Tag Archives: school

ROMANCE NON FICTION: MY CLASSMATE by Huaming An | GBAMLOG.COM

In China every student is assigned a desk to share with another student. Only in college where students move from classroom to classroom each lesson is this not so. People must have stories about their classmates they have shared desks with. Whether you like or not, someone there sitting beside you from every single sunrise to sunset.

Approximately twelve classmates I met, who once shared a desk with me, occupy the memory of my youth, each of which is like a treasure of mine, sneaking into my dreams occasionally, dragging me back to that extraordinary time and bringing tears to my eyes unwittingly. Among them, swallow, a nickname of a girl, was the last one.

She was my classmate but not the one sitting beside me at the very beginning. One rumour related to her, which I never care about, caused the teacher, who was responsible for this class, to decide to exchange her seat. So, she became the one sitting beside me. We were not well known to each other before, since she was as ordinary as other classmates to my mind. However, she became the unique one as time went by.

Pink T-shirt coupled with a skirt comprised her style in summer, this is how she always appears in my mind. Sweet smile with white neat teeth but one slightly askew was her mark. Tranquilly, elegantly and gently the way she sat could make the entire world silent, quiet and peaceful. No one, deeply with their heart, could help stopping being attracted by her, at least for me.

She was my classmate. The more I kept contact with her, the more I was fascinated by her. Good at English but not physics, she played a role of English tutor to me. Including her, A few girls sitting around me, were considered to be “live dictionaries”, since I am too lazy to check any English word myself. No fighting between us, no imaginary boundary separating us in the middle of the desk, we had a harmonious relationship which was abnormal since a girl and a boy always quarrel at that age as it seemed hard for them to make an agreement.

The farewell was in a gorgeous day, sunshine, a little breeze and amiable temperature, but I am sad. A small pack of plum candy was the last gift I gave her. Just as a piece of cloud floating away, she had gone and disappeared. People yearning for light in a deep dark night, flowers longing for rain and dew in severe droughty weather, I am missing her.

Although thirteen years past, she is still vivid in my mind, as the things happened yesterday. With a book under arm, sneaking to the classroom from the back door and quietly sitting beside her, I repeat it in almost every dream. I am missing her.

Considering herself as an elder sister of mine, smiling in a little bit smirk way, careful doing everything but in fact faltering sometimes, she was an ordinary girl whilst distinctive and unique. She has held all my heart those many years, resulting in no place for any other person. She was a disaster for me at that age.

With strong will, I can fulfill every dream through hard work. But like a boxer fighting in cotton, or birds flying in water, no matter what a strong will I have, I have little chance to capture her. Regardless of how wonderful she is, how sweet her smiles, and how elegant her postures, she, from the very beginning, is just not my destination.

REALITY CLASSIC TALE: LOVE? OR SLAVERY? By Hilary Chikuvira | GBAMLOG.COM


“If you are not going to be a girlfriend and wife, who is submissive, who follows the lead of a husband, then we got to deal with this now, because no wife of mine will rule my house, give me orders or go to a separate church from mine!”, said Tendai fuming, his voice was shaking from anger, l could see he was totally charged up and no longer caring to select his choice of words.
I was also fed up myself, and l retorted angrily, “fine, if you want me to be that kind of a wife and fiancée, then to hell with it, what are we even doing now? Let’s not waste each other’s time anymore. Have a great life”. I slammed his car door nice and hard as l climbed out and walked away into the dark.
So how did things get so messy?
Tendai and I had fallen in love with each other a year ago, he was all l ever wanted in a guy, ‘at first’ and l was his dream girlfriend too. Both of us at the age of 28 just thought this definitely was it. The search for true love was over.
With time there emerged those nitty-gritty human imperfections. Tendai is traditional, old school and reserved on the other hand l am less cultural and a newly emerging activist for feminism and gender equality. He is the type that prefers to not touch alcohol, deems it unclean for his soul, he prefers the traditional kind of music, and he loves spending his days chilled, watching movies or visiting family and friends. It made me look like l was the wild one, so eager to try anything and everything, ready to live, never content with sleeping before 11 pm on a weekend, and definitely never one to repeat the same activities over and over again.
So as expected in such cases, we started getting into each other’s nerves. He began to think l was too independent, l had no respect for tradition and that l could just not make a good wife for him, but this was never said out aloud. I began to find him quite boring, and just not fun to hang with. But none of us could audibly say it out. We had just come a long way to quit because of what we thought to be a few indifferences.
In my culture, men pay lobola to show respect to the bride’s family and say thank you for raising your daughter well. The culture sort of sells women under the guise of culture. Lobola can be 15 cows including other cultural things that a guy must pay up, not to mention that after the lobola the guy must sponsor the white wedding ceremony as well. The bride’s family demands the amount of lobola they want, and the amount can even add up to 15000 us dollars, which is a 2-year saving for a typical middle-class guy who has decided to forgo buying a house, a car, and a decent living style. Lately, families have become overly greedy and are demanding alarming lobola prices. The fathers of the bride use the lobola to buy things like a fancy car or spend the money getting drunk. And in turn the bride has to leave her family, her religion, her lifestyle, her surname and almost everything else important is foregone by the lady as she follows her husband. It becomes the duty of the wife to clean, cook, take care of the husband and kids, as well as to get formerly employed somewhere and contribute to the new family income. If lobola was truly a cultural way of appreciating a partner l do not see why both partners cannot give lobola to the spouse’s family, or why a guy cannot give out what he has, but instead must toil for years to get to afford a wife.
And as you can imagine, l being a feminist, who realizes there is something seriously wrong with this culture from as early as 11 was totally ready to rebel. And certainly not prepared to be sold off, so l tried reasoning with the love of my life.
We were sitting in Tendai’s car, he was preparing to drive me home, after we had spent the day in the park, doing what we usually do, ‘Chilling’ in the relaxed way he likes. And poor I got bored; there was nothing new to say, no interesting conversation about the latest movie, or the hit song on the market. Just family talk about how we would chill like this, during the weekends once we were married.
Sol blurted out, “Tendi, love brought us together, l love you dearly, but there are a few things we should change love. For starts l would love to keep going to my church, l like it there, and l would love for you to take care of your siblings, but the family culture of a newly wedded couple living under the same roof with family relatives just takes the vibe off honeymoon phase, we can always share, but l prefer staying with you only and my kids, unless we really have to take in someone in need. Can we do that?
Tendai’s eyes grew big, as if they were gonna pop out of their sockets, all he could mutter was “whaaaaat?” Since l had kept this buried for so long in my heart, l thought, ah why not just let it all out, after all, he is my boyfriend, he is bound to see things more from my perspective if l explain well.
“Yes Tendai, l think women’s positions in the house are a bit unfair too, for instance a man gets to come back from work, sits at home, and watches tv whilst the lady who has also come back from a long day at work, breaks her back to cook, wash and do dishes as well as take care of the kids. It sounds more like slavery rather than marriage. I hope when we are married we can share tasks according to everyone’s capabilities, it would make married life easier for me love”.
Tendai looked at me long and hard, with clear bewilderment in his eyes. “Love a woman should be a woman, know your place, and know that it will always be behind me, your boyfriend and future husband, l will be the head of the family, l will make the final decisions, you will be my wife, what is the purpose of a wife? Is it not taking care of the husband? Talk to your mother, talk to your church elders, talk to anyone and they will tell you the same! The husband leads, the wife follows. Equal rights are there, but just not on this!” He ended, fuming with fury.
I guess in his mind he was thinking, oh this gal, what nonsense is this, women are women, and they should remain women. That was the moment when l finally opened up my eyes to the truth l had refused to see all the time; nothing was going to change in this relationship. Not me and certainly not Tendai. It was my purpose to actively campaign for women’s rights. So l took my leave from the car that had become stuffy and tension-filled from the heated argument.
This is the issue that has brought about the end of our so-called love to where we are right now, bitterness, regrets, anger, and anger.
We both think we are right; we both want the other to see how they are the ones who are wrong. And above all, no one wants to compromise.
I take a taxi, and head home, with deep sorrow inside of me, hoping someday, the society will see life in the eyes of a woman because for now, life is just far from being fair where men and women are concerned. I don’t blame Tendai though; he was born in this world, where culture and tradition plays a major role in people’s lives, even if the culture clearly weakens another party and gives the other all the power. It’s the way it is, and everyone has a choice, to do away with the bad culture, or keep it alive and running for the next generation to copy.
But l know my stand on point.

EROTIC ROMANCE: MY HOT TEACHER by MyDarkSide |GBAMLOG.COM

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My English Lit teacher is blonde, twenty-nine, married, with a two year old child and hot. Every male in the school over puberty lusts after her, staff and pupils.

She wore two types of skirts both short, that showed off her long slim legs to perfection, the first was really short and tight hugging hers hips and barely covering her bum, the other type which I preferred was slightly longer but more flouncy and soft that moved and swayed when she walked. Also tight fitting low cut tops that had her boobs on show, the boys in my class argued whether she wore push up bras or not: she didn’t they stood proud on their own, I know.

I found out one Saturday by chance. It was approaching exam time and I knew I needed some extra tuition to improve my chance of getting good grades so I could go to sixth-form college, so agreed with my parents that I would do some private tuition on a Saturday morning. My dad had arranged a tutor through a local agency, and as I was just sixteen and not yet able to drive had dropped me off at the tutor’s house. I walked up the drive, rang the bell when the door opened there was Mrs Evans.

“Good morning, you must be my pupil, oh it’s you Jonathan,” she said, “this is embarrassing as I shouldn’t tutor someone from my own class, but now you’re here you had better come in anyway.”

I went into her house and followed her down the hall way to the living room, she looked stunning in a flaming orange, micro mini skirt, low cut cropped teal top, white strappy sandals, and I could tell she didn’t have a bra on. As she walked down the hall way her skirt was swaying and I saw she was wearing matching orange panties, I took my time following her admiring the view.

“As you’re here now I think we can go through this session and I will arrange a new tutor for you for next week, is that ok?”

“Yes Miss, er are we alone?”

“Yes, my husband has taken the baby to his mums for the morning.”

We started on the tuition which was a bit funny as we were studying “Women in Love” and “Lady Chatterley’s Lover” both of which have passages with a sexual content and I was getting a little worked up, as my hot teacher was standing very close to me.

After an hour we stopped and Mrs Evans said to me.

“Jonathan, what type of literature do you think these are, erotic or pornographic?”

“Miss, I don’t understand.”

She then went on to explain the difference between erotic literature, where there is more of a story that builds up the tension and characters, where as pornographic is more “wham bam thank you mam”.

“Oh come here I’ll show you.” She said and opened up a couple of websites and showed me examples of both types. The descriptions in both were pretty explicit and I was getting more and more excited reading and discussing this with my hot teacher who was in very sexy clothing and standing in close proximity to me, but at the same time I was going red with embarrassment at the content.

“Jonathan, do you see the different genres there are, one of them is MILFs, do you know what a MILF is?”

“Yes Miss.”

“Do you think I am a MILF?”

I couldn’t believe she had asked me that I didn’t know what to say, “Er I’m not sure Miss.”

“Oh, why?”

“Well, I’ve always thought that MILFs were much older than you and not as sexy looking, but technically I suppose you are.” Oh God had I just said that to my teacher, had I just called her sexy.

She gave me a funny look then said, “Why technically Jonathan?”

“You are a mother.”

“So the M part is covered I am a Mother, what about the I.L.F., I’d like to fuck?”

“Oh yes Miss.”

With that answer she grabbed me pushed her fantastic body against mine and kissed me like I had never been kissed before, I’m not a virgin but have had very little experience with the girls in my year all sweaty fumbles, this was on a different level. She leaned hard against me as she pushed me up against the wall pinning me there.

Her kisses intensified if they could, her tongue pushing into my mouth and playing with mine, and I don’t know how but I suddenly felt her hand inside my pants stroking my cock. I reached up and pushed her top up and took it off as she raised her arms over her head, giving me a view of her tits for the first time, they were firm just a handful in-size with small nipples that were standing up. I broke the kiss and dropped my head to her boobs and took one in my mouth whilst caressing her other boob teasing the erect nipple with one hand. She didn’t stop or fight me off but began to moan slightly saying, “Oh yes, oh yes, keep doing that.”

I dropped my free hand pushed it up under her skirt and inside her panties and pushed three fingers straight into her pussy, it was wet and hot and soft. I started to moan now.

She whispered in my ear, “Fuck me now, hard and fast, as hard and fast as you can.” At the same time she placed my cock to the entrance of her pussy and guided it in. “Go on now fuck me for God’s sake.”

I didn’t need a second asking and slammed into her as far as I could as she lifted her legs off the floor and round my waist so I was supporting her and her weight was coming down onto my cock. I kept thrusting as hard and fast as I could, feeling her velvet pussy caressing my cock. All the time she was shouting, “Oh God fuck me, fuck me, harder, harder, oh yes!”

Suddenly she stopped pushing back, her pussy muscles began to clench my cock in increasing frenzy as she began to pant and then with a scream came. She was going wild, grabbing my arse pulling me into her, digging her nails in, scratching my back and as she came she sunk her head into my should and sank her teeth into me in pure lust.

I was still hard inside her as she lowered her legs and stood up; she pushed away from me and pulled me out. I was devastated I hadn’t come yet. Had I done something wrong?

She looked at me with glazed, unfocused lust filled eyes knelt on all fours with her back to me and said, “Not finished yet, take me doggy style, but we’ll be a bit slower this time.”

Somehow in the action I had lost all my clothes and her panties were on the floor.

I knelt behind her admiring the view of her ass, her pussy lips looked swollen and the interior was wet and glistening, her skirt was still on riding high on her hips, this seemed sexier to me than if she was naked before me. I knelt behind her, placed the head of my cock at the entrance to her wet pussy and rubbed it up and down her before slowly pushing into her, it was heaven, the best feeling I was ever likely to have, or so I thought.

As I pushed in her muscles clenched me hard then began squeezing me working from the base to the head, I kept up a steady rhythm, pushing long and slow into her pussy holding onto her hips then ran my hands up her tight firm body ending up at her boobs, I cupped them both, squeezing and kneading them, then tweaking and twirling her nipples meanwhile she had reached one hand down and was playing with her clit.

I felt my intensity rising and began to increase the speed and depth of my actions, she responded in kind and began pushing back on me so hard and fast.

There is more of this story…

Fate of the Curious by Chiedozie Ude.

‘Curiosity, they say kills the cat’. I have often taken that statement for granted until I allowed dear Mr. Experience to teach me an unforgettable lesson.

I was in a new school and because I resumed late, I had a plethora of notes to copy, legions of them. Concentrating on my task which was writing and eating ‘guguru ati epa’ (groundnut and popcorn) without a care in the world, I ignored most of the activities going on around me, in fact I was oblivious to my environment.

One fateful afternoon, we were having everyone’s favorite subject which was ‘free period’, and the whole class relished every minute of it.

As the norm was, is and would be, free periods are periods when students show their unintellectual traits— that is, a time for the display of chronic madness. Yours truly was busy trying to update his literature note when the hullabaloo started. Screams! Grunts! Moans!, tables falling and people cheering. ‘What the hell was going on?’ I asked myself. ‘Concentrate on updating your notes,’ a still voice said.

I tried to shut my ears to the cacophony which had become more raucous and vociferous. From the little I could decipher from the madness which was threatening to bring down the whole school, two gals were fighting (names withheld because it is a matter of national security) and which for analytical purposes, I’ll call X and Y. Whatever was the cause of the fight, I still do not know, but from the ecstatic cheers the boys were giving, it must have been a wonderful opportunity for many of them to feel the fighting ladies ‘uhhhm’ fleshy characteristics (forget my euphemism, you know what I mean ‘lol’).

I was not watching, but slowly, my excitement was climaxing, I had to satisfy my eyes by watching the belligerents live. The still voice came again, warning me to ignore whatever was going on, but I ignored it. After all, I just wanted to feed my eyes for a minutes. So, I abandoned my books, after all, there would be time to update them later. I began squabbling with members of the crowd so as to get an ‘HD’ view of the proceedings. I got my reward because I stumbled to the front….

All of a sudden, everything went black in my left eye, I could not see and I felt a burning pain there. Oh my gosh! ‘What just happened?’
One of the fighting gals decided it was time to turn the tables on her adversary by stoning her, and fortunately for her opponent and unfortunately for yours truly, she missed and the stone hit my left eye point blank. That ended the fight because I heard someone screaming pitifully and it took me a while to realise that I was the person.

I stayed at home for the next two days due to the blinding pain

I learnt a big lesson that day, learn to curb your curiosity