Not Just Another Kito Story

Hi.

Came the message on WhatsApp. From a number whose contact I didn’t own.

Na so you dey forget person, abi?

That followed after.

I ignored the chat till I was settled for the day with clients whose projects I was in charge of. I responded later at 2pm with a curt ‘If you were important, I’d have remembered you.’ That was meant to discourage any more response.

It didn’t. He replied with, ‘C’mon, you don’t forget a dick like mine so soon, especially since you didn’t get to take it beyond oral.’

I laughed disdainfully, at this fool, and delayed responding until I got home. And then, I told him to take his hope of a dick which wasn’t memorable in the first place and shove it in a keyhole. I just wasn’t feeling the guy.

Two weeks later, he said hi again. This time, he followed it with. ‘Remember when you sucked me and didn’t lemme fuck you?’ 

HIS COMING OUT STORY (Edition 2)

”It’s only normal for you feel aroused.”

”But not when it’s a guy,” I replied.

”Listen, you’ve always liked girls, you can’t all of a sudden feel attracted to boys,” she countered.

This was the conversation that happened between my mum and I when I tried explaining to her that I might be gay. If only she knew, I thought to myself.

I was 14 at this time, and hadn’t realized what I was doing by telling her what I did. But I remember feeling an extreme need to tell my mum the way I felt towards my male friends, something she failed to grasp, or simply chose to deny. I was born into a religious, extended family; I have a brother and sister, but I have also lived with my uncles and aunties and family friends. Yes, my mum was quite the ‘philanthropist’.

Growing up gay, I had often deemed myself ”inadequate” and the ”disappointment” of the family. I love my mum and was always scared of how heartbroken she would feel if she found out her beloved son was gay. Yet it was a burden I couldn’t bear to keep to myself. Due to my religious upbringing, I had labeled myself the ‘ultimate disappointment’, both to God and to man. Growing up wasn’t the most pleasant of experiences.

HIS COMING OUT STORY

Fear. The underlying theme of my coming out story is fear. Fear of being discovered. Fear of being rejected. Fear of being unloved. Fear of hurting the people I love. Fear of facing my fears head-on, and then as a result, the fear of what would happen if I did.

I have always known I was different – gay – as early I can remember. From childhood, I have always been reserved, always playing with my drawing book and crayons (thank God for drawing skills). I remember my folks always asking me to go out and play and I’d sneak to the backyard instead; I was afraid that if I went out, “they” will find out. Nasty things happened as a result of that. Terrible thoughts, insomnia, suicide attempts, a nasty attitude and worst of all, I was afraid of myself. I felt like a mistake. Prayers were not working; the only thing working for me throughout secondary school was depression.

I got diagnosed with bipolar depression, and started taking some anti depression pills. And most times, I’ll OD on them with the hope that it will end my suffering. But well, the universe doesn’t make such things easy. Some people are born gay and they embrace it. The jigsaw puzzle just fits perfectly. It’s a part of them and they are proud of that, no matter what the world or anyone else tells them. That’s the way it should be for everyone! Unfortunately for me, growing up gay meant feeling isolated and alone.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 11)

I was about nineteen when we first met. His name is Sydney. I had just started my pre-degree program at the time in my current school. I was new to the place and wanted to meet new people. 2go Men’s Lounge was my next port of call. His username had something like ‘frenzy’ in it, and I remember thinking to myself, maybe we’d get to have frenzied sex if I liked him enough. We chatted a while, exchanged pics and then he called saying he’d like to meet. I was more than happy to oblige. I told him I was in class at the time and would see him on my way home. After lectures, I called him and got directions to where he wanted to meet and was glad that it was a public place – a guestroom-cum-whorehouse close to school. I got there and was having a drink when he came. We exchanged greetings. He sat down for a bit. There was a bit of a lull, that kind you get when two people who haven’t decided how to relate with each other meet for the first time.

Then, he stood up and said he forgot his keys and was going to get them. I was stunned. What a lame excuse. Forgot the keys where exactly, when he was just coming from his room? I was at the time quite chubby, and I understood that not everyone was into that. But heck, I had sent him a couple of pictures, and if he was not Blind Bartimeus, he should have been able to tell. I told curtly him to go and got up to leave too, I was really pissed. Later that night, I gave him a well-deserved piece of my mind for being such a time-waster. He deleted me from his contact list after that.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 10)

FOREWORD: You guys remember Unoma, right? Well, she has an ongoing literary project that concerns the Nigerian LGBTI community, one she wants us to be a part of. It’s a kind of anthology that intends to document our lives as gay Nigerians, our experiences, our struggles, and our peculiar ways of navigating the very hostile terrain of the Nigerian society. Telling our stories have the power to help upcoming baby gay Nigerians know that they are as normal as those of us who lived and triumphed over rejection, pain and oppression. Our stories can possibly reduce homophobia because it lets people see that we neither chose our lifestyles, nor live as gay men and women because of any spiritual or demonic forces.

We live and exist in our fullness because of the way we are. And we are a beautiful people.

And so, if you have any stories of survival and overcoming that you would like to be in the anthology, kindly either send to me on pantherptb@yahoo.com or to her on unomaazuah@gmail.com. Thanks, guys.

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I have read all the kito stories on this forum, but I have not seen one in the likeliness of mine. My story is almost one of a kind.

Peter Amechina (real name) and I were friends for seven years, starting 2005 to 2012, when my Kito story happened. We met in a bank. He walked up to me, having mistaken me for someone else – his pickup line, which I was impressed by. We exchanged numbers and not long afterward, we developed a quick rapport. We didn’t live in the same area, he in Enugu and me in Owerri, and so we maintained contact through phone calls and texts. BBM and Whatsapp made things easier years later.

Though sexuality was the string of connection, our friendship wasn’t based on sex. We were more friends with occasional benefits. Over the years, I got to know a lot about him and his family members, though I never met them, the same way he got to know about me and mine, even though he never got to meet my people. He visited me a number of times. One such time was in December 2008, when I was left in the municipality alone, and my folks traveled for the yuletide. He came to my house then, with a friend in tow, and we all had loads of fun during the period of his visit.

And so, seven years of friendship and trust rolled past.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 9)

It was all the hair on his person that attracted me to Bala first. He had a full head of hair, and sprinkles of it all over his arms and on the part of his chest that was visible above the top of his shirt. He also had this rugged bad boy look about him that strengthened the attraction I felt for him.

We were in front of the WAEC HQ in Yaba, Lagos, for the purpose of submitting a letter to get original certificates for the previous year’s GCE. I initiated the conversation with him, and soon, we were clicking like we were old friends. Perhaps it was the frustration of having already been turned back more than twice on the grounds that “the person collecting the letter is not around.” Maybe he liked me the way I liked him. I don’t know. But one thing was for certain: in that hot afternoon, I was heavily in lust with the hairy, rugged-bad-boy-looking Bala.

Before we parted ways that day, we exchanged numbers. And, boy did we talk. In the days following that afternoon, we talked and texted and talked some more. And with each call or text, I kept slipping in innuendos, hoping Bala would catch my drift, and luckily welcome my subtle advances.

Finally, after some pressing on my part, we decided to meet and hang out. The arrangement was for me to go see him at his place. When the day dawned, I was so giddy with the excitement of getting to set my eyes on Bala’s hairy loveliness once again.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 8)

I live in the ancient city of Benin. And this is my kito…or rather, near–kito story. It occurred (or almost occurred) right after my Post–UTME exams. I am sure a good number of us can remember passing through this period. It’s a time when it feels like you’re in limbo. You’re out of secondary school but not yet in the University, and it’s frequently a time of intense boredom which can reach a stifling intensity. It can last for several months, or even years if you’re so unlucky.

Anyway, I was on the verge of losing my mind due to boredom – Benin isn’t the most fun place to be – and so, I decided to spice things up a bit and create some fun and diversion for myself. I didn’t own a Blackberry then, and thus, didn’t have access to BBM. So I logged on to my 2go account and found a thriving gay chat room which was full of eager and available guys.

A Kito Story Gone Wrong . . . Or Right

It depresses me when I read kito stories of brothers who are bashed, battered, robbed and extorted by unscrupulous human beings whose final resting place is as much in hell as the rest of the Nigerian public say ours is. But it’s one thing when an anti-homosexual lot entraps a gay man. When the entrapment is orchestrated by a fellow gay man, it hurts. It burns like a wound inflicted by a pressing iron, and which is so searing it promises to take a long time to heal. Someone once said on this blog that there’s a special fiery hot place in hell for such disloyal brothers. I believe that. I also believe that such hell can be manifested for them right here on earth.

That is why this kito story I’m about to narrate is one I savoured with great relish when I heard it.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 8)

My name is Lexy, I am in my mid–twenties and I live in the Oil City of Port Harcourt. And this is my Kito Story.

I have over the last few months been reading the other kito stories published on this blog and have been struggling and agonizing over whether to tell my story or not. Eventually, I decided to write, even if doing so brings back haunting and painful memories. If this story can serve to stop someone else from falling victim like I did, then I believe my agony and pain would at least have borne something positive, however small its significance

Max was one of the first few friends I had on Facebook. We chatted often there, and over time we grew really close. Max is gorgeous; he’s of mixed origins, with Mediterranean/Middle Eastern features, flawless alluring skin and a face that made all sorts of wanton thoughts run through my mind each time I looked at his pictures. Despite my deep attraction to him, I resisted his persistent invitations for me to visit him. I don’t know, perhaps my sixth sense had already picked up on something that my other senses, beclouded as they were by my attraction to him, had failed to see. I always felt a faint unease about Max, despite his charming looks. I couldn’t explain it, but this small voice always held me back each time I was close to deciding to pay him a visit.

HIS KITO STORY (EDITION 7)

“Hello… Hey, Gabby, what’s up… For real? Kelvin is coming into town? How long will he be here for? … Ok, no wahala… I am coming, I’m coming…”

And then I ended the call.

Now, Kelvin is my friend, Gabby’s boyfriend, who doesn’t often come around. I secretly have a crush on him, but it’s something I will never act on . . . well, unless he dumps Gabby tomorrow and decides to carry on with me. Kelvin and I enjoy each other company, and as such, he always wants me around whenever he comes to see his boyfriend.

It was then 2:45pm as I left my lodge and hurried over to Gabby’s house, which was in town, so that we could scout for a good hotel for Kelvin’s accommodation, and make a ‘to-do’ list. When I got to his place, he was still getting dressed and took his time to come get the door, and it wasn’t very long before we settled into our usual repartee.

“Bitch, what was keeping you?” I fired as I followed him inside.

“Don’t mind me joor. You know I have to douche very well,” he replied cheekily.

“Oh, slut central,” I jabbed.

He laughed and began pulling on a shirt that looked like it was sprayed on him.

I gasped in exaggerated disbelief, “Bitch, that shirt is too tight, your boobs are screaming SOS.”

“That’s the idea,” he retorted coyly.