Tolu had just returned from NYSC camp and moved into her aunty’s compound in Surulere — you know the type with shared balcony, nosy neighbours, and Sunday rice smell in the corridor.
She washed her clothes one sunny Friday morning and hung them like every other girl in the compound. Later that day, when she went to bring them in, her favorite red lace pant was gone. She thought it was wind. Or maybe one stubborn goat that roamed the compound sometimes.
But the next week, it happened again. This time — two of them. Silk. Freshly washed. Gone like rapture. Her body tingled with a strange mix of irritation… and curiosity. She began to suspect the guy in Room 5 — Kunle. Quiet. Fine boy. Always reading book like say he dey study rocket science. But something about his eyes — the way they lingered too long when she passed in towel — felt… loaded.
So she set trap.
She washed a single pant — black, lacy, wicked — sprayed her best body mist on it, and pegged it like bait. Then she waited. Midnight. She pretended to sleep. Windows slightly open. Lights off.
Shk shk shk — she heard movement.
Her heart raced. She tiptoed out… barefoot, holding a wrapper.
And there he was. Shirtless. Muscles catching moonlight. Pant in hand. Breathing like someone caught between sin and satisfaction.
"Enjoying the fabric?" she whispered.
He froze. She stepped closer.
“Since you like stealing them, maybe you should see how they feel on me… up close.” Before he could stammer an excuse, she pulled him in by the waistband of his shorts and kissed him — slow, deep, and deliberate.
It was the kind of kiss that tasted like trouble. They didn’t make it to his room. The corridor became a canvas of whispered moans, gripping hands, and breathless confessions. And when it was over, she took her pant back… but left one behind — this time, on purpose.
The Panty Thief Of Surulere
