Sometimes, I hate God. Don’t get me wrong. I’m Christian. I respect Him A LOT. I adore Him, but where being gay is concerned, I intensely dislike Him. Imagine that moment, as a child, where you and your dad are ‘struggling’ over the remote for your favourite TV programmes? I call it ‘struggle’ lightly, because it’s inevitable your father gets control. You can only rant and cry.
God took The Cook away from me. I still cry when I think about it.
I’m a late bloomer and for all my perceived sophistication, I’m quite naive. At the beginning of my journey into cyber world with my alter-ego, I had a cardinal rule – What’s on twitter remains on twitter’. I didn’t do hook ups, didn’t want to exchange phone numbers, Facebook IDs, wasn’t interested in sharing my nudes, and a whole lot more DIDN’Ts. It’s not like I was timid. I could be very brazen, but I just couldn’t imagine the negative publicity a hook-up-turned-sour could bring on my friends and family, and so I tended to avoid them all together.
So all the ‘Let’s hook up’ DMs went un-replied. I had specially formulated answers for the ones who were diehards. “I’m sorry, I’m very busy”, “Your house is quite far”, “I stay with my folks”, “I’m broke…and no, I will not accept money from strangers”, “Nude cams? I share my room o”, “My phone is too public” – the inexhaustible list of excuses always pissed them off and before long, the convos would die out, and I would lament at another friend I could have had.
The Cook sneaked into my life. He started as a quiet follower, then he finally decided to ask for a follow back after mentioning me and sharing jokes a couple of times. I obliged and we became good friends. I get jaded easily and just lumped him with the UNSERIOUS, but as time progressed, it dragged our relationship with it. I still find it hard to believe I gave him my number. He was to be a first in the series of number give-outs. He got to know everything about my real time world. My family, my friends, my job, my challenges. He became an anchor. When he requested we hooked up, I declined, giving him all the usual excuses, and prepared for the inevitable loss of a friend again. He took my excuses stoically. I was surprised however when the friendship blazed to greater degrees. After a long period, during which I was dying for him to ask me for a hook up again, he did, I accepted and we agreed to meet one Friday evening.
Now I think on it, I realise I have a lot of wahala o. While every other sensible person would want to look fly and sexy and all that shii, I totally dressed down, over casual sef and in nondescript, old clothes. If kasala go burst, I will not be accused by my dressing. My mannerisms were enough yawa. When we saw at a fast food outlet, after the exchange of pleasantries, his next words were “You look older than your pictures”. I was so shocked, I felt slapped. All the self-esteem I had withered.
What do you expect? Dressing like a hag, I thought. I blurted out my weak ‘I imagined you’d be taller” comeback.
He shrugged it off and we went in for the fries. All through the meal, we joked, laughed and gossiped like old friends, which we were technically, and on the way to the movies after the food, he dropped the next bombshell: “You do know this is gonna be a one night thingy, don’t you?”
My just-reviving pride died, burnt and its ashes scattered over the four winds in that moment. Osanobua!!! Na so I wowo reach? I was scarred for life. I wasn’t that much a dreamer to expect a relationship at the snap, but I didn’t expect him to be so cruelly blunt about it. I spent the rest of the evening in silence.
After the movie, we went dancing on my request. The Cook said he didn’t dance, but what did I care? I needed to drown in the happiness dancing brings me after my disaster date. Twisting, winding and getting down to the beats, I danced with everybody and anybody who wanted to. During one of my potty breaks, I checked my messages on my phone and saw a message on the screen. “You look sexy when you dance.” It was from The Cook. I just hissed and boned and continued dancing.
We spent the night together at his place. I’m not much into describing sex, but suffice to say, it was DRAB. I walked out of his flat the next morning without answering his goodbyes. When I got home, I cried myself to sleep and prepared to forget about it all. I half hoped he would call me but he never did.
Then, I woke up to his message a full month after. He had missed me and could we hook up again? Just for company? That message sealed my fate. We had great sex on our next date after much shakara, and I was hooked for life.
It was the beginning of a year of bliss. He asked me out, and we became a couple. He asked for an open relationship, but I’m quite certain that all through it, he never cheated on me. He’d tell me about flirting with others o, but sleeping with them, no way. He knew I slept around though. He’d share every moment with me. I had never felt so loved, and so needed when one time he called me when he was ill and wanted me at his side. When I confronted him on the things he said when we first met, he apologised and said he hadn’t meant them. He said he wanted to convince himself.
But all this bliss was not to last. He started being all churchy at some point – those periods of our lives when we fear for our eternity. I expected those and wasn’t too alarmed. But it started to disturb me when he would go all preachy on phone when he called, quoting bible passages and going on retreats. At that that point, I knew I was losing a battle with the Almighty. I had to let him go.
I’m not so sure I can have a healthy relationship with anyone, anymore. It’s just sex when and where I can get it. The Cook is always a standard, one I don’t think anyone could beat. He was perfect. Mature, Young at heart, fun loving, reserved, knowing when to say the right things, it wasn’t just sex with him, it was making love, pampering…
*sigh* Well played God, well played.
Written by Trystham