Blog_Love And Sex In The City“Who is Paschal smashing so vigorously like that abeg?” Ekene said with a giggle as he moved from the kitchen, through the connecting doorway, into the living room, where the rest of us were sprawled in various positions of relaxation on Biola’s carpeted floor and sofas. Muted coital sounds were floating out to us through the small corridor, from the guestroom at the end of the hallway.

“As in eh,” Adebola exclaimed, coming up behind Ekene. The two of them came bearing items of food we’d be having for brunch. “Since we came here, they’ve been cooped up inside there. Abeg, Biola, since when did your house turn into a brothel?”

“My dear, I have no idea o,” Biola said, as he stood before the television and flicked through DSTV stations. “Dude came to me yesterday evening with his squeeze, some young thing he invited from UniBen, and begged me to let the boy crash here for the night.”

“And you agreed?” I said with a mock-gasp. “Since when did you start becoming so charitable?” It is an understanding amongst us that Biola is just not the type of friend that will discommode himself over someone else’s convenience. He’s just not wired to be a Good Samaritan. Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The City“Get out! Get out, get out!” I panted furiously, tapping Paschal’s thigh with my right hand in small, rapid movements.

“What?” he muttered uncomprehendingly.

“I said get out!” Irritation and pain sharpened my tone.

He stiffened and then began to pull back. There was no care to his withdrawal, and the removal of his penis pulled at my anal skin, unlocking pockets of pain that caused my sphincter muscles to clench and another choked scream to erupt from my mouth.

“Gently, please…gently…” My voice broke, and tears stung my eyes.

My distress must have finally communicated itself to him, because he began to gradually inch out of me. Even with his deliberate motions, I still felt pinpricks of pain shooting up my spine from the orifice. When he was finally out, I felt the slight rush of air inside the ass hole that came from such a release, but with the pulsation of my sphincter muscles, the draft stung.

“Oh no, Declan…” Paschal breathed out behind me.

What – what is it?” I asked, turning my head around as I spoke.

He was peeling back the condom from his cock, and I could see that the latex was stained red. The colour of what could only be my blood. A wave of nausea at the sight surged through me, and I moved my right hand to my derriere, wincing as I tentatively touched my fingers to my anus. It felt moist to the touch. The pain throbbed.

“You’re bleeding…” Paschal said. Continue reading


FOREWORD: A fellow KDtian (Sensei says calling us ‘Kitodiariesians’ makes us seem like the extended family members of the, the delectable Miss Meiya, has a site that is up and running, which caters to the whims of the gay community. It is called That’s the site poster below. Do kindly show your support by checking on it and letting us know what you think. 🙂IMG-20140928-WA000

And now, for today’s feature episode…


“Paschal, what do you want?” I said coolly as the bike-man vroomed away from where we were standing.

“Oh come on,” he complained. “Are you still carrying face for me?”

I ignored him and started for the gate.

“Look, Declan, how many times am I going to say sorry for what happened with Bryson? I’m your friend for heavenssakes, and he’s just some random dude who fucked you and was too embarrassed to own it.”

“I’m sorry, why are you here again?” I fired at him over my shoulder as I unlocked the pedestrian entrance of the gate. “Because, if it’s to give me an apology, then you need better practice.” I shoved the narrow metallic portal inside so I could stomp past the gateway.

He was right behind me, and caught the gate, which was on a momentum to slam shut in his face from my vicious swing of it. He gently shut the gate and shot the bolt home, before starting after me again. “I have been apologizing since, taking the soft approach. Today, I’m here to force you to become friends with me again. I’m tired of you not talking to me.” Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The CityThere was no exchange of words, hostile or amicable, between Fabian and I before I left for work on Wednesday morning. In fact, I did not set my eyes on him, not since he confronted me last night. I remained in my room for the rest of the night, too distraught to even feel the hunger pangs or to simply give in to exhaustion and sleep off. It wasn’t until around 1am that I realized I was ravenous, and made my way downstairs, through the gloom in the house (my brother had turned off the plant, and NEPA still hadn’t restored the electricity) to the kitchen to take a quick midnight supper of buttered bread and tea.

As I started out of the house for work early in the morning, I walked past Fabian’s closed room door. I could tell by the subdued volume of some radio station’s morning music programme coming from the room, that he was awake. The electricity had been restored, and light spilled out from his room through the door jambs to the dim hallway; I could see shadowed movements cutting across the thin slats of light, which implied that he was moving about in his room. Probably packing for his trip to Port Harcourt later in the day, I thought.

I briefly battled with the thought of going in there to speak to him.

About what, the voice queried. Continue reading


FOREWORD: It has recently come to my awareness that some of the submissions I get usually go straight to my Spam. And because I simply click the Empty button, I lose them all. I realized this when I got some queries from some readers of the blog who were sure they sent me write-ups that I was positive I didn’t get. Plus, the last time I emptied my Spam, just before the line-up of bulk mails vanished, I spied a name and the subject ‘Kito story’ attached to the mail.

And so, I’d like to say, if you sent me any piece that I have neither published on the blog nor acknowledged to you, not informed you that I have gotten, please kindly, if it’s not too much trouble, get back to me via email ( Kindly tell me the content of your piece; if I recognize it as something that has been drafted and is pending, I’ll let you know. If I don’t recognize it, then it was probably emptied from my mail. And you may have to resend. I’ll be paying more attention to my Spam from now on. Again, I apologize for any inconvenience this might bring on anyone.


Blog_Love And Sex In The CityI have three siblings – two brothers and a sister. The oldest is Dede. His name is actually Obinna, but he’s much older than the rest of us, six years older than me, and so, what started out as an acknowledgement of his seniority gradually became adopted as the only name he’s called in the house, and sometimes by outsiders as well. The day Mother called him ‘Dede’, she caught herself, gave a self-conscious laugh and said with some self-deprecation, “Chim o, now my son has become my senior.” Dede works and resides with his family in Port Harcourt.

Tonia is the second-born, older than me by a year. We were both born in the month of September, me on the second, Tonia on the fourteenth. So there comes a time every year when the two of us are the same age, just for twelve days, and then she’s back to being my big sister. My parents usually joked that they’d had Dede as an only child for so long, that when Mother became pregnant with Tonia and had her, they’d eagerly gotten back into the sack to try for another child, in a bid to reassure themselves that Tonia’s conception wasn’t a fluke.

Mom, dad, too much information, I’d think whenever they told that story. Continue reading


FOREWORD: First of all, I will like to say that in recent times, I’ve been getting quite a number of mails from readers of this blog, brothers who are in different points of distress over their lives and relationships. They seek answers from me, and I have tried to give what I can. But I fear that I’m not entirely capable of doing right by them.

And so, in the spirit of helping, I’ve decided to open yet another segment on Kito Dairies. The ‘Dear KD’ segment, where I’ll update the blog with these enquiries, with the permission of the senders of course, and let the house offer ways these people can employ to help them with their circumstances. These updates may or may not bear the blog pseudonyms of the owners. (Whether I post their blog names is up to them)

And also, if anyone else has something, any entanglements that he needs the house to help him or her unknot, kindly email your grievance to me on

Secondly, I want to dedicate this episode of Love And Sex In The City to all those who have been hounding me to update the series. Most especially to that my witty friend with the witty blog. A lot of peeps have been on my case about the series, but this guy is – unfortunately for me – on my BBM friend list. So he has the unfettered access to bug me nearly every day for the past two weeks that I’ve been slacking. When he finally pinged me with a message along the lines of: ‘You know what? I don’t care anymore,’ I panicked (lol) and decided to get off my lazy ass and get to work. And so, here it is.

PS: If, dear witty friend, I find out that you reverse-psychologied me or something, I will kill you. Lol

PPS: Read and enjoy.

Click HERE for the previous episode of Love And Sex In the City.


Blog_Love And Sex In The CityMary Jane came late for the Monday meeting of the junior level staff of Fit Plus. One of the Operations junior managers of the company, Mr. Oyebanjo was speaking at the time. I wasn’t exactly paying attention to him. My focus was mindlessly centered on the face of one of my colleagues who sat five seats away from me against the conference table.

Lateef, I think his name is. Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The CityKing of Kings and Lord of Lords… Lover of my soul Jehovah… One and only God I am… Jesus Christ the Holy Lamb…

The melodious contralto of the gospel artiste, Cece Winans, backed up by other singers, floated through the atmosphere from Tonia’s room to mine, making my intention to sleep in on this Sunday morning quite impossible. It didn’t help that she sang along with the professionals, loudly, her screeching voice that tottered between soprano and some other unidentifiable pitch bouncing against the walls and causing me to groan. My sister is tone-deaf and so doesn’t know just how bad her voice is.

As I lifted my pillow to place it on my head, in a hopeful attempt to muffle the din, my phone began to ring on the bed beside me. I blearily peered at the screen to see Yinka’s name on it.

“How far,” I muttered when I answered the call.

“Dee, is today not Sunday?” he said without preamble.


“Tell me, is today not Sunday?”

Continue reading


FOREWORD: The latter part of this episode of Love And Sex In The City was informed by an actual occurrence involving two friends of mine, whose rights as a citizen of Nigeria were threatened. Oftentimes, our rights are trampled on and abused by the very same public servants whose job it is to preserve them. And in that rare case when an individual who knows his rights stands up for it – and wins – it begs for stupendous admiration and an ovation. I have applauded that friend. This episode is to let him know of my admiration for his effort as well. Check on it.


Blog_Love And Sex In The City“Can you just imagine!” Ekene burst out furiously. “Eh? When will we TBs learn to love ourselves in this country, learn not to backstab and cut down and take advantage of our fellow guys in this Nigeria, eh?”

“Honestly, it’s disturbing,” Adebola said. “The lengths some of us go to malign the rest of us is shocking.”

“Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned is old school,” quipped Biola. “Both hell and a woman scorned have nothing on a vindictive gay guy.”

My friends were still reacting to my news of what transpired at my workplace yesterday. It was Saturday, and Biola, Adebola, Eddie and I were back at Biola’s new place. Ekene and Jonathan were here too; Paschal couldn’t make it because he went on a booty call in Ikoyi (somewhere in Lagos State, a middle-aged, well-to-do queen was getting properly fucked). And Yinka was still away on a job.

“We should teach this Jim guy a lesson,” Eddie said. “Dee, do you have his photo. Give it to me, with his number and Facebook and Twitter accounts. I’ll just update his entire shameless profile on my blog, and shame him for all my readers.”

“Eddie!” the rest of us gasped laughingly. Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The CityUNKNOWN: Fake boy.

D: Who is this please?

UNKNOWN: Fake boy like you,

D: Well, that’s an improvement. I was beginning to think your vocabulary was limited to just two words.

UNKNOWN: Idiot! Faggot like you! Who da hell do you think you are?

D: Someone who has gotten sick and tired of your pestering, that’s who. Now kindly do us both a favour and get a life.

UNKNOWN: It’s your asshole that is sick and tired. Disgusting faggot! Lousy idiot!

D: It says a lot about me that I don’t even have your number stored in my phone. To me, you’re a nonentity. Thank God for Whatsapp’s block button, because after this response, I’ll be blocking you. So don’t bother sending me any more of these childish messages.

D: Get. A. Life!


I sat in the hallway that adjoined the conference room inside where moments ago, I’d sat with Mrs. Oguzie, Estelle and Dotun for a preliminary grilling session, during which my superiors shed light on the issue surrounding the complaint filed against me. Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The City“Oohm, you guys, this is a week day. Do I really have to be a part of this expedition?” I complained as the cool evening air rushing in through the open window in the backseat of Adebola’s car slapped across my face. “By the time we finish this waka, whenever that time is, I still have to get home and prepare for work tomorrow.”

“Let’s hear word abeg,” said Adebola as he turned around on the front passenger seat. Biola was the one behind the wheel. Adebola doesn’t like driving to places he doesn’t already know how to get to. “Is it only you that has a job in this car sef?”

“Abeg help me and ask him o,” Eddie interjected, turning to look me up and down with rapid eye movements.

I chuckled. “Last I checked, I’m the only one here who has a job to get to tomorrow. Biola is on leave, Adebola, you, you are a master of your own work hours. And Eddie, well –”

“And Eddie what?” he rounded on me with exaggerated indignation. “Ehen? And Eddie what? Is it because I don’t have a white collar, nine-to-five job, you now want to condescend to me, ehn? Better take several seats mbok.” Continue reading