By Eleanya Ndukwe Jr.
During the time when other presidents made official calls, setting diplomacy aside to engage in international conflicts in matters of national security, President David sent Joab, the Chief of Army Staff, thirteen mighty men of valour who headed other military units like the Navy, Police, SARS, and the whole Nigerian military force to combat the terrorists in neighbouring Niger Republic. He boasted of perhaps the strongest military unit in the entire continent, by consistently proving to be the principal supplier of military personnel for ECOMOG.
But he remained in Nigeria. When others chose to combat the enemy, not from the confines of their respective presidential villas but by leading the charge in first class military jets, counter-terrorism and taking the war to ‘defined’ enemies of the nation, he chose rather to relax and enjoy the beauties of life behind the walls of his luxurious Aso Villa mansion.
With upholstery made of fine mahogany woods and authentic leather covers, king-sized beds, walls plastered with the richest paints, floors of gold-crested tiles, beautiful landscape designs of richest aesthetic sense, 21st century lights gracing the entire building, flowers beautifying the gardens etc., he was never going to trade this villa for some crazy war zones. Not this time. He was the President, he decided what executive order to sign, what legislature to push for its implementation and above all, what war to be engaged in.
This was to become the biggest decision that would change the course of history, his family and his reputation as the most revered, influential, political, and spiritual president of his generation.
Strolling along the roof of his building one evening, he had not been prepared for the sensations that rippled through him by the sight of her naked body; as if all his senses had just been struck by bolts of lightning.
Who is this goddess with black, shiny curly hair falling over her slender shoulders down to her waist?
He thought to himself.
He had never seen any woman endowed with such beauty as this mysterious one with heavily lashed eyes of rich, luxurious green of emerald, that glistened with sparks of yellow and he had no doubt they could charm the life out of any mortal man.
Cheekbones that accentuated her overall look, with dimples placed on either side of her cheeks and seemed to caress her glowing ivory skin; artistically complimented by plush, magnificently ripe lips.
Those sweet lips. Damn! He could kiss them all night long.
Her nose-straight and thin. This was the perfect definition of beauty.
He stood motionless watching; amazed and in awe of her entire figure.
The fullness of her breasts with her nipples as such carved out from the finest of costly metals. Her navel was the finest he had ever set his eyes on. Small and perfectly placed on her taut belly.
Long, sinuous legs that greatly emphasized her amazing physique. All her features seemed to be of equal proportion he realized, thus showing what great deft and immense time the Creator must have spent on her.
Surely she was one of the prides of His creation; if not the number one. With that body, so lush and inviting, she had to be.
He could swear that the hands of time did stop as she repeatedly immersed herself in the pool with the suppleness of a dancer, taking each move with a careful composition of strength and style, bliss and grace. How he so desperately wanted to be her hands, for he would be privileged to touch her body as she was doing but with greater care and would savour every single moment, touching her in places that would make her go crazy with ecstasy.
Places he was sure would make her ask for more – to be the water dripping down her voluptuous bare breasts. Oh! He could not stop his eyes from wandering to the V of her groin.
It was like an inverted glorious peak of mount Olympus. What would it feel like to be inside of her? He pondered. He would give everything to find out. For what was life’s essence if not to unravel mysteries?
Ah! How he longed to have her at that moment.
He could already imagine both of them together: hands and shoulders, lips and thighs, engaged in definite, yet spectacular styles of intense, unreserved and unrestrained passion! The mere sight of her conjured vivid, wild images that sent his blood racing.
Was this an intentional act? Did he see a hint of deliberateness on her part as she bathed?
The way she let her hands stop just at the swell of her breasts as if she knew she was being spied on, how her eyes thundered more than words? He couldn’t say. Only one thing was certain though, like gravity, she was pulling him deeper into her aura.
Why had he not noticed her before now? He wondered regrettably.
Perhaps he had been so lost in his world of fighting wars and restoring captured ones from terrorists. Or maybe it was the other wear and tear aspect of governance – being frequently in the air, year-in, year-out, meeting to sign diplomatic and economic ties with different countries and presidents of the world – or so. Just perhaps. He tried unsuccessfully to justify the reasons, or whatever remained of his excuses for his ‘failure’.
Now, here he stood, suddenly feeling lost in a territory he thought he had captured years long past, no thanks at all to this goddess in nude. How come he could not muster the courage- the same courage that had earned him unrivalled success, prestige, and won the love and admiration of his people-to resist this temptation? Perhaps he realized that it was worthless to try. That if this was the only battle left to be fought, he had already lost it.
But then, before he got his soul entangled, he should have looked away he knew. After all, he was the harper and writer of psalms. After all, he knew the book of the law by heart. After all, he was the anointed leader of God’s people. After all, he was said to be the man after God’s own heart. But he couldn’t resist the temptation that was gnawing at his senses, his legacy, his salvation, his faith.
But then again, was it not written in another book that the only way one resisted temptation was to yield to it? With this, David, the shepherd boy whom God had picked from the dungeons to set him on the path to greatness, the man after God’s own heart, fell into sin.
Having lost the last drop of willpower to control the irrepressible urge in his almost fully-aroused loins, he hurriedly summoned the attention of his courtesans.
“Who is the beautiful damsel bathing herself in the Mikvah?”
He inquired like a man who had lost every ounce of traceable patience or peace of mind or both.
And one of the courtesans replied:
“My Lord. Is this not Bathsheba, the daughter of Eliam, the wife of Uriah the Hittite?”
He almost choked at the mention of her name.