I couldn’t help but let out a guttural groan, the kind that comes from deep down one’s labyrinth of innards, as the soldier neatly dropped another cement block on my soft, distended paunch. As he did this, there was a malicious glint in his eyes that I have come to know of poor people when they get a rare opportunity to ‘stick it to the man’.
“This your evidence of good living must flat back today,” he barked in mangled English, his voice amplified by the silence of the night. Clearly, he was enjoying this. He was not alone. There were four other soldiers or so at the roadblock. I laid spread-eagle on the black tarmac, bubbles of vomit dribbling down my face. They circled me like vultures eyeing their prey, waiting, excited for the inevitable.
Three, nearly empty bottles of Hennessy (now in the hands of the soldiers), my passed out, scantily clad lady friend, the damaged bumper of my newly-minted SUV and my penis hanging out of my previously, hastily undone trousers, now half-limp, told my sordid tale to all present.
On the cusp of orgasm, one hand of the wheel and the other in the nether region of my friend, I lost concentration and then…
“Na your kind dey kill innocent people! So because of your enjoyment you wan kill us bah?,” one of the soldiers spat out.
“See him small prick sef! Abeg bring another cement, Him go learn today! ”
He called out to one of his comrades who I couldn’t see.
Another cement block was added to the pillar forming on my stomach. The soldiers soon started to blur. I was still fairly drunk, I thought. Then a knowing sensation slithered from the base of my spine, up my back and I let out an ecstatic moan before I could catch myself. A hot, sticky wetness seared my upper thighs.
At once, raucous laughter tore through the night air.