Bimbo was stunned. ‘What just happened?’ She thought. She shook her head, trying to clear the fog of arousal.
“Um, no,” she stammered, then offered, “th- thank you for helping me.”
At once, she realised her absurd position. She was standing naked except for her thong panties, still holding her arms over her head. In a snap, Bimbo covered her breasts with her hands and practically jumped into the dressing room.
**
On the way home, she cried aloud and said, “How could I let him do that to me!? What’s wrong with me?”
Bimbo was disgusted with herself for letting the tailor grope and fondle her.
She had only been gone for an hour, but it seemed much longer. She ran into her room and shut the door.
Bimbo had been living with her dad and sister since her divorce from Tayo. She and Tayo split everything and sold their house to divide the assets when they divorced. She hadn’t found another place to live yet, so she stayed at home until she did. All she wanted now was to be alone.
In the solace of her room, she flopped onto the bed and buried her face into her pillow, letting the tears flow. She felt like a silly teenager.
She heard the familiar secret knock that only her sister knew. It was Tania.
She sniffled, blew her nose, and wiped away the tears as best as possible. “Come in.”
Tania came in, closed the door, then crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, how did it go?” she asked snidely. Her expression said it all.
Bimbo was genuinely sorry for procrastinating, but Tania’s bristling attitude only worsened things.
But Bimbo was determined to come through for her younger sister.
“It will be finished on Thursday evening,” Bimbo remarked quietly, looking away.
Tania immediately regretted her harsh attitude toward her sister. Bimbo looked like she had been crying. Tania realized she had been too callous about her wedding and hadn’t thought about her sister, still upset from her divorce.
“That’s great news! So why do you look so upset?” Tania sat on Bimbo’s bed and petted her hair. Much like her mom would do to her before she had passed away.
“It’s nothing. Just frustrated, I guess.”
Bimbo couldn’t bring herself to describe what had happened to her at the tailors for some reason.
Tania felt sorry for her sister.
“Is it Tayo?”
“Something like that. I think I just need some time alone.” Bimbo felt like taking a nap.
Bimbo lay down to sleep. She cried some more and curled up in a ball, wallowing in her self-pity.
She couldn’t get Arinze’s wandering hands out of her mind. His mixture of gentle and firm squeezes, the way he smoothed her dress and grabbed her body. His strange mannerisms.
She was disgusted by the skinny man. Disgusted by his fake politeness and wandering hands. His prodding fingers. His perfectly white teeth and the smell of spices that clung to his clothes.
Bimbo fell asleep as she thought about the scene at the tailors.
After waking up and taking a shower, she felt a good deal better. She decided not to tell anyone about her being molested by Arinze. ‘It wasn’t that big of a deal, after all’, she rationalized, ‘he was forced to touch me in intimate places simply by the nature of the job.’
She continued her thought process. ‘I’ve seen tailors measure men’s inseams and smooth the fabric of their jackets. I’ve even seen Dad take his trousers off and stand there in his underwear waiting for the tailor to mark up his sleeves. I guess what Arinze was doing wasn’t all that out of the ordinary.’
Her rationalization helped to temporarily quiet her guilty conscience. She buried the fact that there was no practical or professional reason for Arinze to measure her inseam since she was having a dress altered.
Bimbo worked as an accountant for a beverage company and had some work to do before she could fully relax. Her job had her travelling quite a bit, which could be a hassle, but the job also allowed her to work from home whenever she wanted, which was a huge benefit.
That evening, as she finished her work emails, she lay on her bed in a short, white skirt and tank top.
She had been having difficulty putting Arinze’s wandering hands out of her mind. Perhaps she should report him. Who would she call? The police? If she did, how would she get her dress back? Was this more important than her being the maid of honour in her sister’s wedding? Her head was swimming with thoughts.
Ultimately, she decided that as offensive as Arinze’s creepy touching was, she never felt threatened, nor did she feel that she made even the most minimal effort to get him to stop and that the police would most likely not take her complaint seriously as a result.
She was faced with the fact that she would either have to retrieve her dress and have someone else work on it this week, or be more assertive when she returned for the fitting on Friday.
Bimbo thought back to the tailor’s shop that day. She could remember the way that they manhandled her. He was non-stop with his touching, fondling, rubbing, poking, groping. She thought that he must use his trade to secretly touch women as he was performing his duties as a tailor.
‘What a pervert,’ she thought, feeling a strange tingling. She dismissed admitting to herself that she was getting turned on.
She remembered very vividly the way he pressed her breasts together and took liberties with her bare, exposed nipples by twisting and rubbing them.
Bimbo recalled his soft, yet firm and capable hands smoothing the material and squeezing her waist. He seemed to have had his hands all over her at once. She also seemed to remember him touching himself, but at the time she shrugged off the thought as being a figment of her imagination.
Arinze. He wasn’t very tall, probably just slightly taller than she was. Very polite, but somehow domineering. Again, she thought back to the way he touched her.
He seemed to know how to touch a woman.
She thought, ‘Tayo didn’t know how to touch me. He squeezed too hard and didn’t touch me to make me feel pleasure, only to pleasure himself.’ Arinze’s touching was different.
Bimbo’s nipples throbbed and became hard as she thought back to the considerate, yet firm way he touched her breasts. It was like she was being worshipped by the man.
She had never in her life thought of a pauper like that sexually, in fact, she could not recall a time when she thought of them at all. Now, she couldn’t get the thought of Arinze out of her mind.
In a matter of about ten minutes, Bimbo’s thoughts evolved from turning Arinze into the police for molesting her, to wanting him to touch her more and with greater license.
She recalled his fingers and thumbs flicking and rubbing her needy, firm nipples as he was making his adjustments…while she was all but entirely naked on the platform.
Bimbo turned on her side in her bed.
She was experiencing inner turmoil: hatred for Arinze for feeling he could touch her sexually without her consent, and then arousal from Arinze touching her sexually…without her consent.
Enough. She resolved to put Arinze out of her mind. She tried to think of the wedding, now less than a week away. How would she handle men coming up to her and asking her to dance? She wasn’t ready to have a boyfriend. Nor was she ready to date. She had to be more protective of herself so she wouldn’t be used yet again.
Her thoughts returned to Arinze. That fucking perverted man.
‘Why was I so wet when he rubbed me? How embarrassing! His touching was driving me mad! He felt my wetness. He knew I was wet! Oh, my God!’
She rolled over onto her knees and smashed her face into her pillow.
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