It all started like a joke. I thought I was dreaming until I felt it so loud. I began to see stars as I tried for ample seconds to recover from the blindness.
Mrs Amaka is the name. A name I will never forget in a hurry. The name that sends chills down my spines. She has this sophisticated aura, and a very bossy personality that can never be taken for granted. Although she’s only a few inches taller than a midget, you dare not look past it for your own safety.
She’s indeed a boss who commands chains of businesses and over five hundred workers lurking around her payroll. Everyone under Mrs Amaka has automatically sold their self esteem to her swift fingers and well organized insults. Barely can one work under this atmosphere without resigning, save those without options.
I remember when I first met her, as my boss to be. I thought my good looks and charm could cloud me from her claws, even though I was hinted about her talent. But, how can I decline an offer after years of living with just my credentials as my only achievement? I remember her scrutinizing me with piercing rays of contempt in her eyes. She sarcastically threw words at me that made me overly self conscious.
After what seemed like an hour with the devil, I was finally given the job.
My first day at work was kind of easy. Thanks to my understanding colleagues who covered my unseen errors every now and then. It was a shopping mall with all sections well stocked with imported goods. But, despite being a second class upper
graduate of Business Admin, I was subjected to the lowest grade of sales personnel. I never let it bother me that my manager was a secondary school certificate holder. All I cared about was my monthly pay.
One day, my boss asked me to go and fix her apartment. “Is that a part of my job?”, I asked in astonishment. The reply I got startled me. “Everything is your job here!”, Mrs Amaka said in outrage. “Oh! Naija my country!”, I said in my heart. But, after thinking of how long I borrowed and begged for recharge card money, I decided to swallow my pride. I forgot about my university degree and followed Mrs Amaka home.
Her house speaks money in every inch. It was just so classy and sophisticated. I was asked to do her laundry. She also included that of her oversized daughters who
looked way older than the teenagers that they were. I really had to swallow my pride thinking of how hard it was to get another job. It took me close to the whole day to finish. In the end I got no thanks for my labor let alone a tip.
After that day, subsequently, I was asked to do some degrading and emasculating chores. All with a lash of, “it’s part of your job here! if you don’t like it quit! Thousands are waiting out there for your job!”.
Gossip has it that she killed her husband to be able to gain hold of his wealth. Her late husband was said to be an oil magnate and a big time business man overseas. But, how is that my concern since I barely listen to gossip?
One fateful afternoon, I was thinking about how badly my life had turned out. My fate was unknown to me until my co-worker rushed to me with her phone in hand. “Madam wants to speak with you”, she said. I was overwhelmed with a panic attack which I had to tame with all the will power I could gather. “Hello ma”, went my gentle voice. As usual, the authoritative voice that I was yet to get used to commanded, “Come to my house right now!”, and she hung up.
I got to her house wondering what manner of image tarnishing chores she has in stock for me. Her voice called from upstairs, that part of the house I haven’t visited but was about to. I traced the beckoning voice and it finally led to her bed room. It was more of a five star hotel standard than just some random bedroom. She was lying on her king size bed clad in a silky transparent nightie. My mind spoke the truth but I quickly shook it aside. I obviously didn’t fit into her class. Mrs Amaka has completely fried my brain to believe that I am of the ‘below zero’ class.
There I was with her staring at me as though I was her favorite movie. At last she sat up. She took an ointment and spoke in a different and rather soothing tone that I never expected of her. “Please I need a massage”, she asked. I walked up to her like a zombie in my bewilderment thinking what she’s got up her sleeves. After collecting the ointment from her, she stretched on the bed facing down and unclad her fairly large legs. Her legs were blessed with folded skin and rough patches as a result of excess fat. My eyes traced her thick greenish veins up to the extent that I could see a part of her ass.
I remained motionless, lost in the shock of the episode playing before me. Just then, her bossy voice shook me from my trance. “What is wrong with you this boy? Will you do what I asked before I get mad at you?”, she yelled.
I took some ointment and rubbed my palms on her massive thighs, following the direction of her fingers. I exerted much pressure until I heard her say something that sounded like “up” while her fingers pointed at her buttocks. In shock, I withdrew my hands and stood back. She turned and scolded me in her usual malicious tone, “are you mad? Do you think I’m down with your pretence of being naive? Do not get me angry. Now, will you do what I asked you?”.
I said nothing but did just as I was instructed. Even though I saw her as the last woman that can arouse me, that minute I felt my groin protruding through my pants.
To be continued…