I was ninety nine point nine percent sure i was dreaming. Nobody ever looked like this! He was perfection personified.
John Clement.
Even his name had a ring to it. I knew what he really was. I knew his type. I should have figured it right from the beginning. His golden honey brown eyes and very black skin. He could easily be mistaken for a fully sun-baked Ghanaian but i knew better.
His type, they loved the heat (even when there were temperature extremities). That was why they had freshly moved to Lagos. The blazing, scorching sun was bound to attract his type but the Clements were the first of their kind in Lagos.
I did not know why, but i felt a strong unexplainable attraction to John, ever since his blazing skin mistakenly touched mine in biology practical class when i was trying very hard not to touch the formaline-infested frog.
I remembered what i had read the previous night about their type when curiousity had gotten the better of me. Known to have descended from the same bloodline as Clifford Orji, there were known as the hot ones. It was said that midnight wast the best time to hunt. The best time for them to hunt.
John's image popped into my mind again. Perfect jet black skin, golden honey brown eyes. he always had that strength, that agility that just made you imagine him pounding yam! Yes! John Clement at his full height og 6 ft 5" was a perfect picture of the perfect African man.
The only exception was that i knew just what he was. A WINCHARD. He was from a full family of winchies and winchard. And a very hot..sorry i mean pretty..no beautiful black bodied family family at that. I had made up my mind to confront him that day but just as i crossed the field to where he was standing with the other Clements I heard someone call my name,
'Ekanma!'
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