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I Killed Konji (A Short Horny Sad Story)

I Killed Konji is short horny sad story of a corper who went home with Konji from where he went to serve and later got sent to prison for killing the Konji.

I Killed Konji is short horny sad story of a corper who went home with Konji from where he went to serve and later got sent to prison for killing the Konji.

I Killed Konji

I clocked thirty seven yesterday and celebrated it in bondage, in prison, in Kirikiri. I killed my babe three years ago and I’m serving life for it. I know I messed up and the blame is all mine to carry. Here is my story.

I met Konji during my NYSC service in the year 2011. I served in Local Authority primary school, Agwa Village in Imo state. It was a crude but beautiful village. The gentle trek of stream along its narrow path, the artistic visuals of the greens and yellows on their roots, the feel of the mush soil when you walk it on bare feet, the smile of the sun when it rose at six in the morning, the melody of the birds when they come out in the late evenings with their vocal bands… everything endeared me to the village.

The village was beautiful but the people and their culture were a super upgrade to its natural enchantment. Maybe someday, I’ll travel to a better place but the Agwa people are the most hospitable people I’ve ever come across. They smile like its breathing, they ate fresh food, wore simple but clean clothes, I fell in love with the village and its people instantly. Love at first sight, you know.

The only problem was the language barrier. 99.9% of them spoke the Agwa dialect and I being a staunch Yoruba boy was as good as deaf. The headmistress of my PPA Mrs Akuada was the communication link between me and the people.

All was going smoothly until my third month when I met Konji. I sat at the bank of the village stream like I always did in the evenings. Absorbed and soaked in the enthralling scenery of the streamside as well as the beautiful sound of the stream’s gentle push against the big cream-coloured stone in the middle of it, I didn’t know it was getting dark already until I was jerked to my consciousness by the most beautiful voice in the history of womankind.

I had a heap of soft pebbles between my legs which I was throwing absentmindedly into the flowing stream but I unknowingly was going to throw one at her if she didn’t call out.

“Please don’t stone me” she pleaded in her native tongue.

I looked at her and almost lost my head. It was almost dark but her light skin dazzled like crystal. She had a sinful hourglass shape. Her behind was round and soft. Each assy heap helped each other to an erection commanding kind of movement under her lose wrapper. Her breasts were the most perfect size and shape in the whole world- not big, not small. The nipples screamed assassination from under the wrapper. Her hips were like two warrior bows made to converge at the tips.

My throat went dry, words went on sabbatical. “so so so…” I heard myself saying. If it was Lagos people would think I wanted to sing Wizkid’s Soco when I only wanted to say sorry.

“What is your name?” she asked, bringing my runaway senses back home.

“Ayomide Babajide Sanwo-Ade” I replied like she was my class teacher.

The time that stopped before had started moving again, this time with me, and her. I fetched the water for her and carry the pot of water for her back to the village.

We somehow missed the way to her home and found each other in my bed, in my room.

I thought she was beautiful with that crazy wrapper but when she peeled it off, damn! I thought I was dead and in paradise frolicking with one the virgin maiden that Boko Haram promises the suicide bombers already. If she registered for the Miss World pageant, she’d get the crown at the point of registration.

The sex was mad sweet, I went longer than I have ever gone and she screamed like Michael Jackson on “Feel it.” It was the life of a king!

“What’s the meaning of your name?” she asked after the romp.

“My Joy came, Jide’s Father paid Ade’s Money” I replied with a wicked grin. Banging a beautiful girl like her was sure bigger than my discharge certificate. That was what my horny head told me.

“Give me a Yoruba name please” she asked in her crazy cute voice and my cock grew bigger again.

“Konji, I name you Konji” I said apparently thinking with my small head as I grabbed her ass again for another sweet knack.

That was how I found a wife o. The couple’s life began in earnest

At the end of my service, I was not even close to getting enough of her. We made away without letting her parents know. She said was the Village chief’s daughter and the man would kill me if he knew I was the one that caged the daughter he has been searching for.

After four years of unemployment, Konji was the least of my fantasies but the Konji I brought from Imo never complained, she was ever supportive and never nagging and of course always giving me the sweet bed experience.

The tough and wicked attitude of life towards a broke, unemployed and coupled Lagos man pushed my leg to a cele pastor in Agbado Ijaye and he gave me the bombshell.

“You have horror under your roof, your life will never improve if you don’t get rid of it” the pastor said after a vigorous shaking of head aroused by the terrible vision he had seen.

It was then that I started rethinking. How come I didn’t know her before that day, how come I never got word that they were looking for her? How come she never complained of missing her family? How can a daughter of eve be that spotless beautiful in even in the midst of poverty I romanced her in? How come, How come… she is the horror, maybe a mermaid, maybe an evil spirit. She certainly was no good, and I was gonna end it, without wasting time.

I got home to her warm embrace, the collision of my chest with her fleshy breasts shook my resolve to end her but I stood firm. I will certainly end her but not without having one final taste of beautiful cunt.

After satisfying my Konji, I set out to kill Konji. I took her to a bar in Oworonshoki and mixed Sniper with Valium V in her drink. I first escaped to the toilet from where I planned to dash off. I was stopping a bike when two men grabbed me by my belt. She died but my wahala multiplied, the pastor was a lair.

Long story cut short, I’m now a tenant at Kirikiri. Davido was jonzing when he said “I was locked up, they won’t let me out” in ‘Nwa Baby’. More than a vixen love affair. Life here is tougher than Kilichi from Sokoto but I’ve got no one to blame. I killed Konji.

The prisoner-looking pastor that comes to preach once in a while saw his own revelation. He said Konji was not the horror, that the curse her father placed on me with his potent African juju was the horror. That if I had taken her home and requested her father’s forgiveness and blessing, things would have been different.

Pain upon pain, Konji was not a horror but I killed her and would forever remain in this damned hole called Kirikiri calling upon my dry hand when Konji strikes from under my shorts. No one to blame. I killed Konji. The only nice thing about this sad story is that it is fiction.

Is there any moral lesson in this story?

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