Read the daily, non-fictional tales of a young, unmarried Nigerian woman who lives in Lagos at this time.
Nothing happened - well, if you consider a lot of kissing and a bit of smooching to be nothing. But I hated that I allowed myself to be talked into visiting.
"It's not a date. It's definitely not a date," he had said when he called for the umpteenth time. "Just friends hanging out."
After nights of persistent cajoling to host me to a home-cooked dinner (he was the best cook he knew, he said), I was ready to cave in.
What was the worst that could happen? I asked myself. It was just a harmless dinner and some movies afterwards, just like he said, right?
Still, I had my reservations. What if his wife surprised him from abroad - was it America or Canada? I cannot remember which now - and saw me alone with him in the house? Would saying that I was having a harmless dinner with her husband be enough to pacify her if she got vexed? What about nosy neighbours who decided I was his mistress and called his wife to tell on him? Was there anything to tell?
In the end, I told him no. I did not have the power to fight or shout. I changed my mind a day later, though.
I had finally had enough of NEPA's erratic power supply and noticed that my landlord's generator had a fault. Besides the fact that I was tired of staying in the dark alone, the sweltering heat was beginning to get to me. So, I needed an excuse to leave the house.
"Is that invitation still open?" I asked when I called.
He picked on the first ring, as if he was waiting for my call.
"Yes!" he said excitedly, and quickly added, "I'll be there in fifteen."
In a little over fifteen minutes or so, his call came in.
"I am at your gate. Ready?"
And so it was that I became a guest at his house. Dinner was not actually dinner but a late lunch of Spaghetti, fish and fried plantain. He was right, he was indeed a good cook.
He explained that since I had told him no and he was not expecting me, he had not prepared an elaborate meal, as he had earlier planned.
"It's okay. This is fine. Delicious, in fact," I smiled, settling in beside him to watch 'The Perfect Date' on Netflix in his sitting room.
Olumide was a great movie partner. He only talked when it was necessary and we laughed almost at the exact same moments. The movie was also not bad.
When it ended, we sat talking for a short while. Everything seemed so perfect till - well, you know how one thing leads to another - and we started kissing. His hands were already on my breasts before I realized how far we had gone.
"Spend the night," he said, nibbling on my left ear.
My feeble attempt to push him away was met with stiff resistance.
"Spend the night, please!" he repeated, still nibbling on my ear with his hands groping my breasts.
I pushed him again, making sure to put a little more effort into my action this time, and adjusting my shirt buttons, I said, "Take me home or I'll call a cab."
That seemed to do the trick. He drove me home.
I was quiet till we arrived at my gate when I said, "Thank you for dinner."
"Will I see you again soon?" he asked.
"Maybe," I responded. But my mind was made up. I was never going to see him again.