Friends With Benefit - S01 E01
20-07-25 (05:36)
I turned nineteen a month into my first year of
university. Skinny, shy, good at math; I was last pick for
the football team and last pick for the opposite sex. But
by Christmas, I had gone from being terrified of girls to
living the cliché as the official “sexually non-threatening
platonic guy friend” of the five hottest chicks in the
university.
As nice as it was to have popular friends and beautiful
women to look at all day long, I was also anguishing in
a special circle of Hell, where' my penis and I were at a
constant state of war with each other.
The argument went something like this:
MY PENIS: “Fuck her! She’s sexy!”
THE REST OF ME: “No, we’re friends, it would be
weird…”
PENIS: “But… breasts!”
Needless to say, it was a confusing time for me.
It all started with Nneka — an attractive baddie who
was clearly destined for the magazine covers. For a
late-blooming nerd like me, she was also the most
intimidating person on the planet. Every detail about
her seemed specifically designed to twist my tongue
into knots.
First off, she was the tallest girl in school. I was 5’10”
and she had maybe an inch on me. She also had a
dazzling smile that belied an impish, teasing spirit, and a
natural hourglass figure. But what really made my head
spin were her breasts. Her absolutely gigantic breasts.
The day those things had grown in, every guy in school
promptly forgot his name. Seriously, her breasts could
stop traffic.
She and I became friends when I sheepishly asked her
to be in an amateur movie I was directing with some
of my guys. Asking had not been an easy task for a
guy like me—Nneka had always been a merciless
tease. But nonetheless, as soon as the class bell rang, I
stumbled over to her desk, feeling mortified but
knowing that all the other movie crew guys were
counting on me to succeed for the sake of our film. I
tried to play it cool, but my voice sounded like it was
coming from inside a box:
“Hey Nneka, I’m making this movie for YouTube, and
we kind of need someone to play the, like, bomb-shell
in distress. I was just wondering if you might think that
was fun… or something.”
She raised an eyebrow and grinned wickedly, leaning
so far forward it took all my willpower to keep my
eyes away from her pendulous breasts. “Sure, Akin,”
she said simply, “What do you want me to wear?”
It turned out my nervousness had been completely
unfounded. While Nneka was definitely a tease, she
was also really easy to get along with. She and I hit it
off on the first day of filming. We made each other
laugh, hit an easy rhythm of conversation, and she
even made fun of her own intoxicating hotness, happily
donning the increasingly skimpy outfits I asked her to
wear. She totally got the movie’s trashy sense of
humor, too (Yeah, the movie was crap).
Even after we finished the film, Nneka still called me
every day after school, just to chat. We had almost
nothing in common besides our sense of humour, but
that made our talks all the more interesting. I would
keep her on the phone as long as I could, inwardly
glowing at the thought of such a gorgeous creature
enjoying my company.
Knowing Nneka even got me invited to some real
parties for a change. I wasn’t deluding myself that it
was love—I certainly wasn’t in “love” with her—but a
part of me hoped that, against all odds, she had started
finding me mysteriously attractive. That was all dashed
to pieces four weeks into our friendship, when I finally
got up the guts to ask her out.
It was at a party Nneka had invited me to. I threw
down a couple beers and headed through the dim
lights, finally finding my girl in a dark corner, speaking
quietly with her equally beautiful friend, Chioma. They
didn’t see me in the dark, and I was just about to
speak up when I overheard Chioma say: “You and Akin
seem to be getting pretty tight, would you ever think of
going out with him?”
The timing was ridiculous, but what can I say? That’s
how it happened. I froze, not wanting to eavesdrop but
too close to avoid it. Nneka thought for a second and
then answered, “You know, I don’t think so. It’s nice
having a guy I can talk to who doesn’t treat me like I’m
just a pair of boobs, but he’s not really that attractive. I
bet he will be one day, maybe when he’s thirty or
whatever. But he’s a GREAT guy.”
As soon as she said it, Nneka realised I was standing
there and she reflexively apologised. I assured her it
was no big deal. We were just friends, anyway. I gave
her a quick hug, inwardly groaning at the feel of her
breasts squashed against my chest, and headed outside
to get some air.
Thirty?! I thought, some consolation prize that is. I’ll be
fuckable by the time I’m ready to settle down. I needed
another beer. It wasn’t that I was devastated to be
rejected by Nneka — hell, I had been expecting that. It
was how her words had confirmed my worst fears: I
was doomed to be “just friends” for the rest of my life.
An hour later, I was reclining on the sofa in the
varendah, wallowing in self-pity over my bad luck with
women, when a body dropped on me and snapped me
out of it, a stray elbow clocking me in the face. “Oh, I’m
sorry!” Chioma laughed, clearly blazed out of her mind,
“I totally didn’t see you there!”
I assured her it was no big deal, and she mumbled
something incoherent about me being such a “great,
great guy” or whatever. We were both too wasted to
bother getting out of that sofa, so we just lay there
together.
Chioma and I barely knew each other. We shared a
few classes over the years, and I had seen her at one
or two of Nneka’s parties, but at that moment, there
were only three things I could recall about her:
She was insane. I don’t mean the emotionally unstable
kind of insane, I mean the GOOD kind of insane. The
kind of insane that livens up any party and provides
you with a lifetime of anecdotes.
She was gorgeous. A smoky-eyed, exotic beauty with
full, perky breasts and a fabulous ass she liked to show
off with the skimpiest clothing she could find. And —
Chioma was dating a drug dealer named Musa.
Regardless, I was horny, frustrated, mortified, and
confused. And drunk. So I wasn’t exactly thinking
straight when Chioma started making out with me on
the sofa a few minutes later. She was completely
faded and her breath stunk of weed. Her kisses were
awkward and sloppy, barely making contact with my
mouth. It was about the least romantic scenario I could
have hoped for, but I gave it my all, desperate to prove
Nneka wrong about my ability to attract a mate. My
hands roamed her amazing body, daringly squeezing
her firm, bouncy ass–yes!
Then she passed out. With a disappointed sigh, I rolled
away, leaving her to sleep off what was sure to be one
hell of a hangover. Chioma’s affections had been
nothing more than the result of drunken pity, that much
I knew. And knowing it made the shame of the
evening all the worse. Nneka’s words replayed over
and over again in my mind: “Maybe when he’s thirty.” It
felt like some witch had put a curse on me.
Gloom hung over me the next day at school. Chioma
bumped into me towards the end of lunch and took me
aside, clearly mortified for what had happened
between us. She was on the verge of tears as she
whispered, “I’m so sorry about last night.”
I put a comforting hand on her shoulder and assured
her that I understood completely. “It was just a party
thing,” I muttered, “Don’t worry about it.” She nodded
and hugged me close, her words spilling out with
machine gun speed:
“I’m so sorry I fell asleep—it wasn’t you—I swear—I
was just so wasted–I swear I am never ever going to
smoke weed again in my life! Can we just—Oh, and
thanks for being cool about it and, you know, leaving
me alone after I was out.”
She was so earnest, I couldn’t help but smile. “Look,
Akin, you know you’re gorgeous, so don’t take offense
when I say that the whole non-consent thing just
doesn’t do it for me.”
She laughed through her tears, and awkwardly added,
“And could you please not tell Musa, if you see him?”
“Right, like I’m gonna tell your huge scary boyfriend I
made out with you.” That got me another laugh from
her, as well as a playful punch to the shoulder. Then for
some reason I just blurted out, “Do you think Nneka
was right last night? That I really won’t be attractive
until I’m like thirty?”
Chioma had enough of a heart to let me down gently:
“She was exaggerating, Akin. What she meant was
you’ve got the potential to be really cute, but right now
you aren’t living up to it. You’ve got a cute face and,
like, really amazing eyes, but girls want a guy who
takes care of himself. Get a better hair-cut, stop just
wearing those baggy anime t-shirts, and maybe start
taking the gym a little more seriously. Just a
suggestion.” Don't forget to leave a Comment 
