MY LESSON TEACHER 4

 

By Anebi Olowu John

One faithful day, after lessons as usual, my mum was late and it was just I and Mrs. Davis. She came towards me again and asked why I had been running away from her; I didn’t know what to say so I looked down. She told me she wasn’t angry but that she just missed me. She pulled my cloth off my body and let it hang on my waist and she began touching me. I begged her to please stop and I told her what my Sunday school teacher told us; she told me not to worry that she won’t hurt me. She continued touching me and then placed me on the table and removed my pants, she opened my legs wide and was just staring at me, she moved closer and planted a kiss on my lips and proceeded to touch me under. That was when we heard a scream behind us. Someone had been watching; she was a parent and she came to pick her child’s note which the child forgot. She came quickly towards me as she saw tears in my eyes and drew me close to her. She was looking at Mrs. Davis with disgust and I knew something was wrong. My mum came later on and was informed about it; she called the headmaster who came immediately. I was questioned and I narrated the whole thing to them; how it started, and the follow-ups to that point. Mrs. Lawal (the parent who saw us) also narrated what she saw; my mum was in tears throughout all these narratives, and at a poin,t she got up to slap Mrs. Davis twice on her face.

Mrs. Davis was sacked of course, and my mother was grateful that it didn’t exceed what I went through.

It is an obligation for parents to be aware of on-goings in the lives of their wards; male or female. If not for God, I could have gotten infections from prolonged and sustained intimacies with Mrs. Davis; the lady entrusted with teaching and caring for me, or been scarred with life-long emotional dysfunctional sexuality.

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