Pantie Rule

29| A Boy?

"I don't subscribe to this." He shouted. Yes, like literally shouted the roof off!

"I'm not a DSTV plan. So I'll do whatever I want." I said

"I'm never letting you dress like a boy in my house. You're a girl, come on." His jaw were as stubborn as he, they stood firm. I'm sure he didn't want to miss out on seeing my hips sway like a pendulum bell gone crazy!

"It's not 'dressing like a boy'." I air-quoted. "It's me 'pretending to be a boy'."

"Crossdressing?"

"No." I said, feeling frustrated already. Beads of sweat were building on my face, for nothing! "Your parents would feel more comfortable seeing me as a boy than a girl." I shrugged feeling impatient, but safe, secure and what is the other word?... Salivating. This kind of house would serve foods on gold platters. For God's sake! The POP ceiling was really high, like those ones in ball rooms(that's an exaggeration), but something like that. The chandelier—a very gigantic one—was all sparkly and blue. I'm sure it could change to so many colours, but the oversabi beside me decided to make it blue. I didn't complain. It's his house.

A bar stood by the right hand corner of the parlour. It was full to the brim, with wines of course, stupid! The parlour was spacious although it contained large sofas, like the ones they usually used in those big houses in African Magic. It was as though I was in a movie! Wait, did I mention the AC? I was Elsa right now, anything I touched could literally turn to ice.

Alright, Omotara, stop acting like a village, local girl! Your father has a bungalow in Greens Estate, and he works in an oil company that makes him look blacker each time he comes home for vacation. Be happy!

"No. It doesn't! None of these make sense. You told me you are... thinking... Fatima was going to commit suicide. You called me saying you were going to stay at my house?" He paused, raised his brows and side-eyed me. "I like that one, anyways." I looked at him and he smiled at me and licked his lips.

I frowned. "You—" He interjected me...

"—Now you want to dress like a boy, in boy's clothes. You're acting out of character, Omotara. You should be the unreasonably hot good girl who stays away from the bad boy and doesn't want to dabble into the murder of somebody."

"I'm dabbling into the murder of my friend, Fatima!" I barked, infuriated.

He blinked, and clenched his jaw. His dreadlocks covering a portion of his face. I had to hold my breath at his beauty. He was to beautiful to not be dated by a girl who wouldn't just give him her vagina. He deserved more than sex. He deserved... Hey, what's wrong with me!!!

"They wouldn't say anything about you being a girl. The house is big enough to have us out of their faces. That's what they want, solitude. They are busy people and wouldn't interrupt my business. We hardly even say goodmornings when we meet."

I raised my brows, trying to imagine what kind of relationship he had with his parents, but couldn't imagine. Dead end.

"I'm not going to be a girl in your house. That is all I know."

"You have to."

"I'm not."

"You have to."

"I'm not!" I turned fully to him, "I'm not, alright?"

"Okay, what if my mum sees you with a G-string?"

"G-string?" I asked, sincerely. Then, in a split second I— Wait... What was this boy thinking? G-string? Dammit! This boy's bad! If you don't know the definition of a G-string here's it: