I have a thing for good-looking men. One moment my preference is fair, tall, and masculine and then I see a thick, dark, not-so-tall gentleman with a clean haircut and I can't keep my eyes off. It's a new preference all over. No matter what the preference is at any point, 'good looking' must be on the menu.

I also have a thing for mystery men. I love men that have something about them I can't wrap my mind around. Men I don't know all there is to them, men I can't quite understand (not in a stressful way though), men that keep me wondering. This kind of men excites me. With them, there's always something new and even if not, it's never boring.

My love for good-looking men and my experience with them are quite spectacular. It's like nothing you see every day. As a result, I'll be doing a fun weekly series titled, 'The men and I' where I'll be sharing these experiences in fun ways. Names are going to be changed though. 

It'd be my pleasure to have you on this fun trip. The first episode is right below. I can not wait to read your thoughts in the comment section! Subscribe so you don't miss anything. 

I had just finished from CDS three weeks ago; NYSC khaki on, foodstuffs I had just bought in a shopping bag, I started walking home. When the driver of a red car parked along the road called out 'corper,' I wasn't sure if the car was there the whole time or he stopped because of me. I hadn't been paying attention. The moment I set my eyes on him, that changed. My attention was hooked.

Man was beautiful.

He asked where I was going and offered to give me a ride after I told him. 'You can make do with a lift,' he said like someone who had said the words a thousand times before but without as much as a feigned reluctance, I hopped in.

I was yelling to myself the whole time, 'I've finally met him! My own husband!' You see, when you ask married people how they know their partner is the right person, they say something along these lines, 'I just knew'. That was exactly how I felt. I just knew he was my husband, the beautiful man.

Predominantly, I do fair men but once in a while, I don't mind if their skin is coated with charcoal. That was once in a while. His skin was dark and even, the kind poets would call 'caramel' and his haircut was neat. Nothing fancy or dramatic, just neat.


There was something youthful about the stranger taking me home. His eyes were beautiful. They were bright and happy and lit up whenever he talked. His lips curled in the coyest way when he smiled. He was beautiful in every way. 'Handsome' would be not saying enough.

We got into a conversation or rather, I gave him a lecture on my life history. I spilled my gut out; my name, when I'm passing out from NYSC, what course I studied and where, where I work, where I'm staying, what I went to buy in the market and what I'd be cooking. I even told him how much my rent is! I all but told him I was wearing a short inside my khaki trouser to look fuller and I didn't know even his name the whole time. I just kept going on and on. After all, he was my husband, sooner or later he'd get to know these things so why not sooner?

He was dressed like one so I asked him if he was a banker and he affirmed. The only tangible information I got from him the whole time. It didn't matter though, he was my husband. I'd know everything about him in no time.

Finally, he got to my gate with my direction and I thanked him a third time, stalling so he could ask for my number. Nothing. End of lift, conversation over, yet we both sat in the car. It seemed the same thought was running through our heads. His; how to ask for my number, mine; when he'd ask.



He got a phone call and took it. I waited patiently. After the call, he still didn't ask. I thanked him again, the fourth time. I said I'd never thought I'd get a ride home, buying time so he'd ask. Nothing. Everything tried and no result, I opened the door slowly and said goodbye. He asked if he could stop by at any time to see me, I said he could.

'Idiot ask for the number already!' I willed him.

He started to drive away. Just when I thought it was the end, he stopped and called me, 'Here's my complimentary card, you can send me a message on Whatsapp.' Relief swept over me. Note that he didn't say I could call him, just Whatsapp. The average single guy doesn't say that do they? Well, at that point, I thought nothing of it.

The wait for him to ask for my number cured me of the infatuation a little and my pride came back. As casually as possible, I told him to give me his number rather, 'I'd call you.'

After he did, I realized I didn't know his name. He sensed my fix and said, 'Chisimdi you never asked. My name is Frank (not real name).' There was no point as I already knew he was my husband and I have no plans to save my husband's phone number with his first name. May God forbid. We bade our goodbyes and my heart was light as air.



When I was safely in and out of his sight, I flung my home training through the window and screamed to my housemates who cared to listen that I have found my husband. All of them 'cared' to listen though, I left them no choice.

This is point writers put the words that mark the evil twits. Here's mine, 'little did I know he was married.' The man got married last year but I didn't know all that then. I didn't know he just wanted to play around. I didn't know he'd say he wants to have sex with me in his car.  All I thought was, 'I've met my husband'. Poor me.

In Nollywood's handwriting, watch out for part 2!

Did you find this read interesting? Are you looking forward to the continuation or should I end the series? Let me know your take in the comment section. That's the only way I can know if you enjoyed this.

Note, everything written here is real.