health conditions at the moment. By her motherly instincts, she cares a lot for any child in discomfort and always know exactly what to do to help, but the best part is she has Mother Nwachukwu by her side, they are sisters and they live close tougher.”
“Mother Nwachukwu is a Calabar woman. Is this lady Calabar too?”
“Yes, but her marriage is to a Yoruba man and like I said before she doesn’t live with him anymore.”
“How old is her child?” I asked.
“Three months and eight days. That’s about three weeks older than your own baby and one week outside the age range you seek.”
“That shouldn’t matter too much,” I said, relieved.
The Deaconess nodded with satisfaction. “It really doesn’t matter. Once you put a helpless baby in the arms of a healthy and willing mother, both of them will adjust to each other very quickly. It is God’s natural gift to the helpless child.”
“So, you feel this woman is the perfect choice to take care of my child?”
“She is not just the perfect choice. She is simply the best choice.” said the Deaconess firmly. “Mother Nwachukwu will guarantee you anything you want, but I guarantee it because my husband and I have looked at her with physical and spiritual eyes.”
The Prophet cut in. “My wife brought the woman to see me yesterday and we all prayed together over the matter. I know this woman very well and approve of her completely.”
I made up my mind instantly and looked at Deaconess. “I’d like to meet this lady, please.”
“Daniel!” she called out at once.
In a second, the door opened and Pastor Daniel, a young man in his late twenties, came in.
“Go and call Sister Lillian here,” commanded the Deaconess.
The young man hurried off.
The Prophet sat forward in his chair and spoke.
“Larry, the woman you’re about to meet is a remarkable woman of unusual godly qualities, a practical and powerful Christian. Ordinarily, she is not the type of woman one would even think of when looking for a wet-nurse nor would she under normal circumstance even consider it, her husband is well-to-do, you will notice it once you see her, but it so happens that as a direct result of their present separation, she is having some financial difficulties. You understand what I am trying to say?”
I nodded. “Her husband is not taking care of her well anymore.”
“He is not taking care of her at all,” put in the Deaconess looking angry. “And nursing a newborn baby like she is, it is impossible for her to get any kind of good work.”
The Prophet sat even further out of his chair, putting his arms on his desk. “Larry, I want you to understand and appreciate something about this lady. Things are not good for her right now yet I tell you she is not doing this for the money you are offering, she is not the type nor is she that desperate. Her deep concerns for your child are very real, which is why she has even agreed already to take care of the baby regardless of whatever you may or may not offer in return.”
I was surprised. “She has already agreed to look after the child?”
“Yes, she has agreed completely,” said the Deaconess with clear satisfaction and pleasure.
The Prophet sat back in his chair. “The whole thing is still a bit surprising to me, particularly given her status, wait till you see her, you will understand what I’m talking about at once.”
“She is the only one with genuine concerns for your child,” added his wife. “The others are more interested in the money you are paying.”
The Prophet’s cell phone on the desk rang. He picked it up, checked caller ID and glanced at me, holding up a hand. “Give me a minute, it’s my brother overseas.”
“No problem, sir.” I sat back and relaxed.
The Deaconess leaned against the desk in her husband’s direction with rapt attention as he took the call. They were still on the phone a few minutes later when the door opened and Pastor Daniel ushered in the woman.
I sat bolt upright at once, staring in disbelief.
I didn’t know exactly what I expected, but never this woman in a million years. The Prophet had been perfectly right, she was by no means the type of woman you even considered when thinking of hiring a ‘wet-nurse’; she was too impressive looking for that, definitely a rich man’s trophy wife. This woman was an imposing beauty that stood out a mile even in a church full of gorgeous Igbo women. She was easily the most attractive woman I had ever seen in my entire life.
In the two weeks or so, I had been coming regularly to weekly services, this woman was always present and always sitting quietly in the same area to the rear of the congregation. Sometimes when attendance was low and there were vacant seats, she would be sitting all by herself, away from all other people. I had noticed her several times with a baby, but never with any man or anyone else for that matter. She rarely moved around, but whenever she did, like when she came walking forward, down the aisle, to give offerings, she attracted a lot of male attention, and even envious female ones, due to her stunning good looks and spectacular rich figure. Even ‘holier than thou’ Elder Obinna who sat with his pretty plump wife directly in front of me in the first row had a way of following her with his eyes without really moving his head even as he sang and danced in praise to Jesus.
This woman was about thirty, big in build; about six feet in height, with an incredibly gorgeous and healthy plumpish body that was very well-endowed in every quarter to a well-proportioned degree, lavish curves all of it. She had remarkable natural grace that showed in every single movement of her body; her slow sexy wide hipped walk was better than any catwalk and it moved her super curvy lush body, the impressive widespread heavy hips and large buttocks, very seductively even as her entire bearing was regal.
Her striking features which were somewhat European in looks spoke volumes of her Calabar ethnicity. It was that full ‘goddesses of beauty’ looks particular to the women of that tribe, most of whom could have passed for African-European half-castes. She had extremely light complexioned, clear and smooth, beautiful skin of a pale shade of high yellow that wasn’t common among Africans. Her face was very lovely, fresh and perfect, with an infinite quality of softness and gentleness to it. Her nose was somewhat pointed like that of a European, her beautiful soft eyes were a startling hazel and her luscious lips were full with a natural redness to them.
In dressing she was superb. Though very conservative in tastes like decent-minded, married ladies often are in this part of the world – always well covered up from head to feet in local attires, but a keen sense of fashion and natural elegance had her looking magnificent at all times. Today, it was a very fashionable, figure-fitting, long skirt and blouse with head tie, all superbly tailored with an expensive looking fabric of deep red with beautiful black and gold pattern. The clothes clung smoothly and perfectly to the lavish curves of her body from the shoulders down to knee level, then fell out freely to the floor in stylish spacious elegant folds, as she walked there were brief glimpses of beautiful feet in matching red high heels shoes. The blouse had perfect-fitting sleeves of red lace that reached below her elbows and a wide, low neckline that showed off beautiful boneless shoulders, covered by a beautiful red and gold silk shawl that was clearly expensive. Her head tie was elegantly done up, allowing her long black hair fall freely down to her shoulder. Her jewelry was perfect, gold necklace, earrings and broad bangles on each wrist. All the lovely red, black and gold colors of the outfit did superb justices to her high yellow complexion.
On clear display today, like never before, was definitely one of the richest and shapeliest figures I had ever seen on a woman, the best. She had the right height and body substance to balance up the sheer richness of figure and all the lavish curves were in their perfect places. Her big breasts hung like bulging watermelons over the remarkable flatness of her stomach, real narrow waist curved out into very wide, heavy hips that reached down low, adding to ample hints of an abundance of heavy thighs, and behind, eye-popping large buttocks that more than balanced things up.
This was the only woman who had stirred me sexually since Estella put me in the hospital and I had felt the powerful allure right from the first moment I set eyes on her there in the church, about two weeks ago, but given the circumstance and religious atmosphere, I had never allowed my interest go beyond a brief look. Watching her come forward now looking so awesome, her expensive perfume preceding her, body moving wonderfully with each step, I found it really difficult believing that this woman had fallen on hard times.
She curtsied gracefully to me in a very respectful silent greeting and I nodded deeply in return. The Deaconess, seated quite comfortably in her chair, held out an arm to her, smiling fondly and she went freely into the embrace of the older woman, crouching down to her sitting position with easy grace as she greeted her very respectfully.
The two women exchanged a few whispered words as the Prophet rounded up the call and then we all turned to him.
“Good afternoon, sir,” greeted Sister Lillian respectfully with another graceful curtsy. Her voice, which I had never heard before, was amazingly soft and very attractive.
“Good afternoon, my dear, how are you?” the Prophet inquired smiling broadly.
“Fine, thank you, sir,” she replied with a polite smile.
The Prophet gestured at me. “This is Patron Nzeribe who we talked to you about. We just talked to him about you as well and he wished to meet you, which is why we sent for you. Are you still wholeheartedly willing to look after his child or have you changed your mind?”
“No, sir, I haven’t changed my mind.” She said with an easy shake of her head, a graceful movement.
The Prophet turned to me, “Larry, this is Sister Lillian Coker, a relative to Mother Nwachukwu. My wife and I have already explained everything to her clearly and she has agreed to take care of your child as if he were her own. We trust her completely and strongly recommend her as the best choice in this matter.”
I looked at the woman again, scarcely able to believe my ears or eyes. Her breasts were big and full, definitely up to the double-duty task at hand, and then some more. I got to my feet to my feet and held out my hand to her.
She put a soft hand in mine with another respectfully courtesy.
“It’s a relief to meet you,” I said, matter-of-factly.
She gave me a polite smile. “Thank you, sir.”
The red high heel shoes I had glimpsed on her feet couldn’t have added more than four inches to her impressive height, yet she was still half a head taller than I was, and I stood six feet in shoes. Aside from the lip gloss which made her full lips shiny and very inviting, she wore no real makeup, her lovely face needed none, its natural beauty and perfection were very clear.
I let her hand go and turned to the Prophet and his wife. “I have no objections at all. Since she has already agreed to take care of the child, all that remains is for her and I to sit down and have a private talk about the conditions necessary for her do so comfortably.”
“Excellent,” declared the Prophet and got to his feet, coming around his desk to me. “My wife and I have meetings to attend to so the office is all yours. The door will be open and Daniel will be right outside in case you need anything.”
We shook hands.
“Thank you so much, sir,” I said humbly. “I’m really very grateful for this.”
He smiled and put his free hand on my shoulder in an affectionate manner. “You have always been like a son to me so your problems are also mine. Never hesitate to come to me with any problem you may have.”
I bowed low. “Thank you, sir.”
He smiled at me. “Always do I remember you in prayers, God will surely put everything right in your life again and very soon.”
“Amen,” I said.
“Amen!” chorused the women too.
“Don’t worry yourself about the other couples, my wife will take care of them.” said the Prophet.
The Deaconess had come to her feet too. “Yes, just concentrate on straightening issues out with Lillian, I will take care of them.”
I thanked them once again and they left, leaving the door ajar. I turned to Sister Lillian, she was still standing.
I gestured at the chairs. “Please, let’s be seated, shall we?”
“Thank you, sir,” she said.
She took the chair the Deaconess had just vacated while I resumed mine. We sat facing each other with a decent amount of space in-between us.
She sat well, legs together and to one side, body posture upright. Her large hips and buttocks filled up the big chair completely pushing out against the sides. Her beautiful hands with well-maintained, long red fingernails were clasped together in her big lap, lovely face cool as a cucumber as she faced me. She was attractively hairy, I saw clearly now, there were fine coverings of black hair on her forearms, temples, and forehead where the rich hair of her head encroached, all of it highlighted clearly by the exquisite high-yellow complexion of her skin. Her arched eyebrows were real and simply beautiful. Whoever owned the gold wedding band on the wedding finger of her left hand was a damned lucky man too stupid to realize it.
A lot of men would have found this imposing beauty greatly unsettling or even downright intimidating, but not me. I sat relaxed and in control even though my manhood seemed to have developed a mind of its own.
“The Prophet and his wife have told me quite a lot about you, but I’ll like to know a bit more,” I began. “Firstly, how old exactly is your baby?”
“Three months, one week and one day tomorrow,” she said easily.
“Male or female?”
“What state are you from?”
“Akwa Ibom state, my hometown is not too far from Ikot Ekpene.”
She spoke beautifully, plainly and to the point which indicated she was very intelligent and well-educated, certainly, she was serious of mind. Her soft voice, somewhat deep and low-pitched, was very beautiful to listen to.
“How are you related to Mother Nwachukwu who is from Cross Rivers state and married to an Igbo man?” I asked.
“Our mothers are half-sisters originally from Cross Rivers state. Same father, but different mothers.” She replied.
I nodded with new understanding. “Are you and Mother Nwachukwu very close?”
“Yes,” she said with a graceful nod. “She is like an elder sister to me, a friend too.”
“How does she feel about your decision to nurse another man’s child? I asked bluntly. “Please, be completely frank with me.”
She hesitated, glanced away briefly, then looked back again. “She opposed it completely at first, but when the Deaconess told her it was you and the baby was yours; she gladly gave her consent.”
A lot became clear to me then. Mother Nwachukwu’s unusual warm friendliness towards me was mostly genuine and this woman was both loyal and very smart indeed. She certainly didn’t give much away with her cool and composed facade.
I held her gaze. “And you personally? How do you feel about it? You barely know me.”
She lowered her eyes to her clasped hands in her lap for a moment, then looked up at me again. “The Prophet and his wife told me a lot about you, and then my sister told me more –”
“Your sister?” I said, cutting in.
“Oh, please go on.”
“I’m a member of the prayer warrior group and some of our regular prayers have been on your behalf, so in a way, I have actually known you even before you returned to the church. When the Deaconess approached me and explained your problem, my heart just went out to the child and I just…” she searched for the words a moment with a look of real concern on her lovely face. “… I just wanted to help in every way I can. I still want to if you will let me.”
That clear hint of genuine passion in her drove most of the last traces of doubt out of my mind.
“The Prophet and his wife told me you are presently living separately from your husband who is a Yoruba man, is that so?”
“Yes,” she replied easily.
“Are you not worried about how he’ll feel when he finds out you’re nursing another man’s child?”
A weary smile touched her luscious full red lips. “My husband and I are not that close anymore. I’ve been praying for that to change, but God has not yet made it so.”
“He’s still your husband, and so, can come visiting you at any time,” I pointed out.
She shook her head “He doesn’t even know where I live.”
I was suddenly filled with curiosity as to why a full-blooded man would kick out a super sexy woman like this one and never want her back again but let the thought pass. It was too personal a line of inquiry to pursue.
“How do you take care of yourself at the moment?” I asked instead.
“I’ve been managing,” she answered politely.
“Please be very frank with me. How have you been managing?”
She looked down at her hands silently for a long moment, then back at me. “I still have some savings, which I manage carefully and my sister helps me out a lot.”
This was very bad, I thought, marveling at how she could still look so beautiful and cool about it all, not a crack anywhere.
“Which do you prefer I call you Sister Lillian or Mrs. Coker?”
“Sister Lillian, please,” she said at once.
“Good,” I sat forward. “Sister Lillian, I’m going to ask you one final question and I need you to answer it with all honesty and sincerity. You do understand that my son will be staying with you, day and night for some months, right?”
She nodded. “Yes, I do.”
“Can you really find it in your heart to take care of him as if he were yours?”
Her eyes held mine. “As long as you give him to me and he is with me…” she placed a hand flat on her chest, right above those big breasts. “… he will be as my own.”
I sat back satisfied and made up my mind swiftly.
“I will pay you monthly, the full wages of a nurse in a private hospital,” I said.
“I’m sorry, sir, but I am not a nurse.”
I was surprised. “The Prophet and his wife told me you were a nurse.”
She shook her head. “I’m not a nurse. I went to nursing school, but never finished.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “Why ever not?”
She glanced away. “Certain circumstance forced me to drop out.”
“The Prophet and Deaconess would never have called you a nurse with such conviction without very good reason,” I insisted. “Do you sometimes treat people on your own?”
She nodded. “I take care of my sister who is a diabetic and treat any member of her family who falls ill. About two months ago, she had me treat the choir master’s decaying accident wounds and that was how people got to know of my medical knowledge and abilities. Since then the Prophet and Deaconess call me in to treat their children and other members come to me as well.”
“So, you give injections, dress wounds, recommend drugs and medical advice, all leading to successful results.”
“Well, yes,” she agreed reluctantly.
“Do you have a medical kit of some sort?”
“Yes, but I don’t do these things often and rarely for the profit. I’m not a qualified nurse and acting as such would be illegal. I only help when I feel it is absolutely necessary, particularly when the person cannot afford the high costs of a hospital.”
“How long was the duration of your course?”
“How far did you go before dropping out?”
“I was into my fourth year.”
I was appalled. “What sort of circumstance made you drop out at such a critical time?”
She smiled politely, “It’s complicated and very personal.”
“Then ‘un-complicate’ and ‘un-personalize’ it for me, please. Like I implied before, I would like to know as much as I can about you so that my mind would be at peace when my child is with you? Why didn’t you complete the course?”
She looked down at her hands again and I saw the fingers of her other hand touch the wedding brand on her ‘married’ finger. Her manner, when she spoke, was resigned.
“I had to get married and move here to Lagos with my husband,” she looked directly at me. “He wanted a full-time housewife, not a nurse so I couldn’t continue schooling like I want to.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, sat back again. A lot about the shaky marriage was getting clear now.
“You couldn’t have learned enough in three-plus years to display such unique medical skills. Do you read medical books and journals?”
“Yes,” she nodded, a graceful movement of her beautiful head, “I have quite a few.”
I stared at her, impressed.
“I will still pay you the full salary of a nurse in a private hospital so you will no longer bother about employment while you are with my son. I will also be completely responsible for your feeding, house rent, and utility bills.”
“Thank you, sir, but all that won’t be necessary I –”
“As long as my child is with you, everything is necessary to make you very comfortable. I can’t have you worrying about things like money or food. I will even provide you with a special monthly allowance to spend as you please as well as a car and driver to take you wherever you please.”
“Oh, thank you so much, sir,” her smile of gratitude was wonderful to behold.
“No, it is I that should thank you. Just take care of the child well is all I ask.”
“You don’t need to worry about the child anymore, sir,” she said confidently. “When do you want me to start?”
“Today, right now, I will still pay for the whole month.”
“You brought the baby here to church?”
I chuckled. “Didn’t you notice that no one cried the roof down during the service? He’s back at my place in Festac Town doing just that. I’ll take you there to get him, then take you home to your place.”
“I will get my things right away and we can go,” she said at once, looking very concerned now.
I got to my feet and she did too.
“Meet me outside by my jeep, you know it, right?”
She nodded graciously. “Yes, I know it.”
As I let her walk ahead of me to the door, my eyes were drawn to the highly seductive movements of her large backside and wide heavy hips. My arousal instantly became too powerful and I realized I would have to be very careful with this woman or lose my head all too easily and in the worst possible way.
Back in the church, most of the congregation had gone home and to one side of the empty auditorium, the Prophet and his wife were overseeing a meeting of important church personalities from which I had a leave of absence. As I retrieved my personal items from my seat, the Deaconess detached herself from the meeting and came over.
“How did things go?” she asked.
“Fine, ma, I’m taking her to my place now to get the child.”
“Good, if there is any problem, just call me and I will take care of it.”
I bowed to her gratefully. “Thank you, ma, for everything.”
“We thank God, my dear,” she said kindly.
I put a hand in a pocket of my Italian suit to give her a generous cash gift, but she held up her hands quickly to stop me.
“No, no, don’t bother. When things are right in your life again as God promises, you may bring as many gifts as you want and we will rejoice with you.”
I bowed low to her in respect. “I will never forget what you and your husband are doing for me, both present and past. Please extend my gratitude to him.”
“I will, my dear. Go with God.”
I bowed again. “Thank you, ma.”
Mother Nwachukwu waylaid me as soon as I got free of the Deaconess. She was a very attractive plump woman in her forties, very light-skinned and good-looking as was her right as a Calabar woman. She was a well-respected Christian Mother of the church, but due to her pompous character, not a well-loved one. Her husband, who rarely ever came to the church, was a successful business executive of sorts and she flaunted the money in every possible manner – always lavishly dressed in flamboyant attires, quick to make donations and expensive buyouts at church bazaars. Judging by the neat late-model Toyota Serine that was her new ride, her husband’s pockets hadn’t dried up yet. Mother Nwachukwu was one of the oldest members of the church and back in the days when I was a shabbily dressed teacher, she never would have given me the time of day, but since my new-found wealth which clearly suppressed that her husband several times over and the accompanying elevation to the church’s most honored Patron, it was now ‘Larry, my dear.’
“Larry, my dear.” she began looking very concerned. “The Prophet and his wife told me about what happened to you. I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you, ma.”
“How is your health?”
“I’m much better now, thank you.”
“How are things with you generally?”
“Getting better little by little.”
“They must get better in Jesus name,” she insisted firmly, then shook her head sorrowfully. “Oh, people of this world, how they hate good things. The woman that will take care of your child is my sister.”
“Yes ma, I was told.”
“The only crime she committed for her husband and his family to send her packing is that she couldn’t produce a child in three years of marriage and when she finally got pregnant, it wasn’t a male child. They threw her out the very day they got the results of the pregnancy scans and replaced her with another woman. The man stopped taking care of her completely since then. When she put to bed, I had to pay the hospital bills and provided everything she needed myself, the fool of a husband has not even come to see his own newborn daughter until today, not even a phone call!” Mother Nwachukwu looked angry. “I’m telling you all this because I know Lillian is a very quiet person and will not come out and tell you these things herself, thereby leaving you wondering what sort of evil nature she may have to make her husband reject her and her child completely and how it may affect your own child. Lillian is a very good person inside and out, she loves children a lot and they all love her back, even my stubborn son eats out of her hand. She told me you’re taking her to your house now to pick up the child.”
“Yes,” I nodded.
“Once you put the child in her hands, stop worrying. She is a natural mother who always knows what to do with any child in any condition, loving and caring for them as her own. I will watch over both of them myself and there will never be any problem.”
“Oh, thank you, ma,” I put an arm around her shoulders in a light hug, carefully avoiding her massive head-gear.
“No problem, this is what I can do to help you and I will do it well. You must not worry too much at a stressful time like this, don’t let this problem bring you down, as long as there is life, there is hope and with God, everything must surely be alright again.”
“Amen,” I said firmly. “Thank you so much, ma. I really appreciate this.”
Her expression softened. “It is well, my dear, take care and be strong. I will always remember you in prayers. My sister is waiting for you by your car.”
“Thank you, ma,” I said again, giving her a final hug.
“I will,” I said moving off. “Bye.”
“Bye.” she waved.
Outside the church, the heat of high afternoon was terrible. I found Sister Lillian standing patiently under the shade of the umbrella tree where my black Pathfinder Jeep was parked and with her was a young girl of about thirteen in a brown dress, carrying a baby in a strap-on carrier in front of her body. Sister Lillian carried only a large bag in one hand, obviously, a baby bag.
The big Pathfinder jeep came alive with a loud beep and flashing lights as I remote opened the doors from thirty feet away.
“Good afternoon, sir,” greeted the girl very respectfully as soon as I got close.
“Afternoon, young lady,” I smiled at her.
“She’s my sister’s youngest daughter,” explained Sister Lillian with clear affection. “She always spends Sundays with me so I promised she could come along if you agreed.”
“No problems,” I said.
I got the rear door open and held it as Sister Lillian got in gracefully and took the baby from the girl who then hurried around to the offside door and got in. Assured they were comfortable, I closed the door firmly, went around and got in behind the wheels.
The drive to my place was a quiet one filled with classical music. Sunday traffic was light and the big jeep ate up the mileage greedily. We got to my place within forty minutes and Mr. Moses, on the alert, threw the gates open at the first touch of the horn. Ajuna was there as I pulled into the compound and parked next to the house, he helped the women out.
The cries of my son to the rear of the house assailed my ears as I got out. I walked slowly forward to the front of the jeep and stood to wait as Sister Lillian, having relinquished her child and the bag to the girl, came up quickly up from the other side with a worried look on her beautiful face.
“Is that him?” she asked.
I nodded helplessly and gestured her ahead in the direction. “That’s him.”
She hurried off in the direction at once and I followed. Ajuna followed with the young girl carrying the child.
For the second time that day, I found myself walking directly behind the captivating spectacle of Sister Lillian’s seductively moving rich body and because she was walking a little faster than her usual slow manner, the quaking and swinging of her large buttocks and huge hips were downright provocative.
Coming around the corner of the house to the backyard, we found Mary on her feet trying desperately to comfort the crying baby in her arms. Sister Lillian went straight up to her with outstretched arms.
“Here, give him to me,” she commanded.
I waved quickly at Mary to comply and she passed the child over.
Sister Lillian carried the crying child over to one of the big plastic chairs nearby and sat down, placing him on her ample lap. I watch with interest as she examined him quickly and thoroughly. His clothes came off as her hands and eyes roamed expertly all over his body.
She glanced at Mary standing close by. “His body is too warm. Has he been running a high fever?”
“Yes, this morning, but I gave him his medicine and it came down. He just refuses to eat and keeps crying.”
Sister Lillian pried open the baby’s mouth with her fingers and examined inside carefully then looked at me. “I need to clean out his mouth with an oral disinfectant and breastfeed him right away.”
Mary looked pained. “I don’t have any oral disinfectants.”
“Don’t worry, I brought along all I need,” said Sister Lillian rocking the crying baby on her lap with graceful movements of her legs. “I just need somewhere private.”
I pointed at the front door to the detached building of the boys’ quarters. “There’s a nice living room in there, it’s all yours.”
Sister Lillian took control at once
“Bring my bag.” She directed Mary at the girl now sitting in a chair with her own child, the baby bag was next to her on another chair. “Rita, come.”
Cuddling the crying child against her shoulder, Sister Lillian got up gracefully and led the girls away. They went into the living room and the solid wooden door closed firmly behind them.
I stood there for a few long minutes listening to the cries of my son from within, hoping Sister Lillian would do something quickly to calm him down when, suddenly, the cries were cut off like he had been shot dead.
Panic exploded in my head.
“Mary!” I yelled.
In a moment, the door opened slightly and Mary squeezed out, closing it carefully behind her again. Her face was shining with happiness like I hadn’t seen it recently.
“What is going on?” I demanded.
“He’s breastfeeding,” she said happily.
A heavy load rolled off my shoulder and I sighed in relief. I glanced at Ajuna standing next to me, at Mary and back again. “Make sure they are well taken care of and she gets whatever she wants.”
Ajuna looked solemn. “You don’t need to tell me that, boss.”
I turned and walked away, went into the main house through the open kitchen door.
About an hour later, at three O’clock, having eaten and rested a bit, I went back out to the rear of the house through the kitchen.
The late afternoon sun threw the shadow of the house across the whole backyard and a cool breeze was blowing through the place. Ajuna sat comfortably in one of the plastic chairs, busy with his laptop on a table. He saw me crossing the yard to the boys’ quarters and started to get up, but I waved him back down.
The solid wooden door to the three-bedroom boys’ quarters building stood open now, only the curtains and mosquito net screen door covered the entrance. I knocked on the wooden panel of the screen door.
“Come in, if you are handsome and rich!” yelled Mary carelessly from inside.
When I walked in Sister Lillian and Mary were sitting on the sofas watching a local movie on the big, wall-mounted, flat screen TV there. Mary jumped to her feet at once and covered her mouth with her hands in horror. I bored into her silently with my eyes and she fled the room through the other door.
Sister Lillian had come to her feet with a lovely smile. “She didn’t know it was you.”
“I know,” I replied, my eyes instantly going to her body. “She’s just too careless with her mouth.”
God, I thought helplessly, this woman is something! So deliciously big and so beautiful, so lush bodied, super curvy and so very voluptuous. Those magnificent huge hips alone took my breath away completely, and then there was the huge backside and big breasts connected together by the narrow waist. My manhood instantly hardened with raw desire.
Reminding myself that this was a respectable married Christian lady looking up to me to display faultless character as a wise church Elder, I turned up my guard against fleshly temptations and dragged my eyes lower to my son lying on a mattress at her feet.
“How is he?” I asked.
“He’s fine now,” she replied, her soft low voice sending thrills through my body.
The small mattress was by the sofa on which she had been sitting and the two babies lay side by side on it, sleeping peacefully under the cool breeze of the ceiling fan. My son wore only diapers and most of his body was covered in white a white substance that looked much like powder.
“You bathed him?” I asked.
I sat down on a sofa and she resumed her seat on the other. Her huge wide hips and backside took much space and I felt the jolt of arousal again.
“What about your sister’s daughter?” I asked, seeing the girl nowhere in sight.
“She’s sleeping in Mary’s room.”
I nodded. “Hope you two have had something to eat and drink?”
“Yes, sir, we have. Thank you,” her lovely smile was polite.
I glanced down at my son. “What was wrong with him?”
“For one thing, he has three different kinds of skin infections and one of them is prickly heat rashes which sting terribly all the time, especially when the body is either hot or sweaty. He also has wounds and infections in the mouth, which give him a lot of pain and discomfort whenever he tries to feed particularly when sucking from a feeding bottle with a rubber nipple.”
“So that’s why he keeps crying and refusing to eat or sleep?”
“Yes,” she replied, nodding.
“How could he have gotten the wounds in the mouth of all places?” I asked in puzzlement.
“It is quite easy. The inside of a baby’s mouth, throat and stomach are very delicate so all the foods given him must be at a particular temperature. If it is even a little hotter, it will do all kinds of damage to those delicate tissues and without proper attention, these damages become infected wounds that make feeding a painful ordeal for the child. A baby can’t speak of its discomforts, it just keeps crying and refusing food or sleep until those problems are identified and attended to. None of this is Mary’s fault either, a lot of matured mothers make this same mistake repeatedly when bottle-feeding their babies, which is one reason why it’s always best to breastfeed instead, natural breastmilk is always at the right temperature.”
I nodded with new understanding. “How do you plan to treat the wounds?”
“Cleaning out his mouth regularly with oral disinfectant and breastfeeding him will do it.”
I was surprised. “That’s it? No special medicine?”
“None necessary, breastmilk has all the medicine he needs and it works faster and better than any conventional medicine, you can see how soundly he’s sleeping now,” she said confidently, gesturing at the sleeping child.
I saw alright. “What about the fever?”
“I have adequate medicine for that.” she gestured at the side stool by the sofa which had some items and medicine bottles on it, her open bag was next to her on the sofa. “They are mostly multivitamins and mineral nutrients, with regular breastfeeding, they’re more than enough to wipe out the fever and any accompanying illness completely from his system in one or two days. His body temperature is already back to normal now.”
“So you don’t need any of those expensive medicines recommended by the doctor?” I asked. I couldn’t see any of the familiar medicine bottles anywhere.
She shook her head. “They are mostly medications for a non-breastfeeding baby. He won’t be needing them now that he’s with me.”
“And the skin infections?” I asked.
She waved that away with a graceful movement of her hand. “They’re minor issues. I have special powders and ointments that will wipe them out completely in three days.” she picked up the big blue plastic bottle and a tube of ointment from the side stool and held them up for me to see.
“How did you know exactly what and what to bring?” I asked, very impressed.
“Well, I talked with the Deaconess and got a lot of information on the child’s condition. I based my diagnoses on that.”
“And it now seems that the diagnosis was very accurate,” I said with respect. “I’m beginning to think you’re not just the perfect choice like I was given to believe, but a wonderful one.”
She smiled softly and lowered her eyes.
“When do you want to leave?” I asked.
She glanced at the wall clock. “In about two hours. I want him to sleep deeply for some time to gain some strength, his body is weak. When he wakes, I will breastfeed him again and he won’t cry on the way.”
I nodded with approval, even more impressed. “Do everything as you see fit, whenever it is you are ready to go, I will take you home myself.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“You keep thanking me, but it is really I that should thank you. When you’re ready Ajuna will bring you to see me in the house, okay?”
“Okay, sir,” she said with another graceful movement of her beautiful head, a nod.
She stood up respectfully as I got up and left the room. I crossed the backyard again and once back in the main house, I quickly adjusted the powerful erection in my trousers to ease the painful pressure on it.
About two hours later, when Ajuna showed Sister Lillian into the main living room where I was, she was still looking very fresh and drop-dead gorgeous.
I turned down the TV at once and gestured her to a sofa.
“Please sit down,” I said.
“Thank you, sir,” she replied.
Her large hips and buttocks took up more than half the space on the big double seat sofa and I found my manhood instantly coming erect again with desire.
I sat forward in my armchair and picked up a sheet of paper from the side stool, handed it to Ajuna to give to her.
“That’s a list of everything I will be paying you,” I said. “Please feel free to voice your objections on any point.”
She accepted the paper and glanced quickly through it. “Thank you, sir, but this is too much. The allocations for house rent and utility bills are completely unnecessary, the rest are more than generous enough.”
I shook my head firmly. “Like I said before, everything is necessary for you to be completely comfortable and free of worry while looking after my child. Moreover, once the child starts staying with you, half this household will be coming and going from your place like they live there, or have you any objections to that?”
“No, sir,” she said at once with a shake of her head.
“Good,” I pointed at Ajuna standing to one side. “This is Ajuna, my right-hand man. I’m assigning him, especially, to you. He will take care of you and see to your every need directly at all time including the provision of a car to take you and the two babies anywhere you want to go, and then back home. Having two babies doesn’t mean you are in prison and cannot go wherever it is you wish to go, but public transportation is definitely out of the question for you from now on. Beginning tomorrow, he will start buying you foodstuffs, provisions and every other item you may need.”
“Thank you, sir, but I can manage quite well with what you are giving. The allowance alone is more than enough to cover most of these things.”
“The allowance is your right as a woman with a newborn child. I suggest you use it to pamper yourself very well as is the special privilege of every new mother, it inevitably reflects on the baby. I’ll be providing all major foodstuffs for you directly and in large quantity. You must be well-nourished and happy so the child, no… the children, yours and mine, will be that way too. I won’t be showing any preferential treatments to my son, whatever baby stuff is bought for one child will be bought for the other, whether clothes, shoes or toys. I’ll be expecting the same type of treatment from you in terms of motherly care and love.”
“Your son will always have all the love and care I can give,” she said solemnly. “This I promise.”
“Thank you,” I said, nodding with satisfaction. “Mary will be at your disposal too. If you ever have any problems, talk to Ajuna and he’ll take care of it immediately. If you wish to reach me directly at any time, please do so, my phone numbers are at the bottom of that paper.”
She glanced at the paper in her hand and nodded.
I cleared my throat to give emphasis to my next words. “The child is now completely in your hands as of this moment on, Miss Lillian. As far as I’m concerned, you now have responsibility and authority over him as his mother and no one can challenge you. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, sir,” she said gently with a firm nod.
“Because of this you are no longer a stranger in this house, it’s yours and you may come and go as you please. This child is very dear to me, please take care of him very well.”
“I will, sir,” she said softly. “Please, do not worry yourself anymore.”
“Thank you.” I picked up the fat envelope of money from the side stool, I had won all of it and more off Pascal yesterday, I got up and went over to give it to her myself. “This should cover everything for this month and the next.”
She stood up quickly and accepted the envelope with a graceful curtsy, smiling politely, beautifully. “Thank you, sir.”
“You are welcome,” I said, smiling back. “When do you wish to go home?”
“I’m ready now,” she said coolly. She had barely glanced at the envelope of money.
I was suddenly very conscious of her body as she seemed to shift her weight from one foot the other, the movement of her big hip so graceful and seductive. I was without shoes now and she stood about half a head taller than me, well balanced on the high heel shoes.
“Have you packed up the child’s things yet?” I asked.
“Yes,” she nodded.
“I’ve put everything in the jeep, boss,” said Ajuna.
“Alright, I’ll meet you people out there in a few minutes, let me change my clothes.”
I headed upstairs for my bedroom as they went out but didn’t throw away the opportunity of watching Sister Lillian walk out of my living room.
The woman’s impressive size and rich figure, the raw beauty and sheer perfection, it something else entirely.
We stopped at an eatery to get some takeaway foods for the ladies then hit the Badagry Expressway, racing south in the direction of the church. Ajuna drove and I sat beside him in the front passenger seat. The women sat comfortably in the back seat, each with a baby. My son slept like a dead man on Sister Lillian’s ample laps, never a peep out of him.
Sister Mrs. Lillian Coker lived in the developing area of Afromadia which was just after the Okokomiko district. It wasn’t too far from the Ajamgbadi area where the church was, a twenty-minute leisure drive at most, that was it. The road became terrible as we turned off the expressway onto the main Afromadia road, but the powerful four-wheel drive Pathfinder jeep took it in stride easily. Sister Lillian lived deep in and it took a bit to get there. The late evening sun was beginning to set as we turned onto a quiet, small street and parked in front of a green painted, one-story building with fence and gate. I helped Ajuna get a few things from the boot and we followed Sister Lillian into the compound. She carried my sleeping son carefully against her shoulder while the girl had her daughter back in the strap-on carrier. The building was a one-story block of four big flats with spacious balconies and there was an identical compact outbuilding to the rear. Sister Lillian led us straight to the outbuilding. She lived in one of the two small apartments upstairs.
The front door opened onto the small balcony with two doors. The opposite door across the balcony opened into a comfortably furnished large room that was both a bedroom and living room. Yellow painted walls, tiled floor, a double bed with a baby’s cradle-bed close to it was to one side and to the other a sofa and armchair arranged around a low coffee table, all had a good view of a 21-inch color TV atop a glass-stand housing simple entertainment system. There were beautiful curtains and bed covers, artificial flowers in strategic positions, all majorly red in color, a big picture of Jesus Christ with a bleeding red heart was on one wall and arranged on another were different framed photos of Sister Lillian, one of the baby, but none of a man. Nothing was too expensive, but it was all of good quality; the entire place was beautiful, very neat and tidy, a woman’s perfumed world. There was no sign of a man anywhere.
The women put the babies on the big bed and the girl, promptly, disappeared through another door that was obviously the bathroom. Sister Lillian got the windows open and turned on the ceiling fan, the breeze instantly began to blow freely through the room.
My phone rang and I took a moment to answer it then sat on the sofa and watched Sister Lillian’s every move as she helped the girl and Ajuna assemble my son’s wooden cradle and place it next to the other cradle by her bed. She transferred the babies into their cradles, then stood back with her hands on her huge wide hips surveying it all.
Satisfied, she turned to me. “It is okay. I can handle things from here.”
“Well then,” I got to my feet, “I won’t be standing in your way anymore.”
“Oh please, allow me to offer you something to drink?” she said quickly.
“Don’t bother yourself,” I said with a wave of my hand. “Listen, I’ll be traveling on business in two days. I’ll be away for a week or two, but Ajuna will be around to take care of you as I promised and you can always reach me on my private line. When I return, I’ll come visiting.”
“Okay, sir, we will be fine and you may come any time you wish.”
I held out my hand and she took it respectfully in hers with a respectful curtsy.
“Thank you, for undertaking to do this,” I said solemnly. “I’m well aware that it is something that cannot really be repaid with money. I will always be in your debt.”
She gave me a lovely, somewhat shy smile, a very infectious one, her face soft and so beautiful.
“It’s okay, sir,” she said, her voice sweet to my ears.
I smiled back. “Take care of yourself and the children.”
“I will, sir, and please don’t worry about the child anymore. I will look after him very well for you.”
“Thank you,” I said, nodding with satisfaction. Letting go of her hand, I pointed at the girl now sitting on the bed, watching us. “You want me to give her a lift home for you?”
“No, her mother went somewhere. She will stop by to pick her up on the way home.”
“Extend my greetings to her,” I said.
I started for the door
“Goodbye, sir.” called the girl.
I grinned and waved at her. “Bye, young lady.”
Sister Lillian saw us to the front door and bade us a very polite farewell.
It was nightfall as Ajuna and I got back in the jeep and drove away. I knew in my heart, even then, that there was no way in this world things could remain ordinary between Sister Lillian and I for long unless maybe I cut myself off from her completely.
This forthcoming business trip would definitely help.
READ NEXT CHAPTER HERE >>>>> CHAPTER 7
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