A friend of mine had a very terrible kito situation recently; it involved some young guy who came over to his apartment for a night-over and left with some valuable stuff in the morning. My friend tracked him down to Uniport to ask for his stuff back (the tablet that was stolen was company property). Anyway, it got really messy and the police was involved and all, and eventually my friend parted with some money (a lot of money actually) to bury the matter. Anyway, after this unfortunate experience, he told me he was “quitting being gay.” I asked him if it was a switch that can be turned off and on, and he said that yes the feelings won’t go away, but he would no longer be involved with men,
“What has this thing fetched me Dennis? All troubles… I had an extra year in school… I eventually graduated with a Third Class… To get a job was war… Kito left, right and centre… Abeg, I am out!”
Now I wanted to point out that the setbacks he had were because he made poor choices which did not necessarily have to do with him being gay, but I held my peace, seeing as he was in pain. Eventually I told him to look at my life; I am gay too, but I was a stellar student who set a departmental record upon graduation (can I brag a little please, guys?). I don’t stumble into one kito after the other. It all comes down to making sensible choices in life. In the end, I told him if this thing he was going to do was going to make him happy, I’d support him 100 percent, because at the end of the day, I just want him to be happy and satisfied.
He started his journey, found solace in a particular church which he threw himself into and he was making progress on his journey, or so it seemed to me. We were still friends and I supported his choices, even though I didn’t think much of them. When our mutual friends placed bets that he wouldn’t last three months without shagging a guy, I reprimanded them, reminding them that if this was what he means to do, then as his friends, we should be supportive.
Fast forward eight months later, another old friend of mine who lives in Abuja called me. (Let’s call him Eric)
Eric: Hey, sup with you, long time.
Me: Look what the cat dragged in. Where have you been?
Eric: I dey o. Work mata, school mata, man mata…
Me: lol. May man mata not kill you. So whats up?
Eric: You know when person wan marry, him go ask about the husband-to-be…
Me: Ehen, which unfortunate man wan marry you?
Eric: Your head there. Anyway, there is this guy on my case, and since he lives in porracort, I say make I ask the pitakwa lord whether you sabi am, whether e safe for me to chook head. I am sending you a photo now.
Let me save you the long gist. He sent the picture and – surprise, surprise – it was my repented friend. My other friends nearly died from laughter when I told them, shouting their ‘I told you so’. On my own, I felt sorry for him. Clearly he could not keep up the charade, and he did not want us to know, so he would not be laughed at. I decided not to bring it up, until he feels comfortable enough to tell me, and then I would let him know that you cannot run away from who you are. I have been down that road and it leads to nowhere.
I have been in Port Harcourt for a long time, and it is fun running into some people I knew way back. Now way back when I was younger, there were guys who did not give me the time of the day… you know, the kinds who avoided anyone not employed? When I was in university, we would chat on Yahoo Messenger and all, and connect very well, but the moment I mentioned I was a student, that was the end. They’d start avoiding me, and I was in a dilemma because I always dated younger or older (never my age mates). So the younger ones would hear ‘student’ and move on (clearly this one cannot buy me expensive stuff), and the older ones would hear ‘student’ and run away (this one is looking for someone to sponge off), even though as the youngest kid in my family, I lacked nothing as a student. If I ever got broke, I’d call one of my seven other siblings and mention some fictitious textbook and – voila! – bank alert (don’t judge me, y’all did same). Anyway, it was always a herculean task to meet someone beyond fucking on the first date, but I figured school would soon be over and I’d be fine, right? Wrong. It continued into my NYSC and I served at the time when allowee was N9700, not now that corpers are balling with almost 20k.
After NYSC, I was at home for about two months before I landed my first job, and those two months felt like torture. The moment I mentioned to a guy that I was just out of service and unemployed, that message would be read and never replied. And sometimes, by the morning, he would be gone from my BBM.
So recently I ran into one of those guys at Port Harcourt mall (which is the place to go to if you are shopping for Uniport twinks; simply take a stroll to Mr Price upstairs and thank me later). I saw him pulling into the parking lot, while I was just getting out, and I pretended not to see him, until he called my name. He had doubled in size (tripled more like) and had squeezed himself into clothes he had when he was slim. I said hello to him briefly, and headed inside to pick up the stuff I wanted. I won’t lie though; it felt good to be the slim one and him the fat Albert.
At night, he swung into my whatsapp (surprise, surprise, he still had my number) and he started preaching about how he wanted us to be an item and how he missed an opportunity… yada, yada, yada…*rolls eyes*. Eventually I asked him what was different now, seeing as he did not want me back then. What was different about me now? He went on about how better looking I was and how I had matured. I told him that was bullshit.
“You think,” I replied, “that now I have a job with financial independence, it will be nice, seeing as I won’t have to bother you for money or anything. lol. Anyway it’s great that I have the job and all, because now I have the power to choose, and you are not even close to what I would choose if I am tossed into the man-supermarket. Do have a good evening.”
Then I went ahead to block him, and that felt very good.
I do not understand people’s fascination with nude photos. And I don’t get how people actually take nude photos of themselves and store in their phones; like if your phone gets missing, what would you do about the mess? lol. I have been doing a lot of ‘online shopping’ (if you catch my drift), and I’m starting to get that this nude photos issue is always a biggie for some people. Naturally gay porn does not move me (I rarely watch it), and seeing pictures of naked men or naked body parts does not make me flip over. I have other perversions (which I shall not be writing about, thank you very much).
Anyway, so I was shopping on Hornet recently, and this guy sent me a message. Seeing as he was close to me, I replied, and soon we were chatting away. Eventually we moved to BBM and continued talking. I was getting a feel of his personality and was liking him. I had school work to get to, but I continued chatting with him. Naturally the conversation moved to sex and I was answering his questions as well as asking mine. Then suddenly he sent me a picture of his ass, and then another one and another one. I must confess, the dude was packing cushion; it was like two soft loaves of French bread.
Then, he asked for my own nude photos and I told him I did not have any. And he was like, “You mean you don’t have any saved on your phone?” And I said no. He asked me to snap one and send to him immediately, and I declined, saying I don’t send nude photos, adding that if we got along enough, he would eventually get a live feed. The guy flipped and started calling me names, that he sent me his nudes, why wouldn’t I send mine. I calmly reminded him that I did not ask for them, that he sent them out of the benevolence of his heart, and that I did not have such benevolence. A lot more cussing took place before I deleted his ass off my BBM, along with his photos.
So much ado about nude photos… *shaking my head*
I get that some people love seeing nude photos. I don’t get moved by them, but if you send me some, sure, I will view them (it will improve my blood circulation). Call me prudish, but I just cannot reciprocate the gesture.
On a final note, one consequence of writing this journal is that some of my friends now hide stuff from me, and some who previously confided in me no longer do so because they think whatever they tell me will be a journal entry. lol. Yes this journal is not fiction and some things that happen, I do write about, but I would never write about sensitive things that affect people that I care about.
A few days ago, some lovely individual came on to me via email from KD. He wanted us to be lovers and all, and then he said, “Please, if you turn me down, do not make a story about this, revealing my pseudonym, that I came on to you please.” I was offended by that statement. He must think so little of me for him to think that I’d do something as low as that to prove a point? In spite of what some people perceive me, I am a very warm and sensitive person and would never do something like that. So, no need to be paranoid.
That’s it for today, folks.