Pantie Rule

01 | Oh. That Pantie Looks Familiar!

The blood was already gushing out of my finger. I hurried to the basin, grabbed a soap and feverishly rubbed it in my hands. Then I turned the tap open, wincing.

Whoosh.

The cut stung as the ice-cold water met my hands and sent spasms of electricity throughout my whole body.

I turned the tap off when my ears picked strange sounds; a grunt and a moan.

There was a night prep, as usual. Examinations would soon begin, and Saint Maria students were known as academic giants in the state. Plus, we kind of ran a British curriculum, and one thing about schools that run British curriculums is, they don't joke with tests. Never!

Our study preps were always held from 7:00 a.m. to 9:00 a.m. But it was just past 8:00. 8 minutes past 8;00 to be exact. Why was I hearing weird noises at such an unholy hour? In the toilet!

Something fishy was surely going on.

I inclined my ear to the source of the sound. I'm not even going to mention how ridiculous I must have been in that blue jacket, pleated skirt and long black stockings with an amebo position; wide alert eyes and a long stretch of the neck, towards the point of grunts and moans. I strained my ear, treading gently.

Our school's toilet compartment was usually large. One of the perks of being in a big school: too much wasted landed on seemingly less time-consuming spots(well, except of course, students decide to get busy). There were about thirty toilets in this restroom block, and although the toilets themselves weren't that wide but just enough for one person to fit in.

The passage was a modelling walk-way; well-lit, strewn with washing hand basins and mirrors that make you forget you're in a place where shit actually happens. I've got to tell you, shit happens!

Each column of five toilets were marked by a not-too-wide passageway, and all passageways were connected to one big aisle. The walls half way up were tiled white, and the half way to the ceiling light purple, more like indigo, or blue? I tip-toed to the second-to-the-last passageway and boy! - was it the moans that grew? Or was it because of how closely I drew? At this point I knew it couldn't and wouldn't be a girl who had a stomach upset and was offloading her excess baggage into the WC. This was more terrific, real, visceral, horrendous. My heart banged in my chest with a new genre. Rock, perhaps. Or heavy metal.

I wasn't one percent calm. No, not now. Not when I was about to find out what was really happening here. I swallowed spit and tiptoed. And God! Moans. Gasps. Fast breaths. Whispers. Occasional sobs. I heard it all. The horror. I gently guided my feet to the door, dodging an aluminium bucket that was deformed with years of use and sneaked a peek through the keyhole.

Holy shit from Ajegunle soak away!

With my eyes positioned at the right angle and my butt sticking up in the air, I could see them clearly. It was like having a front seat row at the cinema. They were at it. Two young idiots! A girl and a boy, in hostel wares, oscillating like the pendulum balls Mr Okpara used to explain Simple Harmonic Motion. A wave of disgust met me, possessing my throat and mouth. I withdrew my face and turned a nauseous expression to the ground, knowing I would not see simple harmonic motion the same again.

They made it quite simple, I have to give it to them. It was like a choreography, but with the two dancers awfully glued together. It was rather stupefying and disgusting to sight.

I knew was scarred for life. But I looked again anyway. The girl's black pleated, and rather enormous skirt was raised to her waist, exposing her, also, rather enormous thighs. That seemed like they had been drenched in vaseline. Please tell me she didn't rob vaseline! And the lean boy was standing in-between her legs, trousers low enough to reveal a fraction of clean, white-colored boxers.

What if they were new. This couple put quite some thought to their honeymoon, I must say. It's just that I thought Dubai would be a more convenient spot, not the school's narrow toilet. The girl's hands clawed and grasped his nape, while his muscled, tense arms held and squeezed her thighs which were gripping his sides, by the way, and trembling like demons at the sight of God(not that I've seen them before) as he surged forward and back in crazy quick successions. If Marcus were here he'd suggest an approximate speed of forty thrusts per seconds. Imagine engines could run at that speed. The world would be a better place, I swear.

But my real question was: who did these thighs belong to now?

Binyelum? Princess? Chiagozie? Ajoke? Erobosa? No. These thighs were too yellow to be any of theirs. Gigantic yellow thighs. It was hard to spot exactly who had them. The boy's big head blocked her face. It was evident the girl was suffering, I think. I mean, she was evidently whimpering like a monkey trying to birth an elephant. The boy didn't even make a sound. Well except, for those stupid occasional grunts he produced from deep within his throat. I never knew sex had to be this serious.

Surely, it is a daily occurrence to hear of sexual innuendoes at Saint Maria like every other secondary school. In bushes, toilets, every available backyard, the school's uncompleted complexes and, sometimes, the girl's hostel. Crappy illustrations of vaginas and penises all over the toilet walls, with inscriptions such as fuck, bitches assembly, Gbola land and the signature toto is sweet.

The more I watched the more I saw it was what the girl wanted. She seemed to urge him to do better by pushing her body against his and laugh-crying like he was telling a tragic joke. I tore my eyes away. I felt I was watching a pornographic drama, but then decided to look just one more time. This time I rotated to and fro desiring to take in every detail I could most probably pick. If only they could be so nice as to shift a bit to the side so I could catch a glimpse of their faces.

Then I caught sight of a white, lacey underwear on the water-closet. Hm. It looked familiar. Very familiar. I wished I would just remember whose it was.

Of course, I couldn't wait to tell the girls. They would suggest every possible girl and we would analyze them together, and eventually pinpoint whose thighs(and panties) those were. As for the boy, I couldn't only get the following descriptions: flat-bottomed, impatient, slim but muscled, black. So as quietly as I came, I retreated, tiptoeing my way to solving this mystery when my legs crashed into the deformed aluminium bucket behind me. I froze. The door flew open. I bolted off, screaming.

"We have to find her. My father can't find out about what we've done!" The girl's voice echoed in my brain as my legs took me with a speed I never thought humanly possible. I tore past the cold air of the night as though my life depended on it.

In the coming years I would actually see that my life depended on it.