Monday, 24 September 2018

Big Girl with Biggest God


I am always puzzled when I hear some girls term themselves ‘small girl with big god’. I get annoyed when people call me that. Annoyed, not because I don’t want to be referred to as a runs girl (it is what I am, and I am not afraid to own it), but annoyed because of those words, 'small girl’. 

I, Kira, has never been, and will never be, comfortable with being referred to as a ‘small girl’. Come on! I am a big girl!

So, I would rather be called to a ‘big girl with bigger god’. As a matter of fact, I would even prefer ‘big girl with biggest god’. I am not there yet, but that is my ambition... to graduate from the ‘big and bigger gods’ I currently associate with, to at least one ‘biggest god’.

Everyone has the ambition to attain the pinnacle of their career and I am no different. The pinnacle of ‘runs’ is to have a ‘biggest god’ taking care of you. I want to be just like those girls who are lucky to be with those kind of men; I want to enjoy the kind of lavish lifestyle they enjoy. I want to roll in my own range, take rides in private jets, holiday in Dubai today and Ibiza tomorrow, rock the top designer couture and change my wardrobe like no man's business. To achieve this kind of lifestyle, one needs to have a ‘biggest god’ in one’s life.

I am sure you know the kind of people that fit into the profile of ‘biggest god’. Well if you don't, I can enlighten you. Politicians (nothing lower than senators and governors o, honourables or local government chairmen do not qualify), big time drug lords, scam kingpins and billionaire business men.

I have been working hard on attaining my dream. I have tried to meet a ‘biggest god’ at places one would expect to find them… such as the bars of five star hotels, polo club, etc. I have not been successful yet, but I had no intention of giving up and remained alert for opportunities to meet these men.

So, one day at the airport while waiting for my flight back to Lagos after an appointment with one of my bigger gods in Port Harcourt, I overheard a man having the following conversation, and my ears stood like antennae;
“What kind of pictures did you send to me? I told you that I need very classy ladies and dashing young men for this job, and I am talking creme de la creme stuff here. This is not a small wedding we are talking about.”

He mentioned the name of the governor whose son was getting married. My jaw dropped and refused to close as he continued to reel out the names of the big wigs that would be in attendance.

“I don't joke with my events, much less a major one like this, so don't recruit rubbish for me." 

Kira… hmmm… this is an opportunity to be in the same room as many ‘biggest gods’. You must tap into it, I thought.

I turned to the man with a very bright, winning smile when he was done.

“Hi, sir. I couldn’t help but overhear you talking about recruitment for an ushering job. I am interested, if you don’t mind.”

He looked at me from head to toe, taking in my Fendi handbag that I had almost killed myself to buy, and ‘original fake’ Louboutins.

“Are you sure? You look too big for the job. All we pay is N30,000.”

“Ah, bros I don’t mind now. Don’t judge a book by its cover o, I can do ushering job very well. And going by the description of the girls you said you want, I am sure I am perfect for it.”

“Okay, if you say so. But it is not an ushering job. I am a mixologist. I make classy cocktails and other drinks, and usually work for the top echelon of the society. It is service ladies and men I am seeking to recruit, not ushers.

Still I did not mind. Anything to get myself into an event that has ‘biggest gods’ in attendance. I told him I could also do a server’s job quite well, even lied that I had worked as a waitress at a top restaurant years back.

“All right, you’re hired.” He gave me his card and told me the date and time to report for training.

I was ecstatic.

Kira, this is the opportunity you have been looking for for a long time now. You must make sure you make the most of it! I lectured myself.


Days later, at the training for the job, I was a bit disappointed to see the uniform I would be wearing. With it, there was no way I would be able to market my curves to the optimum to get the attention of my target audience. I would have stood a better chance as an usher.

So I came up with a plan. I would utilize the server job to gain entrance into the venue. Once in there, I would change into befitting clothes, abandon my duties and blend in with the other guests.

It meant I would not get any wages, but I cared less about that.

And with that I got into preparation for the D-day. I started with a skincare regimen that would make me glow like the sun, then purchased accessories that would turn heads (bum-length wavy wig and dazzling imitation gold jewellery), and finally got my tailor to sew a bad ass outfit that would give anybody’s Daddy instant stroke.

D-day arrived, and so did I at the venue of the wedding (Eko Hotel), punctual and dressed in the cocktail server’s uniform. But in my large handbag were the actual clothes I planned to wear, wig, jewellery and make-up set.

I sat with the other members of the service team at the cocktail gazebo, then disappeared to the bathroom the moment the dignitaries began arriving. In the bathroom, I changed to my outfit – a body-gripping gown made from lace drowned in a million golden sequins with a very provocative plunge to the neckline that left only my nipples covered. I then took my time to beat my face into top shape and put on my wig.


I knew I looked stunning. The way my skin glowed like 1000-watt bulb; the way my boobs curved over the neckline of my dress, jiggling slightly with each movement; the way my long legs and thighs gleamed invitingly. I had not come to play.


The Story Continues>>>Part 2

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