Okey Boy

Author on Reedsy Prompts since May, 2021

Stories (4)

4 Stories

54 karma pts

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“100—1” by Okey Boy

The empty plastic bottle of Viju yoghurt swirled before it stopped at the feet of Ado who trapped the ball like prime Xavi, the legendary Spanish footballer. Adimora, in his characteristic rashness, dove for the bottle, aiming to snatch it from Ado's legs. The latter shielded him off effortlessly; he was the bigger of the two, older even though they were in the same class in school. "That's not fair." Cried Adimora. " Stop hiding the ball. Try dribbling me if you can!" Ado chuckled mischievously as he danced with the bottle, moving ...

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“The Shack Coupling” by Okey Boy

Submitted to Contest #99

....for the first time in months, I felt wetness on my face. Those memories surfaced. It tickled my cheeks. The taste of my infidelity, many years ago. My husband never knew what happened. I do not blame him. This is what happened, years ago. I have grown from it. We have had a more satisfying relationship since the shack incident. God knows. October 15, 2015.The shack hummed with desire; both savage and conflicted. Oga Eugene probed her wetness, alternating between a finger, then two.. She gasped when three of his fingers were in her, and c...

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“Aganga Chibuike” by Okey Boy

Submitted to Contest #98

Chibuike Aganga was what one could rightly describe as a comfortable man. He had a good job as a photographer at one of the best modelling companies in Lagos; he was in his late twenties; had, generally, a good health; and not the least, he was dating an angel in human form - Oma. Oma meant good things in Igbo language; but the full name was Adaoma - a good daughter or damsel. A fitting description for the beauty that held his heart in vice-like grip. He had first met her two months into his current job. That was in February. She had co...

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“Closing The Window Panes, Of Pain” by Okey Boy

Submitted to Contest #97

The small window is barely letting the weak morning rays passage into my cell. But I can see the outline of the warden's face. Even with the insufficient light, I can, by his smell alone, identify him - the supervisory warden. Horizontal tribal marks crisscrossing his rumpled face like a toddler's drawing book, a large nose, a wicked husky voice, and a a smooth bald head.He is saying something while unshackling the cuffs on my legs, the morning sun glinting off the parabola of his bald brown scalp. He smells like raw fish - just like those c...

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Author bio

Dreamer, Igbo, acute procrastinator, romantic. I love stories, especially visualising them in my thick head. And on days where I muster enough jealousy while reading others' brilliant works, I pen down my thoughts and the movies in my head. Bear with me.