When a good girl goes wild. ( Adults readers Only)

I am not proud to publish this diary, I feel terrible and sad that an otherwise good girl who was brought up with all the love and affection, and who was seen as the apple of his daddy’s eye could fall through the cracks of life and ended up as a sexual tool that has warmed and adorned the bedrooms of the rich and the powerful, the well-heeled and those who live their lives on the edge.

As at the moment of writing this diary, I have slept with over five thousand men- most of them old enough to be my father or granddads. I can see some of the lecherous hands of those men, doing things that sometimes made me wonder if they had daughters, and if they do, whether they would feel good seeing other men do what they were doing to me, to their girls. I would, at those moments quickly school my emotions and rationalized my actions to that of choice: their daughters may not have chosen the path I have, and thus, I must bear the consequence of my actions.

My motivation in doing this diary is let young girls realize that there are consequences for one’s actions. The consequence of my action, which I will reveal as you travel with me on this journey of catharsis, is what I have to live with. But did I have to bear this cross? Absolutely not!

I am not your typical ‘Run’s girl.’  I don’t fit that profile in any way shape and form. The conventional belief is that a “ Run’s girl is from a poor and deprived background- someone who lacks the financial nourishments that parents should normally provide, and thus, would have to go the extra mile to get the  basic things of life, which often means trading her body and honor for these things she desire. Mine, is the exact opposite. I am from a privileged, extremely privileged background. My dad is a physician- a nuero-surgeon who was trained in some of the best colleges in the United States, had worked with major hospitals across the U.S coasts-Boston, in the East and Los Angeles in the West. He is wealthy and has properties scattered all over the United States, U.K and in Nigeria. Mum, is an attorney and runs a thriving law firm in Atlanta, and here in Lagos.

I have never   lacked anything or faced any form of deprivation; mine, rather, has been a life of conspicuous consumption. I have been spoilt, sheltered and made to believe I have a sense of entitlement on anything I desire, want or need. At the age of ten, I had gone to practically all the major cities of the world, on vacations with my parents and siblings, bought the most expensive toys and games that money could buy, and was constantly told by my father that I was special- my daddy’s royal princess. Anything I took a fancy to, I got.

My parents made me feel so special, so much that my other siblings began to feel jealous and unloved, which was not true, my parents loved their kids equally, the only difference was that I was the prettiest of all my siblings and my parent, especially my father never stopped drumming that into my head.

At the age of 11, and in junior high school, my beauty was manifestly screaming. I remember one evening just staring at myself in the mirror, and wondering why God blessed me with so much beauty. Let me give you a little description of how I looked then, and even now, that I am a ripe old 23 year old girl. At 11, I was almost 6 feet tall- thanks my parents over 6 feet tall frame. I had a hip and butt of over 45, a flat tummy and a 36 double D bra size. I was to say the least, stunning. I have a caramel complexion that gets accentuated by my aquiline features-thanks to my mother. I was a complete bombshell!

Whenever I walked the streets in my neighborhood, I would become the object of extreme fascination, people will just stare at me, and these inside their cars will sometimes park and ogle too at me. The kind of effect and power I had over men and even women was strong. Even in my school, I could do no wrong in the eye of my teachers, while other less endowed students were regularly written up for lateness, or had marks deducted for submitting their assignments late, my teachers cut me slacks after slacks. I became fascinated by the power I had over those I came in contact with, and a budding diva was in the offing.

At the age of 13, my parents believing that it would be proper and necessary for me to understand our culture better, and to experience life in Nigeria, sent me home to Nigeria to finish my high school. It was a decision I welcome with relish, because even though I had before then  never visited Nigeria, I had become enamored of life in Nigeria- the music, movies and all the crazy parties and indulgence I has seen in some of the  movies. I was fascinated by the manner the rich and the powerful live as shown in the flicks I had seen, and indirectly desired to get soaked someday in that lifestyle.

Instead of discouraging my parents from sending me to a strange land I had never been to, I became very excited. My parents have a big mansion in an exclusive part of Victoria Island, complete with all modern amenities. He had sent two trucks- a Lexus 470 and a Lincoln Navigator with a driver paid all year round. My auntie- a big businesswoman lived in the house and she, it was, who was entrusted with the task of helping situate and navigate me around the new life I was soon to embark upon.

I remember my mum warning me on the eve of my departure “Chi, please take care of you, don’t bring disrepute and shame unto our family. Nigeria is a crazy place, men will tempt you with all kinds of offer and tall tales; they will sell your dreams, but you don’t need any of that. We have enough to take care of your needs and more. Maintain your chastity and learn the culture, then you can come back to the States and continue your college education. I know I can count on you, to do the right things” my mum had sermonized, to which I told her not to worry that “no man can try any form of shenanigans with me. By the way, mum, the last time I checked, I am still five years away from age of consent, so you have nothing to fear” I had assured my mum, and I was determined to keep my word, or so I thought!

I arrived Nigeria as a fresh faced exotic 13 year old beauty and the signs that I was in a different environment where being under-aged was considered an object of sexual fantasy by men who were old enough to be my grandfather started the very first day my aunty took me to register at my school- an exclusive school for the sons and daughters of the privileged class. One of the teachers- a dapper and extremely handsome teacher, who was in his 30s had told me he was glad to have me in his class, and that he foresees us “doing great things together”. “Great things together? I had asked him in bewilderment “yes,” the teacher had reemphasized and gently touched my shoulders, and left the room. This had taken place when my auntie had gone to use the bathroom.

Since I kind of liked the teacher, I allowed the verbal infraction to fly, and didn’t tell my aunty, because what he said was totally inappropriate. I wish I had reported that teacher to my aunty then, maybe, the lifestyle of unbridled sex, of liquor and other indulgence that he was later to launch me into, which later influenced and propelled my every action would have been averted, and my life, today, which though it is still sweet and exciting, would not have taken the trajectory of an object of sexual gratification and sex for money and pleasure that it has become today.

Now 23 years old, graduated from college, and working in a multinational firm, semi-retired form ‘runs’ job, and looking for the real love and a man to settle down with, I have, in ten years that I sold my body for money and pleasure, experienced things that will shock you my readers. I have seen how men of power and wealth genuflect before women, how seriously ‘sick’ some if not most of them are, how they preach morality on television, but behind closed doors are depraved and are like tiny putties in our hands. I have detailed numerous accounts of my encounters with these men, and would share them here every week.

It is not only men of power and influence that are caught in this lifestyle-some of our powerful women too, are into the free-wheeling lifestyle of lesbianism. As a matter of fact, the first jealous rage that a lover exhibited, which almost cost my life, was not by a male friend, it was by a female friend. In 10 years, and at only 23, my story can be told in volumes, I have seen, soaked and internalized enough and I intend to share every bit of this with you, my dear reader.

What is the purpose for doing this? Simply put, to reveal the dark underbelly of sex in high places and that unlike what you may have believed, the children of the privileged class, like myself are some of the most sexually adventurous. As I also stated earlier, to let other younger girls out there to earn and profit from my experience and not to bear the cross of regrets I currently carry, even though superficially, my life looks great. By the way, please don’t tell my parents, they don’t have the faintest idea that their beautiful daughter, the daddy’s princess has been a ‘Run’s Girl all these years. To my father, I am still a virgin. Ha ha ha.

Next Week. Woe betide you, Tunde, the teacher that introduced me to sex at the unripe age of 13, and I couldn’t take my teeth off the apple s ever since.