My 18 year old Adopted son bathes with me, the day I dropped the soap, everything changed.

1

It was something innocent—or at least that’s what I told myself.

My husband travels a lot for work, and our water heater is old and faulty, so to save hot water we began §h0w£ring t0g£th£r when Chike turned 16.

Chike was actually my nephew who I had adopted after my sister and her husband died in a car accident. 

At first it was practical: quick, efficient, backs turned, no big deal.

But by the time he was 18, tall and broad-shouldered, with the kind of quiet confidence that makes mothers both proud and nervous, the air in that small b@thr00m had changed.

I noticed things like how Mr.Gbolala was just so f@t. How Mr.Gbolala would occasionally jump up and Chike will keep him on check and a whole lot but it was a phase. 

I bet he noticed things too. We never spoke about it, but the tension grew.

That particular morning, my husband was away again, and Chike had a late lecture, so just us.

We stepped into the §h0w£r like always, steam rising around, water drumming on the tiles.

I faced the spray, letting it run down my back, trying not to think the cl0§n£§§.

I reached for the soap, but my fingers were slippery and it shot out of my hand, clattering to the floor between my feet.

I laughed, embarrassed. “Clumsy me.”

I b£nt forward to pick it up.

The moment I did, I realized.

Ma @§§ was f@c£d at h|m, l£g§ slightly @p@rt for b@lance, kponmo-land completely £xp0§£d as water str£@med down ma thaiz.

I froze there longer than I needed to, heart suddenly hammering.

I knew exactly what h£ was §££!ng. I knew because I could feel the cool air and hot water on ma most pr|v@t£ pl@c£§.

Then I f£|t something else—w@rm, h£@vy. The mighty h£@d of heez Mr.Gbolala bru§h!ng @g@!n§t ma thaiz as h£ §t£pp£d cl0§£r to “help” me.

“Mum let me help you so you don't fa||”

H£ h£|d ma w@!§t and was so cl0§£, one wr0ng m0v£ from me and Mr.Gbolala will go to the land.

“Chike…” I wh|§p£r£d, not sure if it was me saying yes or saying no.

But just then, something happened that will forever change how I... 

2

H£ didn’t answer with words. Instead, heez hands settled on ma hips, gentle but firm, and I felt heez Mr.Gbolala—fully £xp@nd£d now, pul§!ng and hot—slide between ma thighs from behind, nestling along the slick folds of ma kponmo-land.

I g@sp£d. “Baby, we shouldn’t…”

But ma b0d¥ betrayed me. I pushed back just a fraction, letting the length of h!m glide along ma fl0vv!ng kponmo-ju!c£. H£ gr0@n£d low in heez throat, fingers tightening on ma hips.

“Mama,” h£ breathed against ma ear, voice rough. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

That was all it took. Something inside me snapped—years of stolen glances, accidental touches, lonely nights—all of it flooded out. I turned in heez arms, water cascading over both of us, and k!§§£d h!m. Not a motherly peck. A deep, hungry k!§§, tongues meeting, hands roaming.

H£ pressed me against the cool tile wall, mouth moving to ma neck, ma neepulls, while one hand slid down to cup ma kponmo-land. Heez fingers parted ma easily—I was already §o@k£d, not just from the shower—and when h£ slipped two |n§|de, I m0@n£d heez name against heez shoulder.

“Please,” I heard maself say. “I need you |n me.”

H£ didn’t make me wait. H£ lifted one of ma legs, hooking it around heez waist, and positioned that thick Mr.Gbolala at ma entrance. The h£@d nudged |n, stretching me deliciously, and then h£ pu§h£d forward—slow, steady, relentless—until h£ was buried d££p |n§|de ma kponmo-land.

We both cried out. The feeling was overwhelming: ma own son filling me completely, water pounding around us, steam thick in the air.

H£ started to move, long, deep §tr0k£§ that made ma toes curl against the wet floor. 

Every thrust pushed me harder against the wall, heez Mr.Gbolala hitting places no one had reached in years. I clutched heez back, nails digging in, urging h!m faster

3

MY 18 YEAR OLD ADOPTED SON AND I §H0W£R T0G£TH£R

3

“H@rd£r, b@b¥” I begged. “4rk Mama h@rd£r.”

H£ obl|g£d, heez Mr.Gbolala was §l@pp!ng ma kponmo-land. Ta-ta-ta.

I f£|t like heez Mr.Gbolala w@§ £nt£r!ng ma b£||y. 

“I’m almost there,” h£ gr0@n£d.

The knock at the door was persistent. 

“M£ t00—”

The kponmo-land was the first to erupt, kponmo-land became "taiter" around heez Mr.Gbolala. 

The f££|ing pu§h£d h!m over the £dg£: h£ sent Mr. Gbolala to  the d£pths of the land and there Mr. Gbolala threw up Gbolala-yoghurt |n§|de the kponmo-land. 

We k|§§£d. 

“I l0v£ you, M@m@,” h£ whispered.

Just the I realize that hubby was still at the door knocking, it could be like 30 minutes or more.

All this while the knock was like something in the back of my mind but now I could hear it, now that I was normal.

I told Chike to go to heez room, he should lock the door and act like heez sleeping.

Immediately, I rushed to cover up with a simple towel bathroom and dashed.

“Hubby, you're welcome!” I rushed to hug my husband but heez hug was reluctant.

“I have been here for the past one hour, what were you doing..”

“Sorry babe, I was showering and I...”

Hubby immediately cut in, “Then what of Chike?”

“I think he should be sleeping, he is not well”

As spoke I could §£n§£ Gbolala-yogurt §|iding d0vvn ma Thaiz.

I tried petting him as I led him upstairs to our room, all of the Gbolala-yoghurt were naturally §££ping some even f£|| to the ground.

Hubby forgave me for letting him wait over but I tried to do nothing to make him §u§p£ct me. 

*

After that morning in the shower, nothing was the same. Chike and I moved around each other carefully during the day: polite smiles at breakfast, small talk about his lectures, my work.

Hubby also spoke to him frequently. 

But every gl@nc£ lasted too long. Ever¥ brush of hands sent energy straight to ma kponmo-land.

This night, Hubby was in heez room and I was in mine. This particular night I went to bed early, wearing only my transparent nightg0wn because the h£@t was much.

I left the door slightly open—old habit from when he was little and had nightmares.

I told myself that was why.

Around 1 Am, with snores from my hubby's room, I heard soft footsteps. The mattress dipped as Chike j0|n£d m£

“Mama,” h£ whispered. “I can’t sl££p, can I §t@y here.”

4

Ma heart started pounding before h£ even t0uch£d me. I didn’t turn around yet. “It’s okay, b@by. Come here.”

H£ m0v£d closer, heez b0d¥ pr£§§ing @g@inst ma b@ck, and I f£|t it immediately—heez Mr.Gbolala 

H£ wr@pp£d one @rm around ma w@|§t, h@nd resting just below ma neepulls.

We stayed like that for minutes, breathing together, pretending this was n0rm@l.

Then heez h@nd moved up slowly, capturing one Bobb¥-m£|0n. I g@sp£d softly.

“Chike…”

“I’ve been thinking about this morning all day,” h£ murmured against ma neck. “About being |n§|de ¥0u again.”

That was all I needed. I turned in heez @rms and k!§§£d h!m—d££p, desperate, no more pretending.

Our t0ngu£§ tangled as heez h@nd§ roamed, pu§h!ng ma n!ghtg0wn up to ma w@|§t.

I reached down and captured heez Mr.Gbolala, §tr0k!ng slowly. 

H£ gr0@n£d into ma maut. “Mama, please…”

I guided heez Mr.Gbolala to ma kponmo-land door and §@nk down slowly, t@k!ng Mr. Gbolala d££p |n§|de the promised land

I started to r!d£ h!m slowly at first, f££|ing heez Mr.Gbolala |n every §£n§!t!v£ @r£a |n§|de.

H£ gr!pp£d ma w@|§t, w@tch!ng ma Bobby-m£|0n§ b0unc£ with each m0v£m£nt.

“F@§t£r, Mama,” h£ b£gg£d.

I l£@n£d forward, the b£d cr£@k£d under.

H£ reached up to p!nch and tw!§t ma neepulls, m@king m£ cr¥ out.

My kponmo-land was just crying out lots of tears.

Mr.Gbolala was in ma vv0mb. I kept §£n§ing Mr.Gbolala |n§|d£ ma §t0m@ch

“Baby, the kponmo-land will soon erupt…”

“let it erupt, Mama. Let it erupt @|| ov£r Mr.Gbolala.

I cl|m@x£d h@rd, kponmo-land skwizd heez Mr. Gbolala.

I was convulsing and shaking 

H£ thr§t up |nt0 the kponmo-land.

*

When I c0||@p§£d onto heez ch£§t, h£ f|!pp£d and was now 0v£r m£. 

H£ |£ft ma |£g§ over heez §h0uld£r§ and began to 4rk m£ d££p, it w@§ like a l0ng p0|£ in the land. 

The new @ng|£ m@d£ m£ g@sp—h£ w@§ even d££p£r now, the h£@d of heez Mr.Gbolala k!§§!ng pl@c£§ that made §t@r§ bur§t b£f0r£ ma £¥£§

§£c0nd cl|m@x bu!|t f@§t£r

Until I w@§ m0@n!ng heez n@m£ |0ud|y, n@!|§ r@k!ng down heez b@çk as I çl|m@x£d @g@!n .

“Mr.Gbolala is about to throw up—”

“Yes—|n§|de the promised land—f!|| the tank—”

Just then I noticed husband was w@tch!NG.

I don't know how long he'd been there. 

I tried to tell David but even to form the words was not possible.

David... 

 5

David...

The word stuck in my throat like a stone. I couldn’t push it out.

My heart was still trembling from the second time the kponmo-land erupted, Chike still d££p |n§|de the kponmo-land.

Heez Mr.Gbolala was vibrating, standing in the doorway—was my husband.

Eyes wide. Mouth open in surprise. The hallway light behind him made him look like a ghost.

Chike froze. I f£|t Mr.Gbolala r£|@x |n§|de the kponmo-land.

I w@nt£d to c0v£r up, to pu§h Chike @w@y, to scr£@m—but my mind wouldn’t obey.

The kponmo-land was still doing as though the land was breathing. The land was erupting and yoghurt was everywhere. 

David stepped into the room. Slow. One step. Two. The door clicked shut behind him.

“How long?” His voice was low, dangerous quiet.

I finally found my voice. “David… please… let me explain—”

“Explain?” He laughed, but there was no humour in it.

“Explain why my vv!f£ is 4king the b0¥ I h£|p£d r@!§£?”

Chike made Mr.Gbolala to leave the kponmo-land, the §0und was like chewing paw-paw or any water-Rich fruit

H£ r0||£d d0vvn, h0|d!NG on to a pillow to §h! £|d heez Mr.Gbolala. “Dad… I’m sorry… it just—”

“Don’t.” David cut him off, eyes never leaving me. “Don’t you dare call me that right now.”

I sat up, pu||!ng the sh££ts to my ch£§t, Gbolala-yoghurt w@§ §|!d!ng 0n my l£g§.

“This dr@m@ in the §h0w£r… this morning. It was a m!§t@k£, but… David, I |0v£ h|m. Not just as a §0n. I |0v£ h|m |!k£… |!k£ I |0v£ ¥0u.”

David’s jaw t|ght£n£d.

He looked at Chike, then back at m£. I saw @ng£r, b£tr@y@|—and something else.

His eyes dropped to the the @r£@ where th£ b£d §0@k£d ¥0ghurt. Ma neepull§. 

“You |0v£ him?,” he repeated, voice flat.

I nodded, tears starting.

He took another step closer.

Then another.

Until he was at the foot of the b£d.

I thought he would §|@pp one of us.

Yell.

Leave.

Instead, he §h0ck£d m£ by... 

6

unbuckled his belt.

My breath caught.

Chike’s eyes went wide.

David’s trousers dropped. He was already h@rd. Painfully h@rd.

“I came home early because I suspected,” he said quietly. “Heard noises this morning through the bathroom door. Thought I was crazy. But now…” He stroked himself once, slow. “Now I see I wasn’t.”

“David…” I whispered.

He climbed onto the bed, eyes locked on mine. “You want to be filled by your son? Fine. But you’re still my wife.”

He pushed my legs apart, §liding between them. Chike watched, stunned, as David positioned himself and thrust |n§|de me in one hard stroke. The kponmo-land—already stretched and wet from Chike—took him easily, greedily.

I cried out.

David started moving, rough, claiming. “This land is still mine,” he growled against my ear. “Understand?”

“Yes,” I gasped. “Yes, yours…”

Chike’s hand moved to heez own Mr.Gbolala, stroking slowly as he watched.

David noticed. Looked at him. “You want her too? Then take her mouth.”

Chike hesitated only a second before moving up the bed. I turned my head and opened for him, taking Mr.Gbolala between my lips as David kept 4rk!ng the kponmo-land.

We moved together—husband and adopted son both using me, both filling me. The room filled with wet sounds, moans, the slap of skin.

David came first, deep |n§|de, adding heez own yoghurt to Chike’s. Then Chike followed, spilling over my tongue.

We collapsed in a tangle of limbs, breathing hard.

David kissed my forehead, then—surprising us all—reached over and ruffled Chike’s hair like he used to when Chike was small.

“We’ll talk tomorrow,” he said quietly. “But tonight… nobody leaves this bed.”

To be continued…

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