She could very easily be any girl on the streets but the stares tracking her every step told a different story.
She was clad in a long white vest and a pair of ash-grey leggings that were so tight it seemed as though she had been poured into them. The generous curve of her hips were sinfully outlined by the clingy material of her leggings; her straight legs which seemed to go on for miles were deliciously accentuated and her perfect hour-glass figure made an elderly gentleman's eyes almost pop right out of their sockets. Her skin was smooth as alabaster, the dusky, caramel color gleaming with good health. She had pouty lips done up in a bold shade of pepper red lipstick and her long braids rested atop her, um, rather pointed ass. She'd finished up the ensemble with a face cap that lent her an air of mystery and a pair of six-inch heels that made me break out in cold sweat just thinking about how her feet managed to gain traction in those on the uneven grounds of the market.
I figured Leggings Girl was probably used to people gaping at her with their tongues hanging out like labradors because she didn't display by so much as the flicker of an eyelash that the attention bothered her. She didn't seem particularly excited by it either; she just took it all in stride.
As she traipsed from seller to seller, an eerie silence descended as everyone seemed caught up in gawking at her regardless of their gender. I don't mind telling you, I caught myself staring too; and I'm not a guy, neither am I gay.
Belatedly, I recalled my manners and turned back to my own purchases. In less than three seconds an outraged yelp made me jerk around to stare in surprise as Leggings Girl muttered some choice expletives, gave one grubby-looking fella the evil eye, before turning on one six-inch heel and flouncing off, her buttocks bouncing as she left in impotent rage.
The trader she had been about to patronize rounded on Grubby Guy "But naa wa for you oo. Why you go do that kind thing? See as you pursue my customer."
Grubby guy offered a shrug and nothing more, his face wreathed in a dreamy, lecherous grin that made my skin crawl.
Someone else came to his defence, "Abeg my brother no blame am. Even if naa me see that kind thing near me I go grab am."
I noted that the new speaker was also another grubby guy; they seemed to be coming out of the woodwork.
Ribald laughter rang out and my fists tightened in anger as I realised what had happened. Evidently he had gotten so lost in staring at her ass that he had reached out and grabbed both globes as though he were holding a basketball.
I observed my customer laughing too and I retaliated by leaving without patronising him.
Call me old-fashioned, but somehow I don't believe any woman enjoys being mauled, groped, or touched by strangers merely because we seem to have a very lax law enforcement in Nigeria.
I was pleased to see that no woman in the vicinity was smiling. I felt like informing Grubby Guy that I thought he was a horrible so-and-so and lecturing him about respecting women. But I could see it would be a pointless exercise; he looked like a lost cause. My heart went out to the woman who claimed motherhood over this bit of humanity.
In case you didn't know, groping a woman could be construed as violence against the person in addition to sexual harassment. In some parts of the world, those hands WOULD be cut off!!!
Morale of the story: just because a woman looks good doesn't necessarily mean she wants your questionable and disrespectful attention. Keep those hands to yourself!!!
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