BULGE

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WRITTEN BY IWUNDU WISDOM

Three months has passed since Basic 5 got a new class teacher.

But I’ve been fondling his penis since I grew breasts. Especially after school. He zips down when everyone’s gone and slips it out.

It felt so warm the first time I held it, but afterwards—after he jerked and poured his white cream that smelled like JIK, my hand itched.

During class, he always looks at me as he teaches and says,
“Mesoma, do you understand?”

I always do, because there’s always that bulge in his trousers when he asks. But these days, my palms itch so badly afterwards.
So, tonight, I’m telling mom.
* * *
Mom’s tired from work, but she’s ready to listen. Dad comes in.

He looks like there’s emergency.
“Mesoma, your mom and I need to talk. Go and pick that beans,” He says.
“Do you understand?”
I look away. Of course I do. There’s that bulge in his trousers again.

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