A few months ago, a certain KDian was published with a story about his friend who is a good dancer and who intended to partake at a campus competition. This KDian was worried that since his friend is effeminate, his dancing at the competition might draw unnecessary attention to him and perhaps confirm the speculation and rumors about his sexuality, and then he, being close friends with the dancer, would automatically be tagged as gay.
As someone who has become comfortable with his sexuality and in his own skin, it’s easy to dismiss these concerns with an impatient wrist flick. But then, I remember my days at the university, when I was scared to death of anyone even having the slightest flicker of suspicion concerning my sexuality. I was so obsessed with covering up my tracks and ensuring that no one ever had any reason to imagine that I was anything but heterosexual. I devoted enormous energies and resources into being “one of the boys” at the expense of my true self. Apparently my efforts didn’t go far enough, because a few gay gays with very functional gaydar ‘sniffed’ me out and would occasionally come over to ‘say hi’. My response, driven by blind panic, was usually the same – a frosty countenance, and an inward prayer that no one was observing me interact with these ‘gays’.
I’m sure I missed out on some good times and fulfilling friendships. Thankfully, I grew up, understood myself better, gained more experience, embraced my sexuality, and even though I’m not out, I devote far less time and energy on putting up false appearances.
I understand the fear of being ostracized or stigmatized in the university campus – it is a legitimate fear. But you have to realize that you only have one life to live. Those individuals you strive so hard to impress will very soon have no meaningful roles in your life. There is definitely a need to be discreet, but it can be counterproductive when you become overly obsessed and consumed with discretion. Speaking from experience, the fear and paranoia can eat so deep into you as to rob you of completely exploring the fun and adventure that life has to offer.
For you, a young, single gay Nigerian, who is obsessed with living right by society, pause and take some time to look back. Contemplate the things you regret. And you’ll see that what you’ll regret most are the thing you didn’t do, more than the things you did o.
I shall never understand why some people can’t accept a polite but firm ‘No, thanks.’ Even if the response got lost in translation when it was first given, at some point, its reiteration has to register, and then you can move on.
A while ago, I traveled to another city on some personal business. I have an old friend who works with a bank in the city. In the evening, when he was done with work, pursued by boredom from staying with my uncle and his family, I went over to his place. While we were catching up on old times, his phone rang. He spoke into the phone for a few minutes and then began to get dressed, after asking me to accompany him to see a friend of his whom he did not want to be alone with.
And so, I got into a cab with him and we headed off. We arrived at a hotel where the ‘friend’ was staying. He turned out to be a regular fifty-something-year-old man, chubby, with a heavy paunch, the kind of body that probably hadn’t seen any decent exercise in about twenty years. I have nothing against older men; I actively cultivate their friendships as a lot of them have years of wisdom and experience under their belt, and they frequently come in useful in many ways.
So this older man – we shall call him Rick. The three of us shook hands and introductions were made. Rick sounded well educated, urbane and cultured. This was a big relief. I also sensed that he was a wealthy man who was used to getting his way with younger guys once he flashed his wealth. My eyes quickly took in the dressing table cluttered with two expensive-looking designer wristwatches and expensive perfume bottles, and the designer shoes and the like strewn around the room. This was indeed an older man with money and he had the swag that goes with it. I liked him more and more with each passing minute.
Soon, we were caught up in a conversation on a lot of issues from current affairs to business to politics. I was glad I had quickly made another friend with whom I had so much in common.
My friend smokes, and at some point during the conversation, excused himself to go out for a quick drag. The moment the door shut behind him, Rick threw off the charming, urbane mask; in its place was naked raw lust. This man wanted to fuck me by all means possible. He started by telling me a long flowery tale of how he was love-struck with me at first sight and was ready to do anything for us to be together. How he would drop every other man in his life, how he would spend money on me take care of me. I struggled to hold back my mirth, while mentally rolling my eyes at this tired spiel I’d heard in the past. I politely declined his proposition, but assured him that I wouldn’t mind being friends with him. Anything beyond a platonic relationship was not going to happen.
But he must not have heard me, because, quick as a hooker servicing a high paying client, Rick’s clothes were off; he stood before me naked as the day he was born, while I was still fully clothed down to my shoes!
He continued: “Don’t you see how hard and horny you make me… I’m sure my body’s going to move you… Let’s do this nau abeg…” He had switched from crisp English to randy pidgin. He moved right in front of me to block my view of the TV, which I’d been looking at to distract me from the unpleasant situation. He was hung, to be honest! Like a horse! That dick was every power bottom’s wildest dream. But the rest of his body – amply protruding belly and man-boobs, all which jiggled this way and that, each dancing to its own different tune – nah, wasn’t working for me. I just wasn’t sexually attracted to him. I wasn’t when he was fully clothed, and I wasn’t now he was strutting his junk. I was actually starting to get repulsed by the whole spectacle. This man however simply wasn’t going to take no for an answer; he kept trying to grope and wrestle me onto the bed, while I danced around the room, politely trying to avoid him. At this point, I was willing to excuse his aggression and put it down to the gra-gra that came from a first meet; there was still a chance we’d be friends, I thought.
A few minutes later, my friend knocked on the door. Relieved, I rushed to let him in while Rick hurriedly got dressed and retrieved what was left of his pride. He asked for my phone number, which I gave him as we left. My phone was in my pocket during the ride home, and when I got home and took it out, I saw several WhatsApp notifications. They were from Rick. He was asking me to sneak back to his hotel and spend the night with him; that maybe I was shy because I didn’t want my friend to know that he and I had done anything. I politely replied that it was not going to happen, I also told him patiently and in the nicest possible way that I really wanted to be his friend, but that sex between us was just NEVER going to happen. At this response, he flew into a rage, and began calling me all sorts of unprintable names which included nicer ones like “arrogant queen” and “stupid, proud empty boy”. *sigh*
The things we see in this gaybourhood though… Since when did it become compulsory to sleep with everyone you meet?
Anyway, Rick later called to apologise (and try some more to seduce me); he said he’d felt bitter at my rejection. By this time, I’d lost interest in pursuing a relationship with this man. I get easily turned off by rude and manipulative people, who assume that with their money and influence, every guy is up for sale. So I blocked him off on whatsapp, and texted him to kindly delete my number, as I wished to have no further communication from him.
I don’t expect everyone I meet to be attracted to me. And I am entitled to be attracted or not attracted to whomever I meet. Even if this case of unrequited attraction were to happen, I expect that at some point, the guys involved would get the message and move on.
And that’s what I’m doing now, beeshes! I’m moving on. Till next time. Stay fabulous!
Written by Khaleesi