How The Okada Ban Made Things Hard (Pun Intended)

When Abuja enforced the ban on commercial motorcyclists known as Okada, other major cities followed suit.

I wondered how I was going to be making it to work and back, as okadas were the fastest means of transport in the clogged motorways of the bustling city. I patronised a regular okada rider, his name is Chuks. He is a handsome, light-skinned muscular guy in his early twenties. We simply took to each other from the get go; whether it was his looks, his pleasant manners or the fact that he spoke perfect English unlike the other okada drivers, I couldn’t quite tell.

I eventually found out that he had completed his OND already and wanted to go further but had no one to support him, so he had left the east for Abuja, and taken to okada riding to make a living.

His enthusiasm and enterprise made me like him even more, and I wanted to know more about this educated okada boy. I just didn’t know my chance would come so soon.

It was that first day the okada ban was enforced. The police seized motorcycles all over town and traffic was mad. I suffered greatly that evening, like most other commuters who were trying to get home to the suburbs from the city centre.

And just when you thought it couldn’t get worse, the clouds gathered, heaven opened and the downpour descended mercilessly.

I was drenched, and pissed off at my sorry life.

Clutching my bag to my wet chest like a market woman, I huddled underneath a guava tree, shaking like a leaf in the wind and watching to see if I could get an okada to stop. But they either zoomed past without stopping, or parked under the shaded areas where the crowds stood in the pouring rain.

That was when Chuks spotted me. He flashed me that toothy grin and when I didn’t smile back as usual, he slowed down, revved his engine to where I was, and asked why I was downcast.

I told him how stressful getting home had been and that the heavy rain had really dampened my spirits. He said, “O boy, na so we see am o, Wetin man go do?’ And then, he offered me a ride home since he was closing for the evening. I accepted happily, killing two birds with one stone – getting away from the cold windy bus-stop and being close to my favourite okada rider.

As he leaned forward and spread his thighs, a cylindrical bulge lined up along the inner side of his right thigh, one I couldn’t believe was anything other than a sleeping snake, a hidden weapon – or both. I stared and almost forgot to mount him – sorry, mount his okada – until he revved the engine and I started from my awesome reverie.

So off we vroom-vroomed on his throbbing Kawasaki along the bumpy route to my apartment inside mammy market.

Even though the ride was rough, the bumpy road served other purposes: every time Chuks manoeuvred over a bump, I automatically shifted into a position closer to him, and in a matter of minutes, we were body to body, his broad, muscled back to my chest, as we galloped along the wet bumpy road. It felt warm clinging to this okada rider; he didn’t seem to mind either, he was my shield from the stormy rain. He was thoroughly soaked as I was, and through his taut wet shirt I could see every detail of his sinewy muscular body. My loins stirred, and the space between my jeans and his buttocks suddenly felt tighter. I tried to adjust but it was too late; my lunging erection was nestled firmly in Chuks buttocks through his worn out linen trousers. I doubted he wore underwear because the heat of his flesh warmed my skin directly, like there was nothing between us. Every next gallop, Chuks nestled back a little till I wasn’t sure whether we were riding or fucking anymore. Whichever, it drove me crazy.

And he drove me home.

And when we stopped at my compound, the bike lunged forward and stopped with a jolt that threw me against Chuks. I had to prise my erection out of the cleft between his uplifted buttocks as I climbed down.

He looked at me, still with that boyish grin and refused my hundred naira fare. He said, “O boy, na de way you tanda for rain make me carry you, I don close for today…’

Gosh. I couldn’t believe he was being so nice.

As he made to go, I placed my hand on his and caught his gaze. I stuttered something about coming in and letting the rain die down before proceeding. He accepted without reluctance and switched off his engine. He parked properly and I ‘packed properly’ too, while his back was turned, all the while ogling the muscular round behind that stretched his wet trousers as he bent over.

In the house, I tossed my shoes and clothes off and put a large towel around me. I told Chuks there was a hot shower in the back, and I would fetch a hot drink meanwhile.

When I walked back in the room with two glasses and a bottle of Johnny Walker, Chuks’ naked torso was standing at my window admiring my graduation portrait on the wall. He had my towel on, and his body glistened with water from the hot shower. With his back to me, I studied his amazing form, from his sculpted shoulders to where his fleshy buttocks bunched up and disappeared into the wet towel.

I stood behind him and reached a glass around him. He was startled by my entrance and turned swiftly, knocking my other glass out of my hands. He apologized and bent to retrieve it, as I said not to worry and tried to get it before he did. In the process, our eyes locked again and my emotions gave way, as did the front of his towel, to reveal a tumescent phallus which made my bottle of whiskey look suddenly small. I gasped, he still smiled, and we both stopped on our knees, the empty glass still rolling at our feet.

The tight boxers I was wearing did nothing to conceal my poking penis, whose bulbous glistening tip simply pointed at the devilishly charming okada rider in front of me.

It seemed like an eternity and then he was on top of me. I fell underneath him and we grasped at each other and everything came off, and we were completely naked.

I reached out behind Chuks and grasped those muscular buttocks as our mouths met and his long strong tongue prodded deeply into my mouth with a passion that sent smoke to the ceiling.

I bit at his lips as he chewed on my tongue, then descended to his pointed nipples and sucked them till they dripped while Chuks moaned and tightened his firm grip around my raging rod. His pulsating erection must have been up to a foot long by now as he flipped over, spread his legs apart and said in a husky tone, “O boy, fuck me – I need it now-now… e don tey…”

I didn’t hesitate to fulfil his request, as I lubed his hungry hole with my ever-ready baby oil and sunk every one of my sheathed eleven inches deep inside his muscular ass…to the hilt.

Chuks whimpered and moaned like a woman while I made love to him that night, pistoning his smooth pussy with my engorged pulsating prick like a pile driver until oodles of sweat and oil glistened all over his manly buttocks and my taut, veiny, fully-erect man-shaft.

He was mine and I was his, and as I slid in and out, he kept calling out my name, asking me to give it to him. Thankfully, because of the pouring rain, we were screaming up a symphony and nobody heard our cries.

We made love endlessly like two eager warriors until we were both exhausted and fell asleep in each other’s arms. The next morning, Chuks drove me to the bus-stop, but not before we had kissed and sucked each other’s lips and swollen flesh for breakfast. His appetite for sex had no limits, it seemed, and neither did mine.

That was how I found love with a handsome okada rider. Our love, and our love-making, blossomed for the next six months, until Chuks found admission at Auchi Polytechnic, and moved back to the East.

We see each other from time to time when we can, and I support him in his endeavour to finish his education. We are a match made in gay heaven. And to think that this romance nearly never happened until the sudden okada ban…

Written by Lanre Swagg