FOREWORD: Everybody says I have to say something grand or do something drastic about yesterday’s furor. But I don’t. Not really. I just have a few things to say. No one should let his sense of self revolve around another person’s negativism. If you have an issue with someone’s comment, the ‘Like-Dislike’ button has been provided against every comment for you to express yourself. 🙂 And please, I can’t stress this enough, no more catfights. Every follower of this blog is a grown man (or woman?) and shouldn’t use the anonymity provided by the internet to act out his inner child.
Secondly, this blog is home to all forms of art and expression of the Nigerian gay man. ALL FORMS, as long it is not rubbish. For those expecting to have an intellectual orgasm anytime they click on here, I’m sure there’s a blog or two out there that celebrates Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe you can be a follower to. This forum is about expression of self; bear in mind that your ‘self’ isn’t always going to be someone else’s ‘self’ the next time you feel like pouring out your vitriol.
Finally, anyone who expects to read a certain kind of thing should write it. If you want unpredictability, write it. If it’s depth you want to read, write it. Chimamanda Adichie once said: ‘I write what I want to read.’ Kindly stop kvetching about other people’s efforts and write what you want to read. Write. Submit. I’ll publish.
Well, seems I said more than a few things. Here’s to hoping we can all be grownups thenceforth. Yes, I know, I can only hope. Lol. Anyway, here’s the feature story. It’s a non fictional piece by a Kito Diaries-ian, Queer Mike, who is currently recovering from heartbreak and disillusionment. The things wanting what others are not prepared to give you can do to a person. Read the story below.
The dawn of that long awaited Tuesday, came with the chill of a heavy rainfall that lingered from the night before. I did a double check on my well packed luggage; just to be sure no item on my list was being left out, with enough clothes to last for my two week visit to Lagos. I’d completed my semester exams the day before. I’d spent sleepless nights studying, and losing weight, just to see myself make it through the exams.
Weeks ago, while I was studying, my phone buzzed. I checked to see I’d gotten a Whatsapp message. It was from an ex-lover, Peter. I was surprised by that. Ever since he relocated to Nevada in the States, he’s hardly kept in touch with me. I nursed no grudge at all for that; after all, what we had was a one-night-thingie two years back, a quick shag during one of his business trips to Enugu from Lagos, one that eventually turned into a friendship. And we kept in touch even after he left Enugu. And then he left the country for the States and we lost touch.
We chatted for close to an hour. I told him how for over eleven months, I’d strictly abstained from online hook ups, ditched my countless friends-with-benefits, choosing to rein my emotions within the confinement of near-celibacy, this after I was set up by hooligans (one of them a brother of an ex-lover), massively beaten up and blackmailed afterwards of over 30 thousand naira. I told Peter how thus far, I’d sworn to never be with anyone else, until, by some stroke of luck, I meet someone good and kind and safe.
Peter empathized with me and said all the right things. Two days later, he told me of this trusted friend of his who saw my picture on his DP and wanted to get to know me…and that was how I got to know Emeka.
At the first glance of his picture, I wrestled a massive hard-on. I had to resist a silly but strong urge to lick the screen of my phone as I gazed at this monument-of-sheer-perfection staring back at me. Gosh – those lips! Pursed in an erotic way that made my parched lips to quiver for a kiss. He had those come-to-bed-eyes, with a dark hue that called out the name of my heart, as my hard-on kicked restively at my midsection. I was dying of want, yet I managed to keep the tone of my responses cool and civil during our getting-to-know-you chats.
“How are you?”
“I am Peter’s friend, my name is Emeka…”
“How was your day?”
I tried to keep my cool during the chat, intent on not making my crush too embarrassingly obvious.
“You look good…”
I paid him the flippant compliment, keeping to the tune of caution playing in my head.
But within me, I heard my heart saying: “Oh where have you been all my life, you sweet, sweet man?”
The days that followed saw my ‘heart’ steadily struggling with my ‘head’. Slowly, all of my defenses crumbled, piece by piece. It didn’t help that he was the most attentive, caring person, always calling and maintaining contact through every conceivable medium – BBM, Whatsapp, Facebook, Skype, texts, you name it.
And I was so hot for him. He was everywhere – on my BBM dp, my screen saver, in my dreams, in my heart. I had the hots for him. At a point, I fancied myself in love with him, and it felt so good.
He didn’t have to put in much persuasion for me to agree to come visit him in Lagos after my exams. The trip I was now all set to make.
The skies were still gravid with unshed rain drops, but not even Hades himself could deter me from this journey. With my luggage in hands, I rebelled against the weather by chartering a cab that would take me to the park. In under an hour, I had gotten to the park, purchased a travelling ticket and was seated inside the air-conditioned bus. Then I called papi to let him know baby was on his way.
I slept for a good part of the thirteen hour journey. I finally touched down around 5pm at the park in Ojuelegba, adhering to his iterated instructions to wait for him at the park. There was a rush of traffic, but he eventually came to pick me up. I drank in the sight of him as he approached, tired, and yet wanting him with every fibre of my being.
Soon, we plunged into the legendary gnarly traffic of Lagos, and several minutes later, we arrived at his abode in Lekki. It was an estate. We made it through the security point, and drove slowly through a domain that translated ‘aesthetic flamboyance’ in every single language I could possibly think up.
His apartment was posh. I was mildly surprised to find out he lived in such opulence, however understated. For some reason best known to him, he had left out that detail about himself during our chats. After dinner, I sank into the bliss of the well-made bed, beckoned him to me, and did what I’d been feverishly dreaming of doing for so long. I kissed him. I held on to the kiss like it was my last breath, and tried to pull him close. He pulled back, murmuring something about how we shouldn’t do this until I’d had my bath and rested.
But there was no stopping me.
I took the lower lip, and pressed the juice out of it. He parted his lips, and our tongues met in a fiery collision. He shot his tongue into my mouth and I melted into his arms. He pressed me into the bedcovers and devoured my mouth. I moaned for more as my erection pressed against the confinement of my trousers.
We finally broke contact, and he left the bedroom to attend to a phone call. I peeled off by sweat-soiled clothes and made for the bathroom. I was still in there when he joined me. We sponged one another, and then submitted to the want throbbing between us. We kissed underneath the running shower, grabbing hold of skin, while making sure not to trip over the alabaster smoothness of the tub. I gasped with need when he clenched his fist over my hardened cock, squeezing it and running his hand over the length, while his tongue licked me behind my left ear lobe. His hands flicked skillfully over various erogenous zones I never knew even existed in my body, with such shocking familiarity.
He must be the one, a part of my desire-hazed mind screamed out – the one that I have been waiting for all this time to come rescue me from my lonely konji-driven world.
Somehow, we made it back to the bedroom. We fell on the bed, and our lips met again frenziedly. We groped at each other, as his mouth journeyed from mine, down to my chin, and then to my neck. Our bodies were tightly pressed against each other like glue, and I could feel every inch of his rock-hard dick. His fingers traipsed down my spine, seeding trepidation along its path as he sucked my nipples. I clung to his body, and arched mine up and closer to him, wanting more and more of the pleasure his tongue was giving my nipples. And yet, he journeyed even further down, his tongue tracing a moist path from my nipples to my belly button, and then to my crotch.
When his lips wrapped themselves around my dick, I yelped in reaction to the pleasure that was at once torturous and divine. I thrashed about with need as he lavished kisses on my painfully erect dick, taking time to suck the tip, and then go down all the way, and back up and down, and up. Oh my God! I think I died and went to heaven in that moment.
Wanting to do something for him, I rolled around in a reverse position; reaching for his dick, I also began to suck him, loving that dick with every bit of my tongue and mouth. He sucked mine vigorously at one end, and I paid him back with an equal measure of favour at the other end.
And then, he stopped sucking me, grabbed my head with both hands and vigorously fucked my gaping mouth, his hips thrusting against my face. And then, he pulled me up, and pressed me to the sheets, while rolling a condom over his dick. And then, I felt the coolness of the lubricant as his fingers dipped through my anal sphincters.
Then came the first thrust – Whoa!
The pain slammed into me with a vengeance. Instinctively, I began to edge away from the thrust. He withdrew, and apologised with a kiss, while stroking my dick and attempting another entry. I moaned softly against his lips as he impaled me to the hilt. This time, it felt good going in. and then, he began to move. And I responded. And our bodies moved in unison.
And with each motion of him thrusting into me, with each time I lifted my ass to receive him, I felt my entire being suffused with love and affection for him. This couldn’t be just sex. This felt right – oh-so right!
It felt right when I sat astride him, my ass bopping up and down his dick. It felt right when he flipped me on my back, lifted my legs to the ceiling and plundered me down there. It felt right when I turned on my tummy and lifted my ass to him, while he banged away from behind.
And then, the moment came when we climaxed, me before him, our bodies quivering violently with the force of the orgasms. Goodness! I was positive there was no whit of energy left in me; everything had to have been drained from my body after that round of fierce lovemaking. But no, we went one more round that night before we fell asleep in each other’s arms, naked.
In the days that followed, my perfect sun fell from the skies… I wanted to give him more of me, but he only wanted much less of me. He became more of a hospitable host to a mere guest than the lover I wanted him to be. I was madly in love with him, and with every rejection I suffered, I felt a stab that reached deep to my marrows. On the third night, when I couldn’t take it any longer, I forced a kiss on him, on his lips – lips I once would have died for. That kiss told me all I needed to know. The burning flames that used to be there had died to damp ash.
I felt pain when I realized this was it. The end before there ever was a beginning. It wasn’t going to be the magical journey for the two of us that I’d envisioned. It was simply what all the others had been. Here this moment, gone the next. A casual hook-up. A fleeting dalliance. That hurt, because I hadn’t prepared my mind, my heart, for that.
And so was the story until I left his home, left Lagos the next day.
I’d come to this famed city, the Center of Excellence, looking to find love, to be with love, and all I ever got in the end was something that merely looked a lot like love.
Written by Queer Mike