When I was fifteen,
I lost my virginity to a man I called my uncle. The experience had been a blend
of unfortunate circumstance, which started with a struggle of rape and
culminated in a sensual pleasure and a serendipitous fulfilment of an erotic
fantasy.
My birth name is
Chimamanda, modernism changed it to Amanda, and Arthur turned it into Mandy.
Arthur is my uncle’s name – the uncle to whom I lost my virginity.
As a teenager, I
was fond of Arthur. My mother was fond of him too. He was the last child of my
mother’s parents, young, dark, and attractively charming.
It was ten years
ago and he was almost twenty-six.
Arthur would
always buy me things and take me to places each time he visited our house. My
mother knew he loved me, but she didn’t realise her brother’s love for her
daughter had a deeper meaning. He would always remind me how beautiful I was
and would make me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world.
I had just
finished from SS1 and had gone to spend the long vacation at Arthur’s. While
with him he taught me how to be an irresistibly attractive girl. He told me
there was only one thing on a guy’s mind when he walked up to me and eventually
asked me to visit him – sex. He taught me the resistance theory. But I didn’t
know he was working on my mind. He learnt I was fascinated with romance,
chivalry, and fantasies. He knew romance films usually took me outside the real
world for ninety minutes. He knew my weaknesses and he took advantage of them.
He was a rake, a
Don Juan, as I read in the book he gave me. He had many girlfriends and
sometimes he would invite one over and I could hear her moan in pleasure when
they had sex. I admired his chivalrous and gallant treatment of women, and I realised
maybe that was one of the reasons he had them many. On my birthday he had
particularly made it an indoor celebration with a few of his female friends and
had bought me the most beautiful dress I had worn at my age.
That night of
virginity loss was different. I had been reading a novel – a Tracey Fobes’
‘Heart of the Dove.’ I remember it was Arthur who gave me the book to read. I
also remember he was always asking to know on which page I was. Until now I
never understood why he always wanted to know the page I was on. A page in the
novel described Lucinda Drakewych’s first sex experience with Richard
Clairmont. Richard, a character in the novel, had made Lucinda feel like a
woman when he went down on her centre with his tongue.
That particular
page kept playing in my head and I felt horny. The book was lying on my chest
and I was half asleep when my uncle came home that night.
For a moment I
struggled with him. I can’t remember exactly the things he did to me but I
remember his finger and tongue tickled my naked body, and I also remember I had
wanted more.