A sex for grades short story (male version)

TRIGGER WARNING: This content contains explicit contents and graphic depictions of abuse. Reader discretion is advised.

“’If Mohammed doesn’t go to the river, the river would come to Mohammed.’ That was the last thing she said before everything went pitch black.” I said to my roommate, Nnamdi.

He rose his eyebrows, “What does the river mean?”



It all began when I walked into this prestigious school.

I actually didn’t walk, I jumped. I jumped with my hands to the sky as I entered the pearl gates of one of the finest institutions in the whole of Africa.


You may wonder, who is this crazy person?

My name is Isah Mohammed. I’ve never been the most handsome boy in my class, but my intelligence made me sexy.

Have you ever seen that one ugly guy, so ugly, that passes by and you see many girls flooding after him and you wonder why?

Yes, that guy.

No. No, I’m not that guy.

Well, I could be that guy if I wasn’t so boring and lacked mannerism.

But that didn’t matter to me because I had pride. My pride was to raise my head to the sky and shout, “Alhamdulillah!” to the Almighty Allah for making me see this day.

The day I finally jumped into the school of my dreams. Ivory University.

Ivory University was a private university in the popular Kuje LGA of Abuja. It was the only university in Nigeria owned by a German billionaire and a university filled with lots of foreign students and high-profiled lecturers.

I was a transfer scholarship student in the department of Psychology. You see, I was about to be the ugliest 200 level boy you will ever see but as I said before, my grades will make me finer than Ramsey Nouah. The young Ramsey Nouah.

So, let me give you a summary of how my first day at Ivory University went. I went straight to my hostel and got slapped by a cloud of smoke when I entered my room. Apparently, one of my roommates was a smoker, he goes by the name of Nnamdi. When I told him to stop smoking cigarette in the room, here is what the idiot told me;

“Cigarette? Mallam, you dare defy the lordship of this weed? How dare you. How dare you bring down this glory lord into a commoner like… cigarette?” He stared at the tiny smoking stick in his hand with remorse, “I apologize, my lord. Your people are destroyed for lack of ignorance.”

It was then that I knew my guy was high.

He gave me these delicious chocolate brownies as a welcome gift, which I foolishly ate. Because later that evening, I saw myself dancing with Queen Elizabeth, Ronaldo and Barney. It wasn’t until the next morning that I found out the brownies were ‘edibles’ and not ordinary brownies. I recited Astaghfirullah 100 times that morning.

I met my other roommate, Emmanuel, that same day. He was quite interesting. Here was why; Emmanuel was a fat timid boy who was the best student in Psychology but is now a carry-over student because apparently, he was raped by a woman two years ago and no one believed him because “men cannot be raped” and no investigation has been done because Emmanuel is an attention seeking spoilt brat who would cook up a story in order to cover up his failures and multiple carryovers and not take responsibility for them. Yes, that was the gist that went round the school.

To be honest, I believed them. Because men cannot be raped. Even imagining it felt impossible.

Well, that was what I thought before I met her.

You may wonder, who is her?

Get ready to meet her shortly.

The following morning, lectures began at Ivory University.

This was how my first day of lectures went;

Lecture 1 – boring. Lecture 2 – boring. Lecture 3 – more boring. And lecture 4…

I stood outside the lecture hall of my fourth and last lecture of the day; Psychology of Human Sexuality. It was a fascinating course. But not as fascinating as the lecturer that was about to teach us.

Dr Anita Ubong.

I stared at the portrait of this fascinating lecturer that was hung outside the lecture hall.

She was a rare lecturer. A woman old enough to be my mother, but more accomplished than both my mother and father combined.

She was a Psychology graduate at University of Oxford. A Ph.D holder. Has two doctorates. An advocate for Women’s Rights. The president of the Sexual Violence against University Girls association. And an award-winning best-selling psychology author of The Feminist Psychology.

That was her. The woman that changed everything for me.

I stared at the inscription under her portrait, ‘Lecturer of the Year.’ I scoffed, Those were the most dangerous ones.

Unlike all the other lectures, Dr Anita’s class was the fullest. It was the one class that was so full, students had to sit on the staircase floor of the lecture hall. I was one of those students.

When Dr Anita arrived, everyone hurried to their seats and the class became quiet in less than 10 seconds. Ask me why, I don’t know.

The classroom lights went off and the projector came on.

“Now, let us begin with today’s classwork.” Dr Anita announced as she clicked on a video on the screen.

It was a music video.

The class began getting noisy when we realised what music video it was.

Coming by Naira Marley.

Before I could take my eyes off the screen, it was too late. I began seeing things I shouldn’t be seeing. Hearing things I shouldn’t be hearing.

Sucking? Vagasm? Cumming? Ya Allah, this school will not make me miss Jannah (heaven), insha Allah. Wallahi this school will not make me miss Jannah.

After Dr Anita had successfully traumatized my five senses, she gave us the most horrifying classwork any lecturer could ever give.

“I want you to give a critical analysis of Coming by Naira Marley and its reflection on Nigeria’s sexual hypocrisy.” She instructed.


I did not do the classwork. And that was the biggest mistake I ever made. Because the next day, Dr Anita summoned me to her office.

“You submitted a blank sheet of paper for your classwork.” She started off when I settled in her office. No introduction, nothing. “And why is that?”

“Because it is against the will of Allah that I write such a vulgar essay.” I replied bluntly.

Dr Anita folded her hands and stared at me, “Naira Marley is Muslim too, shebi you know?”

“It’s one thing to be born into a Muslim family, it is another thing to live as one. One is consent, the other isn’t.”

She raised her brows in amazement and chuckled. But not the cute chuckle. It’s the chuckle that screamed “You’re a bastard.”

“Consent, enh?” She clasped her hands together. “Let me tell you about consent. It does not exist in the four walls of a university. When a lecturer gives you an assignment, he is not asking for your permission. It is an order.”

I stared back at her without saying anything.

“You’re a smart boy, Mr Mohammed. I’ve read your personal statement and past credentials and I must say, I was quite impressed.”

She stretched out her hands across her desk, “You don’t want to provoke me, do you?”

I already did.

“You have until tomorrow evening to submit your classwork. If you don’t turn it in, I will fail you for the rest of the semester.”

That was how our first meeting ended.


I remember ranting to Nnamdi about Dr Anita’s over-sexual lecture video and classwork. He was not my friend but I just needed someone to blow off some steam with.

After all my ranting, this was the only thing he got;

“So, you’re saying vagasm is not a real word?” He asked while referring to one of the phrases Naira Marley used in his song.

And I never spoke about Dr Anita or that assignment to anybody again. Because nobody in this Ivory University was normal.


I submitted the classwork the next day as Dr Anita instructed. When I arrived, she left me alone in her office to answer a quick phone call. During that short time, I looked around her big office. I stared at all the awards and trophies and certificates she had obtained over the years.
Then I stopped on my tracks when I saw the small picture frame on her desk. It was a picture of her perfectly “happy” family. A picture of Dr Anita, her elderly husband and two grown up kids that were around my age. In the picture, Dr Anita was smiling, which was unusual to see.

“What are you still doing here?” She asked when she returned to her office.

“I- I came to submit my classwork, ma.” I stretched out my paper to her.

She looked down at it and snatched it before walking over to her desk.

She picked up her red pen from the table and circled a giant O at the top of the paper.

“You have failed this classwork. But you’ve not failed the course.” She said while putting the paper with the other pile of papers, “Now, leave.”

I wanted to argue, “But ma, you didn’t even read-”

“A late task is a failed task. Now, get out.”


At this point, you may be wondering how a stern woman like this would do the unimaginable act. You may also be wondering how I was able to get trapped under Dr Anita’s palm in just a week. Here was the reality; it wasn’t a week. It was few hours. In fact, few minutes.

It happened at the night of the Fresher’s Welcome Party on a Sunday. Two days after she failed me for my classwork.

One thing about the unimaginable act, you can never forget the day, the time and the location of the event. They will forever be etched in your memory.

I was alone at the party. I still didn’t have any friends. And no one else noticed this but her.

“You must be lonely.” Was the first thing I heard from her that night when she magically appeared behind me.

I turned around to see her standing close to me with a drink in her hand.

From the way she was a bit unstable, I could tell she was quite tipsy.

But I played along.

“No, I am Isah.” I joked around which caused her to chuckle. This time, the cute chuckle.

“And I am Dr Anita.” She joked back. “So, what is a fine boy like you doing all alone at a party?”

There goes every predator’s favourite line at a party.

I chuckled, “I wonder myself, ma.”

She smirked, “You haven’t seen your speculation?”


“Your speck. Your type. You’re a handsome boy, you know. You should consider getting a girlfriend here on campus.”

I gave her a small smile at her joke and just said, “Nobody has called me handsome before, ma.”

“Take it from me.” She winked.

Okay, now that was unusual.

“I read your classwork.” She quickly changed the topic while taking another sip of her alcohol, “It was brilliant.”

“Ah, you did? Thank you, ma.”

“Here is my favourite part, ‘This song is an offense to men of impotence’.” She laughed as she quoted a sentence from my classwork.

I just smiled and stared at her.

For some reason, it felt good to see this side of Dr Anita. The side outside school work. Her laughter died down and she sighed before staring at me. I was a bit uncomfortable because this whole moment was just awkward because I was seeing a completely different Dr Anita. Soon, she began apologizing for being strict to me the other day and blamed it on menopause.

But I said, “No no, it’s fine, ma. I’m not angry at all.”

Actually, I was contemplating on how to burn down your office.

She smiled for a second before placing her hands on her head in pain, “Oh. My head is turning me with this loud music. Do you mind if we could go somewhere more quiet?”

This was the part I should have said “no”. But I feared for tipsy Dr Anita’s safety, so I agreed.

We entered her Toyota Sienna XLE car and she drove out of the school campus. That was the very moment I wish I could undo.

I remembered almost everything vividly. From the moment she drove and parked at an underdeveloped bushy area, to the moment she offered me a “coconut juice” in her car, in which I later found out was palm wine mixed with vodka.

I remembered how we talked and talked for hours about anything and everything, from politics to power to feminism in Nigeria to parenthood to studying abroad. I remember how I kept drinking the palm wine even though I was losing control of my sanity. For a moment, I forgot that it was a haram to drink. Or did I?

Nothing seemed to matter because all I needed that night was company, and Dr Anita was very good at that. Having back-to-back intellectual conversations with her made me feel seen and not alone in my thoughts.

I remembered that Dr Anita drank only half a cup despite she was the one who offered me to drink a whole bottle of palm wine. I remembered how dizzy I felt that I ended up vomiting on the passenger seat of the car.

And here was the crazy part. I barely remembered anything that happened after I vomited.

All I remember were flashes of different moments that I had no connection as to how we got there. I barely remembered Dr Anita even kissing me. I barely remembered her removing my trousers and boxers. What I remember was that I was lying down flat at the backseat of her Toyota Sienna car. I remembered when she took off her top and trouser to reveal her white lace bra and nothing under but 5 multi-coloured waist beads around her waist.

I remembered how my manhood became erect without my permission. I remembered how she came on top of me and began going up and down, riding my manhood with her… womanhood.

She came so strong on me like a gorilla having sex with a zebra. For a moment, I thought her car would fall and break. I wish it did.

I did not remember every bit of the sex. But the part I did remember was when she was riding on me so fast while Coming by Naira Marley was playing over the car speakers. As the chorus repeated itself, she moved faster and faster and kept screaming that the “streams of river” was about to flow.

I did not understand what she meant by “streams of river” until she stopped moving and liquid began dripping from her womanhood down to my manhood and anus. That was the river she talked about.

I remembered how she breathed heavily and rolled her eyes back like she was possessed. It scared the living night out of me.

The last thing I remembered was when she rested her entire heavy body on top of mine and continued breathing heavily in my ear. At that point, I couldn’t feel myself anymore. I felt so disconnected with my body.

Then she said something strange.

“You see,” She chuckled into my ear, “if Mohammed doesn’t go to the river, the river would come to Mohammed.”

And with that, I blacked out.


Early the next morning, at about 6 am or so, I woke up with aches all over my body and a really bad hangover. I looked around my surroundings to see I was in the middle of a bush. The exact spot Dr Anita took me to. I did not see Dr Anita nor her car. It was just me and the empty cold bushes.

I gathered up the strength to trek from the abandoned area to the university campus. It was the longest thirty minutes walk of my life. I was numb all through the walk and couldn’t process anything at that moment.

By the time I arrived campus, students and lecturers were already on their way to lectures. Despite nobody was paying attention to me, I felt like I was being watched. I felt like somebody was ready to pounce on me and I shuddered anytime somebody came close to me. It wasn’t intentional.

When I finally got to my hostel room, I saw Nnamdi approaching me swiftly as he asked, “Mallam, how far? Where you dey go last night?”

The moment he touched my shoulders, I pushed him away and screamed for him to “Leave me alone!”
Nnamdi and Emmanuel looked at me strangely, trying to understand when I became so aggressive. Even I didn’t understand why I just did that.

I rushed to get my towel and slammed the toilet door behind me, causing a loud bang. I rested behind the door and breathed heavily. Suddenly, my heavy breathing gave me flashes of Dr Anita’s heavy breathing on top of me in the car.

I tried to shrug off the thought and force my way into the shower. As the water poured all over me, my mind kept replaying everything that I could remember about last night. Dr Anita’s white bra. Her rolled eyes. Her orgasm on my skin. My erect manhood.

I kept pushing these thoughts off my mind but they kept coming back to me. I wanted to scream so bad but I didn’t want my roommates to hear me. I wanted to fight so bad. I wanted to punch something, anything. But all I could do in that moment was break down and cry. I cried until there was no tears left in me.

I began to question why I was crying like a girl. I’m a man. I need to man up. What happened last night is nothing to cry about. I slept with Dr Anita and so what? It was my first time, so what? At least, I would stop being made fun of for being a virgin.

I had to get myself together and stop acting like a baby whose sweet was stolen from him. This is not you, Isah. All you did was have a wild night, so why are you causing a fuss?

I didn’t know how long I was in the shower, but it felt like a long time.

After I had calmed down and made sure my puffy eyes had reduced, I stepped out of the toilet to meet Emmanuel standing in front of the door.

“She did something to you, didn’t she?” Emmanuel asked me furiously.

I looked around to see who he was talking to because this was the very first time my second roommate was ever talking to me.

“Who?” I asked, even though I knew what he was talking about.

“Dr Anita. I saw you following her last night.”

Kill me now.

Despite I was shocked at his statement, I didn’t want to show it. Heck, I didn’t want anybody to find out about last night.

And so, I hissed, “I don’t know what you’re talking about, oga.”

I tried to walk away but he blocked me.

“The sooner you accept it, the faster you can move on.”

I hate this guy.

I sneered at him, “What do you know about it.”

“She assaulted me too. On the very same day two years ago.” He confessed which caused me to look at him in surprise. Was he saying Dr Anita was that same woman that raped him two years ago?

“You’re not the first person she is doing this to. Neither are you the second. Same thing happened to another boy last year but he killed himself.” He added.

Everything he said was beginning to make my blood turn cold. I wanted to digest his words but then, my ego did not let me.

“She didn’t rape me.” The words flew out of my mouth despite my heart knew otherwise, “We just had sex that we both had no control over.”

Now I regret letting that last part slip out of my mouth.

“Keep telling yourself that.” Emmanuel wasn’t buying it. He looked more annoyed for me than I was.
With that, he brushed pass my shoulders and left the room, slamming the door behind him.
What was up with this guy?

I turned around to go to my wardrobe when I saw Nnamdi on his bed, staring at me with a shocked expression plastered on his face. Of course, he heard everything.

“Mallam, we need to talk.”


I didn’t know what kind of weed Nnamdi put in the atmosphere that made me open up to him about last night. He was the kind of guy that was easy to talk to and it didn’t take long for him to convince me to share the details about last night.

I narrated the story like it was some random casual hook up from a wild night. I was bottling up everything I felt inside; shame, disgust and self-blame. If I hadn’t drank so much palm wine mixed with vodka, none of these would have happened. I would have had the strength to push Dr Anita away and protect myself. I would have never felt so emasculated.

“’If Mohammed doesn’t go to the river, the river would come to Mohammed.’ That was the last thing she said before everything went pitch black.” I said lastly to Nnamdi.

He rose his eyebrows, “What does the river mean?” It didn’t take up to 10 seconds for Nnamdi to realize what it meant. He slowly covered his mouth in shock and said, “You don’t mean it?”

He started jumping around the room in excitement, causing me to be even more agitated. But I hid it and pretended to laugh about it.

“Bros, do you know how hard, in fact impossible, it is to make a woman release?” He said while punching my shoulders and teased me, “O-Lord, come and teach me your ways.”

Orgasm-Lord. I had already gotten a nickname for something I had no control over. If this was the reaction I was getting for a so-called “casual hook up”, how much more horrifying would it be if I told people I was a victim. I would go from O-Lord to G-Lord, Gigolo-Lord.

“What fascinates me is that she approached you after she finished reading your classwork, which she changed it to a really high score. Then before you had sex, you guys started doing debates about politics and all these boring topics. And you didn’t even talk about anything sexual at all?”

I nodded.

“Do you know what I’m thinking?” He smirked.


“She is sapiosexual.”


“Someone who is turned on by intelligence.”

I scoffed. That kind of thing does not exist. But again, that was the only logical thing about last night. Because what kind of woman would want to have sex with an ugly guy like me? And a whole Dr Anita at that.

“Uhm, Nnamdi.” I called out to him, “Can you not tell anybody about this?”

“Mallam, haba you’re my guy. What stays in this room, stays in this room.”

I gave him a small smile, and I knew that from that moment on, I would never ever tell anybody about what happened between me and Dr Anita.


For weeks, I was not myself. I felt so disconnected with my body and my mind. It was like I wasn’t living anymore, I was merely surviving.

I could not pray anymore. I was too ashamed to even touch the Quran. I could not recite Astaghfirullah 100 times for the sins I committed that night. I could not study or concentrate in class anymore and my grades were dropping.

I was angry at everything and everybody. I knew nobody would understand even if I told them about how I felt. I was even more scared to walk around campus as almost every older woman I came across began to look like Dr Anita. Any sight of a woman that I think is Dr Anita causes me to flee or freeze in my tracks.

There was one thing I hated the most; that annoying Coming by Naira Marley song. It reminded me so much of that night. And the worst part was that the song was played everywhere everyday.

It wasn’t long before I started hearing people call me “O-Lord” out of the blue. It took me weeks to find out that Nnamdi had gone to tell a bunch of guys that I made a woman orgasm. He did not tell them it was Dr Anita.

I was so mad at him for exposing my secret, even though he meant no harm. Because after people found out about it, they respected me more and wanted to be my friend. I had girls making the first move on me, because they too wanted to have a taste of orgasm that their ex-boyfriends could not give them.

And that was how everything changed for me. I needed their glory and praises to make up for how emasculated I felt inside. I wanted to restore my masculinity again and feel like a real man.

I started having sex. Casual sex. With anything and everything that walked in skirt. I learnt more about my body each time I had sex and I had the tendency to hold myself longer so that the girl would orgasm first before I do.

If I failed to make a girl release, I would promise a second round another time and resort in drinking alcohol or borrowing weed from Nnamdi so that I would last longer in bed.

I became the real O-Lord.

I became that one ugly guy, so ugly, that passed by and many girls came flooding after me. But this time, I didn’t wonder why they did. I had the answers now.

But all that didn’t last too long. Because one unexpected afternoon, I finally came face to face with the devil herself.

I had dropped out of Dr Anita’s class and chose another module after that car incident. I hadn’t seen her since that night, probably because I had avoided any part of the campus that I knew I would find her in.

This was how I came across her again; she came looking for me. Right in front of my hostel.

My blood became cold at the sight of her. The woman that took everything from me. The woman who never once apologized for taking advantage of my unconsciousness.

“O-Lord.” She teased when she saw me.

“What do you want?” I asked bluntly.


I scoffed at her stupid answer. Did she really think I have time for her stupid games?

“You know you cannot drop my course without me approving it, right?” She said.

“So how is that my concern?”

“You’re not leaving. Not without my approval.”

“Look, ma, I don’t care-”

“I’m not done with you.” She moved closer and grabbed my balls and whispered in my ear, “What happened that night… was only the beginning.”

Hearing those words come out of her mouth caused me to be numb all over again. Hearing her talk about that night like it was a game made me freeze.

She stepped back and gave a wry smile.

“See you again, Mr Mohammed.”


DISCLAIMER: This is a work of fiction. All characters, locations, organizations and incidents appearing in this article are fictitious.

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