When you kid yourself, it’s you, that toyboy is after! – Bunmi Sofola
PULLING a toyboy is not without its set-back. An aging woman lusting after a stud must be prepared to give back something much more than she can afford. Having a fling is one thing, but making a main meal of the desert could be taking things a bit too far on the optimism scale. Quite a number of women have had their share of toy-boys and the humiliation that goes with it. A recent victim is Mosun, Mo for short.
She has a thriving business running a modern printing press. A couple of years ago, Boye joined her company as a production manager. He’d never been married but has had a couple of kids. And there he was, working with Mo who hadn’t had sex with her husband in months. “We scarcely communicate any more,” she shrugged the last time we had a natter about him. “Thank goodness he never complains about the hours I work,” she’d continued, “as long as the house is spik and span, the children well looked after and his meals spot on.” Boye was in his early 30s, well-built and with a flirty nature.
He lived in a poky flat and when Mo started sleeping with him, she bought him an impressive bed and changed his furniture turning an otherwise drab flat into a hot love-nest! It was money well spent—Mo’s eyes sparkled and she virtually grew younger overnight.
“Better than a face-lift any day,” she winked. One afternoon, I called at Mo’s office and was surprised when Boye offered to give us lunch at a fresh-fish canteen he just discovered. Where would he get the money for such a lavish entertainment, I wondered? When the bill arrived at the end of the lunch, Mo reached for it and said, “Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.” “No way/ lover boy spluttered, looking scandalized. “Please, I’d really like to, I have more than enough cash here,” Mo, insisted. Boye agreed reluctantly, warning the next time would be really his treat.
He was so obvious it’s a shame my friend couldn’t see through his ittle scheme. Some few months after, Boye announced he’d found a better job with a brighter future. Mo was reluctant to let him go but she couldn’t match his new salary and Boye promised money wouldn’t change the way he felt about Mo as his new office was near hers.
And he was true to his words—for a while at least. He found time to make love to her in her cushy office during his lunch time and most weekends in his flat. Until he confided in Mo that his new job was not as lucrative as he’d hoped.
“He’d thought the salary would be a lot better,” said Mo, “but so much of it depends on commission and there were better men on the job, raking in mouth-watering commissions. I couldn’t help him as it would mean my signing my own contacts over to him. When his annual rent became due, and he couldn’t afford to pay, I gave him the money, letting him know it was a loan, and that he could pay back when he had the money. He was pathetically grateful, promising heaven and earth he’d repay me within a month.
“Only, he was now sharing all his worries with me. Whenever his mobile ran out of credit I would send credit to him through a text message. At the end of the month, he was always so skint that I freely gave him money to stock food.
“At first, I was glad to help, but as the months went by, I started feeling a bit taken for granted. We still met for sex but Boye wasn’t as attentive as before and was now asking me outright for loans. Things came to a head the day I went to withdraw a substantial amount of money from my bank and was informed my funds were insufficient. I had a list of how much I’d lent’ Boye over the months and I needed money very badly. So I range him in a panic, left a voice mail when I couldn’t get through to him asking if he could meet me to return some of the money I’d lent him. I explained how urgently I needed the money and what I needed it for.
“He didn’t even bother to reply. I had to call a few times before he picked up the phone. He sounded aloof and bored. ‘I’m afraid I can’t do it now,’ he said cooly, ‘it’s my turn to host the meeting of my ex-classmates but I’ll get back to you.’ I felt sick to my stomach. Was money all he’d wanted from me all along? I must have looked like a lovesick idiot to him. Or why else would a good looking virile man become involved with what must have looked like a washed-out wife?
“In the end I had to find alternate ways of raising the money I lent him, and Boye hadn’t contacted me. I had to call him the day I learnt from another friend of his that he was getting married soon. ‘Did you use my money to prepare for your impending marriage?’ I jeered. He said nothing. Why didn’t he let on he was getting married? ‘Would I have got your blessings if I had told you?’ he wanted to know. I quietly put the phone down.
“When I couldn’t afford the house keeping toward the end of the month, I had to ask my husband for cash to get me though. I lied that I’d overspent on clothes recently. He never takes any notice of what I’m wearing anyway, so he just shrugged and agreed.
“But Boye has taken a lot more than cash from me. He’s stolen my pride and self-respect and left me feeling such a fool.” A case of: ‘You sow, you reap, you weep?’ Shortly after Mo’s sobering experience, I was at a wedding when Pitan, a legal practitioner sauntered in, wearing a well-
tailored French suit. I nudged Oye, a good male friend with whom I sat. “Your rival sure looks dapper in that suit.” I teased. His nostrils flared.
Pitan is the husband of Oye’s much younger lover. “My cash paid for that suit,” he sneered. “When I met Rita (the girlfriend) in London, she moaned she couldn’t afford the gift she wanted for her husband. Not wanting her to fleece me for money for shopping, I decided to go with her to have a look at the ‘gift’.
When I saw the suit, I was reluctant to shell out the money, but I’d been shagging the poor man’s wife and the least I could do was make him happy! There’s no free dinner really, when you’re older and looking for the favour of a much younger lover. Invariably, you pay for services rendered….”
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