It started the day she moved in — Tolu. Fine girl. Brown skin. Legs for days. She wore wrapper like it was lingerie. Even her towel had attitude.
The first time I saw the red pant on the line, breeze was already trying to take it. I looked left. Right. Nobody. It smelled like strawberry and body heat. I pocketed it.
I told myself it was madness. But that pant lived in my drawer — like a dirty little secret. By the third one, it became a ritual. She’d hang them. I’d wait till midnight. I never touched anything else — just the panties. Always freshly washed, always tempting. But that black lacy one… That one was different.
The night I reached for it, it felt like the air changed. Then I heard her voice — soft, knowing, dangerous:
“Enjoying the fabric?”
I turned. My mouth dry. My hand still holding the pant.
And then… she kissed me. My God. That kiss felt like thunder wrapped in velvet. She pulled me into her heat like I was born for it. No shame. No small talk. Just hunger. My fingers traced her back. Her thighs. She whispered “you’ve been bold enough to steal — can you handle the real thing?” We didn’t even pretend to be civilized. Her body moved like she’d fantasized too. Every moan was a confession. Every touch, a question I was dying to answer.
And when it was over — when her legs stopped trembling and her breath slowed down — she pulled away, smiled, and said:
"Next time, knock."
She took one pant and left another — this one red, silk, and still warm.
I kept it. Of course I did. To be continued…? Next part: The day her aunty catches them. Should I go there?
11 9
The Panty Thief Of Surulere: Part 2 (Kunle's Story)