“No Kelvin!! I don’t want any of this and you know it”
“Really Dunni? You don’t? How can you deny me this one thing I want to give you, this beautiful pleasure Dunni?”
“Its not like that, I am just not ready for it and I have told you and you said you understood it, that you would never ask me so why are you doing this  now?”
“Then just go!!!! I am tired of having to pick up your little fragile self always. I have never asked you for anything and I am asking you for just this one thing and you are saying no, then leave!!!!”
I couldn’t believe my eyes or ears, Kelvin had never even shouted at me but now he was screaming, like I had done something wrong that he was angry about but I couldn’t think of anyway I might have offended him. He knew, he knew I could not leave, he knew I was depending on him for the actual pumping of my heart, yet he turned against me. I didn’t know when the tears started rolling down my eyes and I started sobbing like a new widow.
He stopped screaming when he saw me in tears, he wrapped his arms around me and I felt so overwhelmed by his presence, his strength, his person, I couldn’t imagine him leaving me. He was the only one that had ever loved me and I am not about to lose his love.
He pulled me away to look deep into my eyes, the intensity of his gaze was intimidating, I felt all my resolve crumbling and when he asked me again I couldn’t help but nod vigorously like a corrected child.
Kelvin knew the art of lovemaking from his soul and he taught me everything I needed to know to satisfy him. At first it was beautiful and exquisite, exploring this beautiful new art but then several things were changing and they were changing radically.
Kelvin screams at me to leave at the slightest provocation, including when he doesn’t get his food that has become my daily duty, on time. He complains about everything, I can’t remember the last time he called me beautiful, or intelligent or anything nice for that matter. I was practically walking on eggshells around him. The only time he acts nice to me, are the few minutes between my legs; I usually live for those moments, those moments when I can see the breath I fell in love with, those moments I become the only thing he lives for.
Kelvin was not done breaking me, he started making me beg to make love to me and I did so shamelessly until I started seeing panties that were not mine, and green coloured long hair strands and smelling perfumes Kelvin’s dead body would never use; too feminine.
I was too afraid to say anything about it.
Then today happened.



Kelvin was everything to me, eventually he became my very breath, the centre of my existence. He made me feel beautiful, like there was no other person he would rather be with. Anytime I complained about my scar, he would cup my face so softly and trace the scar like it was a rare piece of treasure he had found, he got into the habit of placing light feathery kisses on my face that I fell in love with the scar and gained so much confidence about my appearance. Everything that came out of my mouth was always smart to him, he sought for my opinion on anything he did and he will never forget to exclaim “How did I get to meet such intelligent beauty?!!”
He took me everywhere with him, arm in arm all around campus, he was always showing me off; “Have you met the intelligent woman that owns my heart?” I was never comfortable with it but to see him show me off so proudly meant the world to me, eventually I would give a customary shy smile and keep mute. Often times the friends never gave me a second glance but I was not bothered, I had Kelvin and that was all that mattered.
Not being the most attractive of ladies with my flat behind and almost ironed nipples I think I call breasts, I was able to be firm on not having sex; I really didn’t have a choice but I knew I didn’t want to have sex till I was married.
This was the beginning of the end of my fantasy like love story.
Kelvin asked me in the nicest of ways to have sex with him and I said no. He practically went down on one knee, I thought he wanted to ask me to marry him and I was so lost and scared, I couldn’t imagine how I would have responded.
“Dunni would you allow me to make sweet and passionate love to you” In that moment I would have preferred a marriage proposal because I was totally off balance and speechless. He stood and drew me to himself, placing my small head on his very broad chest, before I could rationalize anything, his hands were travelling south, north and east almost simultaneously, the myriad of overwhelming emotions that hit me at the same time made me react violently and that was when I knew there is a beast in a man that he shields until you come to close.
The beast in Kelvin came alive….and it drew me closer…



I was always the odd child. In a family of very brilliant scientist, experts and world changers being average was not unacceptable, it was a curse and it was my curse. My father learnt to realise that I was very dumb and didn’t bother me with the intelligent questions, He simply asked about my day and I would always reply that it was fine.
No, it was never fine, I was always the butt of jokes in school for being the odd one, not just because I was really dull in comparison to my other siblings ( funny, I was more intelligent than most people that made fun of me) I also had a very ugly birth mark that made half of my face look like it was once part of a fire accident.
Basically I was an outcast everywhere so I learnt to protect myself, to be invisible, I didn’t have friends and I was the first back home immediately after school, just locked in my room till I hear the horn for the school bus the next morning (Mother had learnt to leave my food at my doorstep).
Things were very much the same all through my growing up till I entered the university, by then I had already accepted that I was this very ugly and dumb shy girl no one would ever want anything to do with. I was contented in my small space and world until Kelvin showed up.
Kelvin was the last of the last set of humans I imagined would notice me, talk less of talk to me or even show any form of interest in me. He did and it was the biggest miracle of my life, until it was not.

Hope In Love And Nature


Hey everyone, so I am really excited today as it is the last day of the prompts I have been writing on Instagram @tolarnee. I mean I have been writing it for 30 days and it has been so much fun and interesting too. I got to meet some amazing writers and poets and stretched myself too.
Anyways today’s prompt is about hope in love of a pessimistic person and also the beauty of nature, I do hope you enjoy😘😘😘

You Killed My Breasts !!!!(Pains of a victim of breast ironing)


Caroline is my name and I am a victim of domestic abuse and this abuse has left a great stigma on my life and disfigured me forever, unfortunately I was abused by my ignorant mother and I cannot really blame her because she thought it was all for my good. My family is from the Beti tribe in Southern Cameroun and we pride ourselves in being very classy and well-educated too. My mother was semi literate but she did a good job of blending in and flowing well with the very connected people in the society, my father on the other hand was very educated; he was a top professor in University de Yaoundé and was also a very radical politician and advocate for women rights.
I had never thought I would be a victim of any of the barbaric customs my father advocated against and right under his roof too. I was very young and smart but also very respectful and cautious. I knew my mother wasn’t a strong fan of father’s advocacy but she only pretended to be just to sustain the façade of her being very enlightened and a strong supporter of all my father was doing. Sometimes when we are alone in the kitchen she would say “All your father is saying has no impact on anybody, the people would still do what they want to do in the privacy of their houses” I would just nod respectfully as if in agreement but I very much agreed with my father, he always sounded so logical and passionate.
What I didn’t anticipate was how much my mother believed what she usually said. I was twelve when my mother woke me up from my daily afternoon nap and said she needed to speak with me, I didn’t think anything was wrong with her waking me from my nap; she did that all the time, but my mother had never wanted to seriously speak with me.
“Caroline, you are getting older and there are some things you need to know. You are my only child and the pride of  your father and I. You are so smart, always collecting all the prizes in your school and doing better than everyone” She said while tracing my forehead with the tip of her fingers, I didn’t understand what she was saying so I just stared blankly at her.
“Your father and I want you to continue like this and even become a professor like your father but Carol my dear there is an issue. You are growing too fast, see you at your age, you are already developing big breasts and big breasts means that boys would start looking at you and once they start looking at you Carol, its pregnancy o and if you are pregnant there is no more school or professor for you. And of recent have we not been seeing the news of men raping women in all sorts of places even in the church? I am telling you it’s because these girls were already looking like full women ripe for plucking.” I still did not understand where mother was going with all her talk about me growing fast.
“My daughter, these breasts would have to go back to where they are coming from if not who knows what can happen to you too. You know I would never do anything that is not for your own good, you are my only daughter and all I want is to make sure no one hurts you. Now, everything we are going to do would just be between me and you, you must not tell your father, these are women things your father cannot understand” I started understanding what she was talking about and I grew very afraid; I had heard from some girls in my class about the tradition of breast ironing, I have even heard my father say its barbaric and it is done by ignorant people. The girls in my class that have gone through it usually talk of very intense and continuous pain and how they are told to bear the pain.
Mother was looking at me so lovingly that I could just not imagine her inflicting the kind of pain the girls talked about on me. I followed her obediently to her room where she gave me a very tight and almost choking breast tube she said I must wear every day, even to sleep. It was a very tight and restrictive elastic tube, the elasticity was just for me to wear it; whenever the tube holds my breast to my chest it feels like life is being sucked out of me but somehow I got used to it.
I told the girls that all I was given was a tight tube to wear all the time and I didn’t experience any of the excruciating pain they told me about. They shook their head in pity and told me that the process was just starting and they said no more.
During the long holiday that year, mother took me to the village to visit my grandmother and that was when I understood what the girls in my class were talking about. It started one afternoon when everyone had gone to the farm, my mother told me not to go because there was something I must do. Almost at the time I was drifting off for my afternoon nap, my mother called me to come to the back of the compound; I met some of my aunts and my grandmother waiting, mother said I have to do everything I was told to do and I had to be strong. I nodded skeptically.
Grandmother told me to lie on the small table in front of me, immediately I did so my aunts held me tightly to the table and I wondered why they felt they had to hold me down so tightly, after all I wasn’t struggling with them. Little did I know of the pain that awaited me and the struggle that was definitely to come. My grandmother approached us with a smooth and well rounded rock she held with a thick cloth that looked like it was steaming hot. As she approached, my mother quickly removed the tight tube around my chest and the next thing I felt was a searing and burning pain on my breast, the pain was nothing like I had experienced in my life, my grandmother kept going round both breasts with the rock, massaging every point and sometimes using her hand to press on wherever the rock might have touched. I struggled for life itself but all I kept hearing was how I had to be strong and how everything was for my good. I felt like driving a knife through their mouths to shut them up.
I kept screaming but no one could hear as one of my aunts held her hand over my mouth tightly, she did not even flinch as I bit her severally; she kept her hand firmly until grandmother was done. When they were finally through I shot everyone the best hate filled look I had and ran back inside the compound. I thought that was the end of the process until the next day mother called me again; I had to endure the pain and constant humiliation for the rest of the week I had to stay in my grandmother’s place. Mother made me promise never to say a word about it.
My breast was continuously in pain and always sore and they looked ugly too, from where grandmother had mistakenly burnt a part. What hurt the most was that I could not tell Father, he would have known what to do to ease the pain, mother just gave me some drugs and when I saw how concerned she was I stopped complaining about the pain.
Five years later, here I am sitting on the hospital bed staring into space and wondering how my own mother could have gotten me to this stage. They amputated my breasts three days ago, they said the cancer would have spread to other parts of my body if the breasts were not cut off. I tried not to stare at mother often because I know she blames herself too much already and there is no way I can hide the accusation in my eyes. Father still knows nothing about what happened to me and takes the cancer as an act of God which no one has any control over; he has been very supportive and constantly giving me words of encouragement. Mother does not say much, she just keeps cleaning all around me and asking if I want to eat more food. I eat the food to make her happy because I actually do not want to eat.
Some of my friends have come to see me; I can see it in their eyes that they know what caused the cancer, they knew about the pain I had been enduring and hiding. They are consoling me but I am not crying, I am just staring at the open window and at the clear skies, unsure of how my life would be after the hospital, in the outside world, without breasts as a young woman in her prime. I feel drops of liquid at the side of my eyes, I quickly wipe them off and I continue staring.

Photograph by Gildas Paré published originally by Vice France and obtained at

I think she might be pregnant😢

I was fourteen and I wasn’t sure whether the girl I had “played” with was pregnant. I was boyishly handsome (I still am, by the way), I had your typical innocent playboy look but I was quite reserved and respectful and I was far from being a playboy. The girls sort of frightened me, the huge and tiny mounds on their chests scared and amused me at the same time but no matter how curious I was, I could never go near them (who could tell what would happen if I did?). 

My reserved and quiet nature covered up for a lot I didn’t know about, everyone just assumed I was this very cool guy that had a totally different and high class, and I let them flow with their delusions. I wore slippers to school and it was a “big boy thing” (my shoe had been damaged and it was the middle of the month so no money), my not having belt and tucking out my shirt was a form of quiet swags but I really enjoyed the rumors and the over estimation. Even the boys thought I was some sort of rich man’s kid so no one involved me in fights or quarrels. I was the only one (of course with my torn boxers) that knew I had no rich man’s class or substance; I was just brought up to be reserved.

There was usually no one to talk to at home; I was the first child and I was ten years older than my immediate younger and annoying sister, my parents were the late at night and very early in the morning kind of parents, all I had for company were books and my thoughts and imaginations. All these lasted till I turned fourteen and a gangster devil sent human being became my neighbor.

Dare was just two years older than me but his experiences were two decades older; he knew and had done things I could never think of doing, not even in my sleep. He basically destroyed and demystified the woman’s body; he didn’t just make me curious he made me super excited. He described the sacred mounds as two succulent pillows with a tickling arrow head; one that could grow hard and soft just by mere touch. He told me of the haven between their legs, a haven I would love to be buried in, one that draws you in until every bone in your body is weak with pleasure (Dare can describe ehn, I felt like I was inside the woman already). Within days of meeting this semi devil in human flesh I was too eager to experience the wonders of this specie of humans I had seen all my life but he was also quick to warn me to be careful so they would not get pregnant; he said that could be the beginning of the end of my life.    

The next time I was in school was not an educational day for me at all, it was an observational day. I kept watching all the girls in my class for who would be easy to approach, for would allow me experience the wonders of her body. I was lucky enough to get a little bit of coaching from Dare on how to approach them but I was not confident in my abilities to talk and persuade so I wrote a short and dumb love letter (thinking about it now I realize how really dumb it was; something about dying and breathing for her) to one girl I knew had always been crushing on me. Regardless of how dumb it was, it sha worked because after school the girl sent me a note to meet her at the back of the school farm. I didn’t really understand what was going to happen at the farm because Dare told me it would not be so easy to persuade them to show me the wonders he spoke about, he said they would like to play hard to get first (I really had no issue with hard to get because I had always been a patient person, so I was ready to play the game).

I met Tife at the school farm and the whole episode did not go as I expected in any way. I expected a shy conversation and some “I will think about it” game and some more “but you know I love you and I can die for you” crap, but none of that happened. Apparently fine girl Tife was very experienced and she needed no persuasion of any kind.

“You said you love me right?”   

“Yes Tife”

“And no matter what you would always love me?”

“Yes Tife”

“So you are my boyfriend now” I hesitated for a micro second and then remembered I had to show I was in charge.                                                                 

“Yes Tife”

“Do you want to touch me?” It was at that point I knew I had entered one chance. Touch what? I had not learnt up to that point, I could not even pretend to be in charge now because I didn’t know what to do. Somehow, I guess she knew that I knew nothing regardless of my big boy façade and she was already ready to teach me the ropes.

I was already processing how I would tell her my mother needed me at home immediately when I saw two round and swollen mounds of flesh directly facing me with my hand over the soft arrow head. Every other thing that happened became a blur, all I remembered afterwards was the sensation of feeling weak and life flowing out of me. On my way home and processing all that had happened, I concluded that the experience was not all Dare painted it to be, I just felt really good for less than a minute and afterwards I was feeling normal, just like nothing had happened.

It was on my bed later that night, I remembered what Dare had told me about pregnancy and I sat up immediately. I tried unsuccessfully to remember if I had released any liquid substance that might get Tife pregnant and I became very scared. What would happen now? Has the beginning of the end of my life started now? Would Tife tell anybody? Should I run away? Those were the thoughts racing through my mind as I sat that night on my bed with rivulets of sweat streaming down my boyish handsome face.

In the end I decided I would not talk to her again. I avoided her throughout the next day and the days to come but I kept observing her everyday to see if her stomach had increased in size, to know if there was a little baby somewhere. I really didn’t know how small a baby used to be in a woman’s stomach but if it comes out from the body like solid waste then it must really be small and that means any small swelling could be a baby. I watched Tife everyday in the weeks after till I got transferred to another school and even after then whenever I see her in the neighborhood, I couldn’t resist checking her stomach for any increase.          

I am twenty six now and I still smile every time I remember that silly episode because it was my first pregnancy scare and I can’t even imagine that I was checking her stomach the next day for increase in the size of her stomach (don’t worry I am wiser now, still very reserved and quiet and definitely not a playboy although I am still irresistibly boyishly handsome).     
P.s.. The actual experience of a wonderful friend, I just couldn’t resist writing in my own words. I hope you enjoyed it😄😄😘    

Through my eyes and through my mind (TEAM)

​Everyone sees, hears,imagines and thinks of a lot of stuffs everyday; myself included. However, I realized that most times I just tell someone or keep it to myself, I don’t really ever think of writing and describing in my words.

So I decided to start a series where I would be writing these stuffs I see, hear, imagine or that bothers me, in a fictional sense and that’s the idea behind through my eyes and through my mind.

It would mostly be short stories and sometimes maybe poetry. I would like to know what you guys think on the writings so please do well to follow and share with friends who just want a good gist or story or an off the rules and sincere fiction.
I would equally be posting excerpts and some other stuffs on my Social media accounts, you could also check things already posted. IG @tolarnee Facebook: Onashile Peace