A sugar mummy is an older woman who dates a younger person that she spends money on. This younger person may be male or female (if the sugar mummy is a lesbian).

 

Usually, sugar mummies are successful women or women who have good access to money. With this money, they can entice any young person they want.

 

Meeting a sugar mummy in Nigeria can be very tricky. Nigeria is traditionally very conservative and people frown at older women dating. The result of this is that older women will rarely open up about their sexual needs and publicly pursue dating.

 

Most sugar mummy and sugar boy relationships are kept under the surface, especially when some of them are still married and extra-marital affair is completely immoral.

 

To me, I believe older women who are single, divorced or separated should be allowed to go into a consensual relationship with any adult they feel like. But I do not support the married ones who cheat on their husbands with young boys.

It’s absurd.

 

I met my first sugar mummy through an aunt. My aunt is a free, liberal person, having spent most of her life in the States. Most of her friends are like her too, so it hadn’t been difficult for us to get along.

 

That evening, I came to my aunt’s in Lekki (I was helping her drop off her car that had been with the mechanic for some days). Her friend was there — they were in the kitchen together, making fish.

 

I greeted them and told my aunty the car was now okay. She said thanks and introduced me to her friend.

 

I noticed her friend’s gaze stayed a little longer on me before she turned back away.

She was average in height, almost my aunt’s size and probably her age too, but she is fairer and (should I say) a little prettier.

 

I was supposed to just drop the car keys and head back home but my aunt and her friend insisted I stayed for the fish. Thinking about it now, it was her friend that pushed for my staying more.

 

“We are not asking, we are saying you should stay,” she said with feigned seriousness. I liked the way she smiled. She had an accent — wasn’t sure which but definitely not American like my aunty’s.

 

Long story short, I relaxed and waited for the fish to be ready.

 

About 15 minutes later, the table was set. I tasted the fish, lumps of croaker fish stranded in this brown water with some leaves floating on it. The fish tasted like they just boiled ordinary fish in water. I shook my head — so much for the pleading and waiting. Like neither of these women can cook.

 

I already know about my aunty’s poor culinary talent but I was hoping her friend’s presence would have made a difference. Apparently, I thought wrong. This was just a classic case of birds of a feather flocking together.

 

The next day, my aunt called me. It was a lengthy discussion, mostly about my career and work.

She asked about my photography business and how the gig pursuits are going. Then she chipped in: “You know my friend, Victoria, is into fashion, right? If you’d be nice to her, she can really help you in getting well-paying gigs, you know.”

 

“Aunty Victoria, you said?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“From yesterday at your place?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“What do you mean by ‘be nice to her’?”

 

There was a pause. It extended.

 

“Well, apparently, she likes you.” My aunty took on her signature thin voice which she uses whenever she was being mischievous. “Like she really likes you…strange but cool. I mean, she’s no longer married, so there is no case. I will give you some time to think it over and then get back to me.

I will let her have your number though.”

 

She has already dropped the call before I could say anything.

 

At this point, you should know that my aunt and I are only distantly related, maternally. My mom tried to explain it once, but there were a lot of links and I couldn’t fully get it.

 

The next day was Friday. My aunt begged me to spend the weekend at her place.

 

I couldn’t say no because weekends at Aunty Rosa’s is always fun. She doesn’t make great dishes (still surprises me why she always likes to be in the kitchen) but her freezer is always fully stocked and there is always enough to drink.

 

And then I will also have access to her Lexus and go out with it and make my friends jealous.

 

Saturday morning, Aunty Rosa told me she’s off to the spa. She said that her friend, Victoria, will be joining her there.

 

I was humming to Burna Boy’s “Ye” (it blared from the speakers) while cleaning the house. I initially had my shorts on but water splashed on it, so I pulled it off and was only on my briefs.

 

A knock came on the door.

I thought it was Stephen, the gate guy. He was the only one in the compound with me.

 

I let the door open and the wipe cloth in my hand dropped.

 

Aunty Victoria stepped in and stood in my front, just staring. “I never knew you work out,” she said to me, finally.

 

“Just a little push-up and sit-ups here and there,” I stammered.

 

“I see.” She walked into the room while I locked the door.

 

Coming back in, Victoria called me from the couch. “Chuks?”

 

“Yes?”

 

“Please come.”

 

“Okay. But hold on, let me put on my shorts. I was actually cleaning the kitchen when you knocked.”

 

“No, please, it’s very urgent.”

 

I took a quick gulp of air and walked to her.

Standing in front of her with my hands folded in my front, I asked, “So what’s the issue?”

 

Quietly, Victoria shifted out of the chair. She reached to my hands and took them away from my bulge.

 

“Aunty Victoria, what are you do….”

 

I couldn’t complete the statement. My organ was already deep inside her mouth by then, enlarging and pushing at the corners of her mouth.

 

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