A Mother's Truth Pitch

A Mother's Truth is based on my 2020 Short Story titled Feel My Breast.

Enjoy:

Feel My Breast.

***

Obianuju Akụ is my name but unlike all those who answer that name, I am not as well-built as my name implies. 

At five feet five and with a petite body to go with, the only thing that stands out when I stand are my breasts and bum. 

They seem not to have received the memo that I'm petite. 

I am what you will call a good girl in the way and manner Nigerians mean it. 

My dad is a pastor and my mum is no more. 

She died from breast cancer. 

That was years ago and whatever little memory of her I had, I can't recall except what is documented in pictures. 

I like "bad" boys. 

Not the bad boys bad boys per se, but the good ones that are "bad". 

The ones that make you do whatever you want to do without hesitaing or feeling guilty about it. 

Ogoo is a very good "bad" boy. 

He is a member of my dad's church. 

Quiet, gentle but, beyond that veneer of quiet and gentleness is something dark, sinister and almost mysterious. 

I wanted to find out whatever it is and during one of our Bible study classes, I "misplaced" my phone and used his to call it. 

Of course, the stupid phone was in my bag and in silent mode while I was frantically searching everywhere for it. 

Smartphones has a way of making a fool of one. 

That evening, we started chatting and before long, we had known all about each other. 

I found out that he writes great erotic poetry, the kind my mother would have warned me not to read if she were alife and he, in turn found out that my favorite book of the Bible is Songs of Solomon!

I also found out that he is incorrigible. 

He writes fuck letters. Duh, they are a thing if you don't know. Just like love letters. 

He wrote me one and after reading it, all I want to do is fuck him.

On the d-day, he began by massaging me with baby oil. 

There is something about a guy massaging you before taking you that shows how prepared he is to put your pleasure and satisfaction above and beyond his own. 

On reaching my boobs, he stopped. 

When I enquired why he did, he said he felt a lump.

No, two lumps actually!

In my two breasts!!

He wouldn't touch me until I get myself examined.

God, how I hated him. 

Who the fuck does that? 

I got myself examined and lo and behold I had a benign tumor which might go on to become malignant in my two breasts if left unremoved.

I also found out that I had the dreaded BRCA gene which puts me at risk of breast and cervical cancer. 

So, I did a double mastectomy and hemispherectomy. 

I was depressed most of the time, but, Ogoo was there for me through it all.

Even when I got back home with implants and hated it. He was still there for me. 

He told me he likes me just the way I am. 

When I asked him how he felt about my implants, he said he couldn't care less. 

Moreso, he is even more crazy about my ass.

God have mercy on him.

When I was obsessed over the fact that no one will marry me because I have no real breasts and won't breastfeed my babies even if I had them, because of my implants, he said he will marry me.

And true to his words, he did. 

Our wedding night was anti-climatic. 

When you know that no matter how you have sex that there is no risk of getting pregnant, sex ceases to be enjoyable and becomes a chore. 

However, if I couldn't give him children, the least I could do is make each and every of our sex a feast for him.

And boy did we feast?

You bet your ass we did. 

Some nights when he was working late, on a deadline, after the kids have gone to bed, I will saunter into his study in nothing but my birthday suit and let him release all his frustrations on me. 

Some days during the weekend, with the kids at their grandparents, I'll let him deal with me the only way I enjoy being dealt with. 

Some mornings in the shower, after an intense squatting workout session, I let him straighten me out. 

During some odd hours, when the kids are busy outside, I let him drill me quickly in their rooms, before we are caught and embarrassed. 

Oh, how I love the thrill of almost getting caught. 

Talking of embarrassments, I promised myself that should I have kids, when it comes to sex, that I must be as vocal as possible with them. 

And I do have kids, you know. Four of them. Thank God for surrogacy.

Daalu, the first, a son; Awele, the second, a daughter; Raalu, the third; a daughter and Eloo, the last, a son. 

Awele is a spitting image of myself and lately, I have been noticing how she is esthetic and smiles more whenever Nnaemeka, her classmate visits. 

One day, while getting them snacks to eat, I saw them through the crack of the door making out and him feeling her breasts. 

I knocked and they straightened up themselves. 

Kids! 

They think we don't know what goes on behind their closed doors. 

When I left, Nnaemeka quickly found an excuse and left too, flushed and embarrassed. 

Then I called my daughter to grill her. 

I didn't have to grill too much because she told me she just had her first kiss with the boy she loves. 

"If you must do anything," I warned her, "make sure you use protection." 

"Ewww, mum." she snickered, disgusted. I love that. At least, it just confirms what I was thinking - my daughter is still a virgin. "We are not having sex. We just made out, for crying out loud."

"Okay, okay. I just want you to be safe." 

"I will."

"And I saw him touching your breasts too." 

"Eww, mum, how long were you staked out spying on us." 

"Maybe five, ten minutes, who knows?" 

"Jeez, mum, you are embarrassing me." 

"Talking of breast, do you know how to examine your breasts?" 

"Nope."

And that was how I showed her. 

"Can I ask you something, mum?" 

"Shoot."

"Why are boys so fascinated with breasts?"

"It is biology. Evolution, I guess. The females with big breast have a high chance of feeding their children better than ones with small ones."

"Hmmm. Okay. Is dad obsessed with yours." 

"I am not discussing my man with you, child."

"Common, mum."

"He is. And with other things as well that is above you, for now."

"Can I ask you another question, mum?" 

"I'm your mum, for crying out loud, you don't need permission to ask me anything. Go on, ahead." 

"Did you breastfed I and my siblings?" 

I was totally floored. 

I didn't see that coming and I wasn't prepared to answer it. 

At least, not now. 

I felt my lungs collapse within my chest cavity. Both literarily and figuratively. 

"Who told you that?" I asked wondering what the said person will gain by driving a wedge between I and my kids. 

"Is it true, mum?" 

"Who told you that?!" I repeated. This time raising my voice. 

I never do that to my kids. 

"It's the news making the rounds at school."

"Really?!" 

"Yes, mum and that's not all. They say you didn't breastfeed us because you didn't want your breasts to fall."

"What the actual fuck?!" I swore. I never swear but this is it. I can't take this any longer. 

"Is it true?" Awele asked tears running down her cheeks. 

"Yes, I didn't breastfeed you and you siblings." I answered. 

"Why, mum? Why?" 

I know that at some point I will tell the kids but, I wanted to do it on my own terms. Not by being forced to do it by gossip. And not like this. 

I didn't know when I started sniffling. Tears were already running down my cheeks as well without my notice. 

"I also didn't give birth to you and your siblings as well." I said with every strength I could muster. 

"What are you saying, mum? Are we adopted? So, you and dad are not our biological parents?" 

"You are not adopted, my child. I and your dad made you, but, another woman carried you for us and gave birth to you because I had my breasts and womb removed." 

"Why?" 

"I have the deadly BRCR gene which puts me at risk of breast and cervical cancer which my mum, you grandmother, died from. That's why I didn't gave birth to you nor breastfeed you." It's as if the tears now had a mind of their own and are now flowing freely. 

I didn't know when Awele moved from where she stood and came and hugged me. 

I needed that. 

"If you had your breast removed, how then do you still have..."

"Breasts?" I dried my tears with the back of my hands, but, they were still flowing nonetheless. 

"Yes." She answered, eager for answers. 

"Implants. Silicone implants."

"Can I touch it?" 

"Yeah, sure. Go on, ahead. Feel it."

I unbottoned my shirt to gave her room to feel it.

***

I pretended I didn't hear her correctly. 

"What did you say?" I asked highly livid and almost about to pounce on her. 

I calmed down myself with every fibre of self-control I could muster. 

"I said you should tell that your daughter, whom you didn't breastfeed, to stay clear of my son." Mrs Nwanneka Ezichi repeated, above the din and chatter of the many women and men waiting at Eastwood School's parking lot for their wards. 

Some of the women who heard, ohhed while their male counterparts ahhed. 

I stood up from where I sat and took a walk towards her. 

At six feet four, Nwanneka seemed to tower over my five feet five. 

It didn't help that I'm petite and in tip top shape as against her big build and a shape that had seen better days. 

Everyone was waiting for me to give her the slap of her life and per adventure her replying with a beating of my life somewhere in there too, but I came and stood in front of her. 

She was confused as to what my intentions were. 

"I might not have breastfed my daughter," I admitted, "but as for you that is the poster model of breastfeeding, I didn't think you did a good job of it either on your son because if you did, I don't see why he can't seem to get enough of my daughter's breasts."

They was a loud burst of laughter from everyone. 

Even I, had to smile. My punch seemed to have hit her at the right spot. 

And with that, I did a three-sixty degree turn around, doing an unspoken comparison of I and her. 

As I was sashaying back to my seat, Awele, was done for the day and walking with her was, Nnaemeka. 

Mrs. Ezichi's Nnaemeka.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Okwelume." He said handing my daughters bag to her.

"Good afternoon, mum" Awele greeted me. 

"Afternoon, my children. I hope you had a great day?"

"We did." Nnaemeka replied. 

He hugged Awele and tucked in a strand of hair that escaped her hair band behind her ears. 

Young love. The way it makes you go all mushy inside. 

"Bye, Awele." He said, "I will drop by at your house so we can both look at that 'assignment' together."

"Sure. I will be looking forward to it." Awele answered, laughing. 

I know the assignment they were talking about. 

I looked at Mrs. Ezichi and winked at her. 

She called her son who was busy engaging my daughter in a sign that only they knew and understood.

She called him again but, he still didn't answer, too engrossed in whatever they were discussing. 

"Nnaemeka! If I catch you there eh, mgbaa yi akpụkpọ, I will skin you alive." 

Nwanneka fumed, "Come here my friend, ka anyị pụọ, let's go."

I opened the car. 

I and Awele got in and I started laughing.

"What?" Awele asked.

"Nothing." I answered.

I and Ogoo will find the appropriate way and manner to tell our other kids.

And it will be sooner than later.