Martin Egblewogbe

Tag: Adult Content
An aging incandescent bulb cast an unholy blue hue over the cheap furniture placed perfunctorily about the small room. Dangling from the ceiling, a rusty fan creaked noisily as it stirred the warm air, doing little to reduce the stuffiness. The blades of the fan cast dancing shadows on the bed, whereon two Members of the General Public were engaged in coitus.

The prostitute was tweaking Pastor Mintumi's right nipple, her fingers sliding smoothly through the thick hair on his sweaty chest. Mintumi was not enjoying himself, although he, avoiding the woman's face, stared at the ceiling with a glassy look easily mistaken for the herald of an imminent orgasm. Rather, Mintumi was wracked with thought as he clutched at the woman's flat bottom and humped away robustly.

The prostitute was not enjoying herself either, this contributed to Mintumi's distress - for all his effort, he suspected that the woman was close to bursting out in derisive laughter, dismounting with a careless fart and making an ego-destroying statement like, 'your okro prick'.

That night, Pastor Mintumi was convinced that he was an unfortunate man. He had long suspected that he was not exactly a lucky bloke, but as he lay on his back with the hag hovering over him, the fact became clear - as if it had been stenciled on the dirty, cobwebbed ceiling - MINTUMI YOU ARE AN UNFORTUNATE MAN.

To begin with, the woman was not even pretty. In his haste, he had ended up paying for a woman of indeterminate age with frighteningly large breasts and a small ass. These breasts now swung pendulously above him, as if warning him to be careful next time.

Earlier on, he had foolishly said to the woman, in order to make the interaction seem more human - he said, as she removed her clothes - 'Your breasts look nice.' The prostitute did not miss a beat. Carelessly casting her skirt onto the table beside the wardrobe, she replied, 'But you know that I have two children.'

Of course, Mintumi was supposed to know that she had two children. Because she was a member of his congregation.

When the pimp had appeared beside his car with the woman, Mintumi's initial reaction was to pray for instant transfiguration - if even into a goat. He next considered making off at great speed, but this was out of the question because he was parked in a dark, narrow alley, and the car was facing a wall which would have brought him to grief had he attempted any fast moves.

So Pastor Mintumi had been left with no option but to brazen it out. He racked up all his reserves of confidence, and even as his ears burned with shame, cleared his throat authoritatively and told the woman that he had extended his 'evangelisation' to one-on-one's with ladies of the night. Sadly, that did not wash with the hardened woman of the world. 'You pay money to preach, or to f*?' the woman asked angrily.

Mintumi blamed the pimp. He had paid the man to get a nice woman for small 'jigi-jigi' and the idiot had brought him an ugly hag from his own church. So, since the woman and himself were partners in sin, Mintumi decided to let go of pretense and admit that he was in fact there not to preach, but to f*. The woman, whom everyone called Sister Betti on Sundays, tried to make him feel at ease by promising that she would 'never never tell anybody.' That settled, they had zoomed off in his car to the appointed rendezvous - a seedy hotel with a deaf and dumb receptionist, himself an old man who had seen too many sinners in his time.

Pastor Mintumi knew that all this was the work of Satan. It could not be otherwise. Was he married? Yes. Where was his wife? At home, sleeping. Did he have a problem with his wife? No. His marriage was in fact flourishing, his wife loved him sincerely, and he did not lack sex.

So why then was he, Minister of the Gospel, husband to a loving wife and father of a five-year old son, cheerlessly submitting to the sexual devices of a prostitute at 2 a.m. on a hot Saturday night in April? Mintumi had to admit that his behaviour defied reasonable explanation. Being a professional Pastor, he would be deprived of his livelihood if his dark deeds came to light. The disgrace would be utter – none of his friends knew about this, his family trusted him entirely. The 800- strong congregation of the 'Latter Days Chapel' would be devastated at his hypocrisy.

Yet this was not Mintumi's first time. He was a regular at the brothel - he had been for about a year.
Mintumi's behaviour would be difficult to classify as reasonable, but there was a rational explanation for his actions.
He was a charismatic speaker, well known for his passion and ability to sway even hostile crowds. His preaching focused on salvation of the soul - the danger of damnation, and the need for repentance. Miracles were not significant in Mintumi's pastoral ministry, but his preaching often recorded small incidents of miraculous nature, like bent old women letting go of their walking sticks and dancing kpanlogo with unnerving vivacity.

Pastor Mintumi had discovered, after his first trip to savour the delights of the night, that his preaching became more soulful, more touching, more passionate the following Sunday. He attributed this to the fact that he had himself become a wretched sinner in need of pardon, so when he knelt down beside the pulpit with tears in his eyes, he was not play-acting. As the choir rendered a moving 'Amazing Grace', Pastor Mintumi raised his hands and shouted in a broken voice: 'Lord forgive me, I am a sinner! You know, you know - O Lord!' Then he stood up and cried out: 'You must confess and be saved! Confess! Confess!' Following his example, many poor sinners amongst the congregation fell to their knees, crying out in anguish. The atmosphere was absolutely charged - many people felt their hair bristle with the electricity. That day a multitude gave their lives to Christ, and Mintumi's fame grew. Pastor Mintumi was rather surprised at the way things had turned out. He had committed adultery, behaved like a hypocrite - and yet, it appeared that his preaching had been more productive than usual. The theological questions raised gave him a headache - what was the meaning of this? Surely, God could not be condoning his sin - far from it!

A fortnight later Mintumi strayed into the den of whores again, fell again, and preached again the next day with such power that his congregation was dazed.

That had been the pattern over the past year - at least once every month Mintumi would enter into the world of strange women - and that was how come he found himself battling with the odour of sweat and perfume that pervaded the seedy little room, the blue light disguising the aged furniture, the naked Betti encompassing his vision.

Intercourse came to a whimpering end, and Sister Betti released Mintumi from her clutches. The Pastor immediately reached for his clothes and started dressing up. Betti, sitting on the bed, watched him silently for a few seconds.

'Why?' she asked.
'I've finished.' Mintumi said.
Betti reached for her clothes reluctantly. As she strapped her mighty breasts into the bra, she suddenly turned to Mintumi struggling into his trousers at the other end of the room.
'I want more money,' she declared. The Pastor pushed his foot too hard into the trouser leg, lost his balance, and fell with an ignominious thud.
Betti towered over him, blocking the glare from the lamp, so that Mintumi could not see her face.
'Haven't I tried for you?' she asked.
Mintumi tried to speak, but all words eluded him, and he could only stare helplessly at the woman hovering over him.
'OK,' Betti said with an air of finality, and, to Mintumi's horror, unclasped her bra.
'Let's do again,' she said. 'But you will pay more.'
Mintumi leapt to his feet, drawing up his trousers in one move.
'No!' He shouted at Betti.
The woman looked frightened.
'Never!' Mintumi shouted again. He put on his sneakers without sitting down, keeping an eye on Betti all the time.
'It's over!' Mintumi declared, satisfied at the cowing effect of his words.

'Take your time,' Betti said softly, as Mintumi charged past her out of the door. The night welcomed him with open arms, the chill breeze was a balm to his outraged senses.

When he was in his car he realised that his wallet was missing. He must have dropped it in the room.
Mintumi's return to the reception was heralded by the swing doors crashing open: the pastor's eyes were red. The old man slowly raised his head to face the angry returnee.

'I want to go back to the room!' Mintumi said tersely. He was out of patience. The receptionist shook his head.
'I...' Mintumi started, his anger building to great levels. He would gladly have wrung the scrawny neck of the man behind the counter, but then he remembered that the man was deaf and dumb – or at least was supposed to be deaf and dumb.

Mintumi ran down the corridor to the room he had just recently vacated with such relief. He tried the handle, but the door was locked. He kicked the panels and the noise crashed through the night, startling Mintumi himself.
The Pastor stared at the door, sweat streaking his creased face. Words marched across the dirty panels - AN UNFORTUNATE MAN MINTUMI TONIGHT YOU LOST MINTUMI AN UNFORTUNATE MAN...

He turned around. The old man standing behind him, one trembling hand on a cane, the other raised as if to ward off a blow.

Mintumi left without a word.

Martin Egblewogbe

Author's Note: This is the first part of a novella that I began writing about one year ago. The story has developed, but rather slowly, since then. Hopefully, it will be finished soon and will be published in a collection of my short stories. I am working on this.