The Day My Mum Caught Me Red-handed in a Sexual Act

The Day My Mum Caught Me Red-handed in a Sexual Act

By Anayo M. Nwosu

Anayo Nwosu

At 14, I had dropped all childish antics and all other retrogressive bad behaviour.

I could be considered to be in the spiritual mould of today’s born-again Christians, being an altar boy at St. Peter Claver’s Catholic Church, Otolo Nnewi.

Our parish priest, Monsignor Joe Nwaibegbunam, would always charge all of us serving the Lord at the altar to be holy all the time to avoid the wrath of God.

I hearkened to him and strove to be holy.

But, it was soon to become evident to me that Satan was not yet finished with me, since I kept resisting his promptings to either return to stealing meat from my mother’s pot of soup or to pilfer her money.

But most interesting, it was rattling to me to observe some strange developments around the lower region of my waist.

Since the population of the roof of my pubic area with hair, I had noticed that the very equipment I had only used to pass urine had started behaving strangely. It was getting too sensitive for my liking.

The urinary tool would, without provocation, get hardened, nod its head like that of the Agama lizard, remain stiffened and later calm down.

I also observed that I had started forming the habit of gazing, with interest, at the chest and backside areas of Ifeyinwa, Celina, Adamma, Juan, Monica and other female members of our Block Rosary Crusade praying group. I would feel tickled whenever my body came in contact with theirs.

I had prayed to God to save me from this new feeling, not only because I knew it was the work of the devil, but also because the feeling would always cause a bulge on my shorts or trousers. It could be embarrassing, you know.

I largely succeeded in containing this new challenge by curtailing the way I looked at the adazi enu and adazi ani  or the oshodi oke and oshodi isale or the iruka and azuka of my fellow prayer partners and female friends until one fatetul night.

On that night, my mom had treated us with a meal of utara ede or cocoyam fufu with oha soup, and we went to bed early.

My kid brother and I shared the same bedroom with our mother.

My mama slept on her small bed with a mattress stuffed with sun-dried grass, while my brother and l laid on a mat made from raffia palm pulps.

It was in the same month that we were connected to the public power supply, known as NEPA, but the electricity supply would only come on by 11pm and disappear by 10 am the next day.

That very night was so cold and sleep-inducing: the kind of ambiance most married couple craved for.

That was the very night when Nwadiuto slept with me!

It all started like a joke in a dream garnished with bliss.

In that blissful night, which immediately became an afternoon in the dream, I met Nwadiuto inside the Uzukpe forest, which was later cleared and it now houses some residential houses and the Nnewi headquarters of Christ Embassy Church situated by the side of the original landlord: the Okwu Uzukpe shrine.

Nwadiuto and I were in the forest alone to fetch firewood as children did after school or on Saturdays in the 70s and early 1980s in the village.

After tying our bunch of firewood to go home, I noticed that Nwadiuto started smiling and winking at me.

That was the invitation I needed to embrace her, lay her on the floor of the forest having surveyed the environment to ensure that nobody was within a viewing range. Even if there was, would I have cared?

No other name would have been more appropriate for this beautiful, well-moulded girl. Nwadiuto means “a child that is sweet” or “child is sweet,” depending on the way the name is sounded. But I would rather choose “child that is sweet!”

I couldn’t believe my luck as Nwadiuto possessed all that could make Delilah and Bathsheba look less tempting.

All her head lamps were piercingly erect as they were rounded like those of Peugeot 404.

Nwadiuto talked slowly and intelligently. Her skin was like an unblemished udara fruit.

Even her beautiful face and sky-blue eyes could make a man dance surugede or scale through the fence bordering the land of the living and that of the dead.

What a lucky man I was not only by being inside the Uzukpe forest alone with the priceless Nwadiuto in my arms but also gaining access deep into Nwadiuto’s own forest!

I had done all that I needed to do with my mouth and had proceeded to introduce the young Mr. Nwosu into the real Miss Nwadiuto.

I did.

I danced.

I did thrust and was about to cry a loud cry.

I was in that state of indescribable ecstasy when tragedy occurred.

My mother, who obviously was watching as I was wriggling my waist in a macabre dance on my mat, shouted “Anayo! Anayo! Anayo!”

Which man on earth would like to get distracted or get up at that moment? Not even at gun point!

But a pain on my cheek brought me back from the Okwu Uzukpe firewood forest to my miserable mat.

My mum had released a thunderous slap on my mouth as I kept shouting “Nwadiuto, itogbuona m oo!” “O bu ka ife a si ato?” meaning “Nwadiuto, you are killing me oo!” and “Is this how sweet this thing is?”

I woke up to see the light on.

Chai! NEPA had chosen to restore electricity supply at the wrong time! A dark room would have saved me some embarrassment.

I usually went to sleep naked and would imagine that my mum, who usually woke up late in the night to hold her vigil prayers, had witnessed as I was shelling out volcanic emission from my phallus.

When I woke up, I found myself lying beside Tochukwu, my junior brother, not Nwadiuto. Tochukwu was fast asleep.

“Anuofia,” cursed my mother. “Use that wrapper to clean yourself up and go back to sleep!” She pointed to a heap of clothes at the corner of her room, due for washing.

Feigning sleepiness but thoroughly embarrassed, I quickly cleaned myself of the slimy, thick and pap-like spills on my waist area and on the mat. I flung the now wet wrapper to where I got it and pretended to fall asleep immediately.

I woke up very early in the next morning, completed my house chores and dashed to school. I skipped my breakfast.

I made conscious effort to avoid my mother as much as I could and she, on her own part, didn’t make any effort to discuss with me what happened  the previous night.

To my greatest shock, that morning, I met Nwadiuto on my way to school. She greeted me heartily and must have noticed the uneasiness in my response.

We had to walk at the same pace for about 30 minutes before we reached Umuanuka Road where we had to part ways to our different schools. I was a student of Nnewi High School while she was in Maria Regina Comprehensive High School.

She kept asking if I had any problem because I was unusually withdrawn but I kept denying.

Nwadiuto had enjoyed my banters and beautiful-girl induced loquaciousness and had looked forward to our journeying together to school most days of the week.

“Did she know what happened at night or is it possible that she had the same dream as I did?”, was all I kept thinking on that tortuous journey.

My mum returned early from the market the next day; much earlier than usual. She asked me to escort her to church.

I nearly collapsed.

Would she report me to the fiery parish priest, Monsignor Joe Nwaibegbunam?

Half way to the church, my mom asked me if I knew what happened to me last night.

I kept mute.

And she said, “What happened to you was normal. Just know that you are now a grown man capable of impregnating a girl”.

“If you release that liquid that oozed out of your  penis last night into the private of any girl, she will get pregnant. You are to ensure that you firmly put your sword in its sheath until you get married. Never forget that there is always a poisonous aspect in everything that is very sweet. You should never use it until you get married otherwise you would be offending God,” my mother concluded.

Done, my mum turned and I followed her as we headed back home. I figured out that she wanted to speak with me privately and had used going to church as a decoy.

I had subsequently had many more wet dreams before I transited from a dreamer to real doer.

Don’t ask me what I mean by that!

I have been wondering without getting a satisfactory answer why wet dreams happen to both the saints and sinners alike.

Parents should be bold to discuss this phase in life with their teenage sons.

Don’t let their peers or poorly educated or inexperienced men of God feed them with incorrect information or load them with self guilt.

All normal “young men shall dream dreams” including WET DREAMS.

Wet dream is part of a male child growth evolution.

It is not sinful to fantasize.


Anayo Nwosu, Lagos




  1. Akuluouno February 22, 2018 Reply
    • Azuka Onwuka February 23, 2018 Reply

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