bar-enclave

Photo Credits – Bar Enclave

I walked through the black gates, hoping to not regret the visit. Twitter hype brought me here, twitter hype and maybe basic economics.

My DSTV payments had been on hold for a while on account of the wind of change – Buhari’s financial harmattan – but my darling Red Devils were playing the Chavs that afternoon in the English Premiership and I had to watch the match live, especially given Mou’s involvement. Most of the tweeps I lowkey asked for a good place to catch the game on the mainland favored The Bar Enclave, citing a combination of cheap ‘mortuary standard’ booze, superb grilled turkey and of course great banter.

These were tweeps who should know, so I allowed Twitter hype sway my decision making, moreso as Ilupeju isn’t that far from my Surulere crib.

The dim interior was still largely empty when I entered and one of the TVs was even showing a movie, so I walked straight to the bar.

“Hey bro, good afternoon” I said to the barkeep. “Let me have one bottle of Star. Chilled please.”

The short fair skinned sporting a wicked mohawk acknowledged my greeting and went to attend to my order.

My eyes slowly adjusted to the gloom as I scouted for a place to sit; finally settling on the last table on the right, level with the door I just walked through. It was a sweet corner, allowing me to observe the whole room while staying pretty much incognito. The power socket on the wall just below a pencil sketch of James Dean was another attraction.

The drink came; bottle seriously sweating and I poured myself a glass and took a sip. My teeth ached pleasantly from the chill and I briefly closed my eyes to savor the heavenly feeling. It had been a while I got beer that cold outside of my own fridge.

“Mind if I join you in your prayers?”

My eyes flew open. The intruder was a lady, pretty, petite and dressed in a blue shirt and jeans and with a mischievous grin.

“I’m sorry to disturb your quiet time, but you’re sitting in my corner.”

It sounded weird, her claiming ‘corner’ in a public bar but it was my first time and I didn’t want any stress, so I made to get up.

“Oops, I didn’t know. Pardon my ignorance ma’am.”

I must have sounded funny, because she started laughing.

“C’mon man, I’m joking. I just want to charge my phone for a while. You mind?”

I fell back in my seat, relieved.

“Oh that? I was about to plug in too, but then I am a gentleman, so no, I don’t. Go right ahead.”

“Aww” she cooed. “You’re so sweet and a true gent to be honest. Yet they say chivalry is dead.”

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, and I liked her immediately. She had this easy demeanor and self – assurance. I normally like confident women, so my liking this one before me had nothing to do with her being light skinned, or the fact that her top button was open and her fairly sized hooters were winking at me.

She had a small black rucksack which she dropped on the table and started rummaging inside. I looked away and took another sip of my beer.

“Voila!” she exclaimed, drawing my attention back to her withdrawn hand. It triumphantly held a multisocket plug aloft.

“There. Now you have somewhere to plug your phone too. See? Women are not so selfish after all right?”

I thought I picked up a slight emphasis on ‘plug’ but her face betrayed nothing, so I let it go.

“Yay” I exclaimed.

Taking it from her, I fixed the multisocket and plugged both phones – hers and mine – while she dragged a chair opposite me and sat down audaciously.

I thought it best to introduce to myself.

“Femi here. You are?”

Her grip was strong as she returned the handshake.

“Does it matter? Names aren’t all that important to me. Call me whatever you think fits.”

Again she smiled.

“Okay then, I’ll think of something. You want a drink in the meantime?”

Her response to that was another curveball.

“Maybe my thirst is for something different, but if a drink is what you’re offering for now mister, I’ll have a Smirnoff thank you.”

Then she winked, deliberately.

Her statement had me stumped, but I just smiled and signaled the barman over.

Much later the place had filled up with guys and the TV was now switched to Supersport. Our respective bottles were beyond half empty and the game was about to begin.

“Help me pass my phone please.”

She had to raise her voice a bit to be heard above the hum that had by now had enveloped us. I obliged and passed her Tecno over.

“Charger too”, she added.

I detached and handed it to her.

“Thank you kind sir for your help.”

I gave a mock bow in return and she smiled, stood, picked up her bottle and downed the content in one long gulp.

The game kicked off, and I quickly typed a tweet urging the reds on to victory.

“You’re a United fan?”

She must have read my tweet from her position.

“To the core, I replied. You?”

She shook her head vigorously.

“Naaa. I’m interested only in games better than football.”

Again, there was something about the way she said it. This time I couldn’t resist probing further.

“Really? Games like?”

She looked directly into my eyes, a hint of a smile dancing around her coated lips.

“I’m off to the ladies mister. If you wanna know, give me a two minute head-start and come find out. This match is a waste of time anyways; United is going to get whooped.”

Then she snatched her bag off the table and sauntered outside. I could have sworn the accidental brushing of her leg against mine as she took her leave wasn’t so accidental.

Scarcely breathing, I slowly counted to a hundred while her parting shot ran round my head. Finally I stood up and went back to the barman.

“My guy, abeg where’s the toilet?”

He didn’t take his eyes off the game as he answered,

“Outside sir. Last door on your right. You can’t miss it.”

I followed his direction, walking swiftly past the guys seated around the TV outside in a crouch to avoid impeding their view.

The main door into the conveniences pushed open easily and I entered and shut it behind me, unsure of what to expect. Directly opposite it in the ‘L’ shaped space was a red door marked ‘male’, and another one on the immediate right marked ‘female’.

Both were closed.

I was about to turn and head back to my seat in the belief that I’d been pranked when the door to the female section opened and someone dragged me inside.

It was my erstwhile drinking partner.

Her left hand shot the bolt home, after which her right pulled me by the collar further inwards towards her. Her jeans and bag were already hung on the edge of one of the louvers and she had no panties on.

My mouth dried up, and dropped open.

“Dude, I thought I scared you off. You want to play like adults or go back to your boring football?”

The question came in a very tempting whisper.

“Play”, I mouthed soundlessly when I finally gathered myself.

“Good”, she replied in similar fashion and pushed me against the wall.

Her hands found my waist in a hurry. Too dazed to move, I watched as she loosened my belt, unzipped my trouser and dragged it down to my ankles with my boxers. Somewhere in my head I muttered a quick prayer of thanks that I’d decided on a new pair of undershorts as I dressed up earlier that afternoon.

The feel of her wet mouth brought me back to the present.

I had to pinch myself hard to reconfirm that this was real, that I was in the female toilet of a crowded watering hole, getting head from a chick whose name I didn’t even know.

It took less than a minute of oral care for me to become rock hard. Satisfied that I was at full mast, she stood up, reached into her hanging bag and brought out a condom which she tore and smoothly slipped on me. Mami obviously came all prepped up. Then she turned around and dropped the WC cover, rolled up her shirt before bending down and pushing her ass out.

Walahi the pink eyed, fat lipped glory hole actually smirked and invited me to “come inside.”

How could I disobey?

We were at it for almost five minutes (although it felt longer in my head), me slamming into her imperial wetness while she kept bouncing her derrière backwards. Thank God for the noise of the crowd outside or somebody surely would have noticed the hollow smacking sound of flesh slapping flesh. Such was our intensity.

I almost collapsed when I came.

She stayed still for a few second until I finished pulsing before she gently slipped me out of her. My knees were like rubber, so I sat down on the loo, breathing hard.

Quickly she brought down her things from their perch and slipped into her jeans. Then she put a finger to her lips indicating that I should be quiet and pressed her ear to the door. Convinced that no one had entered the corridor while we mated, she turned back to me and held up two fingers, then whispered.

“Headstart.”

I nodded my understanding, and then she opened the door a crack and slid out.

When I finally got back to our table she was gone, but there was a scrawled note addressed to me underneath my unfinished bottle of Star lager.

I’ll be here again next Saturday. Maybe then you’ll have a name for me, yes?

Till then, thank you, for everything.

xXx.

I went straight home without a care about the match result, a good thing because we got well whooped, just like she predicted.

P.S – I am now an Enclave faithful.

Congratulations to the entire Bar Enclave team, here’s to eight years of quality service (and matchmaking) going on eight hundred.

None found.