BASIC INSTINCT

He is French and about forty-five years old. (Let’s call him Pierre) A friend of mine introduced me to him sometime last year. At the time, he was living with his Cameroonian boyfriend. We visited them often, and we’d have lunch together and discuss vast issues. It was always fun.

And then, he split from his boyfriend, but our friendship blossomed. When it seemed as though he was putting the works on me, I made it clear to him that I don’t feel sexually attracted to men who are very much older than I am. He told me he respected my decision, and we continued being friends.

And then, he invited me to lunch at his place. We’d been talking about a wide range of LGBT issues through phone chats, and I figured lunch would be a good opportunity to rehash some of those talks and revisit the areas we disagreed on. And so, I honoured the lunch date on the late afternoon about two weeks ago.

Let Me Be Your Bitch

FOREWORD: As you can already tell from the title, this is an erotic work of fiction. I’m putting this out here for those who will commence reading, expecting some braingasm. There is none to be had here. It’s about delicious, filthy gay sex. And it’s PG 25, and PG ‘All Those Already Behind Their Desks At Work.’ 🙂 Read at your own risk and titillation.

*

It was on a Friday that I went to my favorite restaurant for lunch. This hot, young, new waiter that looked like he was not a day older than twenty greeted me at the door, and escorted me to my table. He was Caucasian, with ginger hair, hazel eyes, and a slim, well-proportioned, sinewy body. He stood at about 5-feet and 10-inches, and it looked like he weighed around 160 pounds. He looked like someone had poured him into those fashionable blue Levis and black shirt. His pants fit snugly and wrapped perfectly around the cute bubble ass I could see departing from me after he took my order.

Although the restaurant was packed with customers, he went out of his way to assist me. He seemed taken with me, and I could see that my physicalness that impressed him just as he had me. I have the dark skin of my African origin, am 40 years of age with a swimmers body. I stand at 6-feet, weigh a muscled 170 pounds, and look no older than my late twenties.

He kept returning to my table, asking me if I needed anything else. After the fifth trip, it was obvious that his behavior was out of the ordinary. He was smooth, oh-so-very smooth in his shenanigans. He stared into my eyes, extended his hand, rubbed his crotch up against my arm and said, “Hi, my name is Phil. And you are?”

NATIONAL CAKE

The following is a work of fiction, a debut effort by KDian, Masked Man. Enjoy.

*

It was 6.30pm by the time our bus got to Nyanya Motor Park. I was thoroughly exhausted. I never knew Lagos to Abuja was like Africa to Asia. I was in high spirits, a mood of anticipation at the beginning of this journey, you know, going to the capital city for the first time and all that. But all that good mood wilted when I was stuck in Lokoja traffic for hours that seemed unending.

My brother was at the terminal to pick me. I hadn’t seen him in seven months since his traditional wedding in May, at Nnewi. The church wedding was last month, but I couldn’t attend because I had an exam. He was looking quite different. Was that a pot belly? We quickly exchanged pleasantries, put my bag in the back seat and drove off. We kept bantering on different issues all through the short ride.

Adaora was at the door to welcome me, her dearest brother-in-law. She was fonder of me than the rest of my siblings. Perhaps because I’m the last or because I’m the sibling who is closest to her husband. Yes, Ugo is the eldest of us, but the two of us, first and last, have a special connection. Adaora sashayed toward me as I jammed the passenger car door close, and flung out her arms in a wide embrace that couldn’t take two people in. I took in her Jessica White body figure and we hugged for some seconds.

WHEN HIS CRUSH WANTS ME

It was really weird.

The moment he started touching me in the darkness of my room, I was confused as hell and scared my heart would jump out of its place in my body.

Was it possible that Ikenna was touching me? Was he high? Oh my God! I couldn’t believe it!

***

Ikenna was the ‘straightest’ guy I could think of. Rumor had it that anytime the catholic prayers were to be held in the quadrangle of the girls’ hostel, girls spent endless hour trying to look good to get his attention. He didn’t try too hard at all; the girls just fell like leaves in winter. He could literally fuck any girl in the hostel by simply telling her “I want to fuck you”, and she wouldn’t find it any bit offensive. He was that hot.

The Naked Truck Driver

CHAPTER 1

It was with the most sudden of starts that I was rudely evicted from my blissful reverie at the exact moment where I was about to insert my inflamed member into the inviting and warm crural crevice of my dream bottom.

Shucks!

My bedside alarm clock said it was 5 A.M. But Mother’s voice shrieked even louder.

With justified indignation, I slapped the shrieking alarm and picked up my new iPhone. I tucked my morning wood away and zipped up my traveling bag.

Mother and her friend were already outside, where my brother was waiting to drive us to the motor park. We were travelling to Abuja for a wedding.

Traffic was horrible, and by the time we got to Lokoja that afternoon, we were stuck. No one knew the cause of the traffic jam, and there were no traffic controllers in sight. Stranded commuters got out and strolled by the roadside, expecting to spend the night underneath the stars.

I got out too, pinging madly and sending my friends snapshots of the standstill.

And that was when I saw him.

I struggled to believe my eyes.

JUST THAT ONE TIME

There was this guy that had been bugging me for sex for years, Dotun, and I had been turning him down every time. I just didn’t see it happening. We met on Facebook. He was attractive alright, a model even. But I found him rather slow upstairs. I am a stickler for wit and intelligent conversations, so I felt he’d have nothing to offer.

I graduated from the University and moved back to Calabar. He was still on my case, with hope that I’d move to Lagos and give him a good fucking. I laughed at his delusion. We still hadn’t met.

I was posted to Taraba for my NYSC. I started the service there, but my parents would have none of it. They had me moved without my consent to Lagos. Dotun was happy. He begged to meet me and I kept posting him.

A year and a half afterwards, I’d secured a job and moved to my own apartment. His persistence wore me the hell out, and so I invited him over. We talked, or rather, he talked and I listened. I was bored, but I did find him immensely attractive. Night had fallen, and there was no light. The room was hot, so I told him to take his clothes off. He did so; I could tell he was a little shy, which i found odd, because as a model, shouldn’t taking clothes off at the drop of a hat be part of the job description? His clothes came off, and he laid back on the bed and we were silent for about three minutes. The longest three minutes ever.

Forced To Fuck

This is a very fantastic, university story that happened to my good friend, Lanre Swagg; I won’t mention the university where it happened; he asked me not to, I suppose, because someone might connect the dots and figure out his identity. Read. It truly is fantastic. And grotesque too. Read and let us know your thoughts.

*

That night, I had wanted to tell Sisi not to come because I wanted to sleep. But exams were close and she was nervous. We were the only two that offered PSY 204 in the faculty and she liked us to study together.

It was around 10 pm. She came with her boyfriend. I could never understand why he wouldn’t let her be. Didn’t he know we wanted to study? Or he thought I wanted to fuck his girlfriend. Tsk, tsk.

Anyway he was cute, a fair-skinned hunk with a permanent VPL in his jeans. No wonder my friend wouldn’t let him be either. I’d always had secret ideas about what I could do to him someday…lol.

Two hours of study later, I announced that I was tired and would be calling it a day. Not that the two of them would let me enjoy my much needed rest. They went at it all night like rabbits. My poor bed which I had sacrificed for them creaked until I feared the springs would give way.

That was when I heard the other sound, the loud rat-tat-tat on my door. My house was very far from the campus centre, so I wondered who could be visiting at past midnight. The knock sounded again, this time more aggressively, and it was followed by a dull husky voice: “Open Up!”

My Rebound Story

I still remember the first day I met Babangida. It was a sunny day, really hot. If you have ever lived or been to Gwagwalada on a sunny day, then you can appreciate what I am talking about. All my efforts at looking fresh, nice and sexy fell to ruins. I was sweating profusely, the handkerchief in my left pocket was already soaking wet.

Now that I think of it, I’m not sure if it was just the sun doing its evil job, or my nerves totally focused on ruining our first meeting. Thankfully, Babangida had a car. And better still, its air condition was fully functional.

As I stepped into the car, the chilly air felt like heaven. For a full two minutes, I sat down blank. Baba was speaking but I wasn’t listening. I was too busy absorbing the chilliness.

When I finally regained my composure, I quickly apologised for the silence. Baba understood and we drove straight to town.

A LOT LIKE LOVE

FOREWORD: Everybody says I have to say something grand or do something drastic about yesterday’s furor. But I don’t. Not really. I just have a few things to say. No one should let his sense of self revolve around another person’s negativism. If you have an issue with someone’s comment, the ‘Like-Dislike’ button has been provided against every comment for you to express yourself. 🙂 And please, I can’t stress this enough, no more catfights. Every follower of this blog is a grown man (or woman?) and shouldn’t use the anonymity provided by the internet to act out his inner child.

Secondly, this blog is home to all forms of art and expression of the Nigerian gay man. ALL FORMS, as long it is not rubbish. For those expecting to have an intellectual orgasm anytime they click on here, I’m sure there’s a blog or two out there that celebrates Wole Soyinka and Chinua Achebe you can be a follower to. This forum is about expression of self; bear in mind that your ‘self’ isn’t always going to be someone else’s ‘self’ the next time you feel like pouring out your vitriol.

Finally, anyone who expects to read a certain kind of thing should write it. If you want unpredictability, write it. If it’s depth you want to read, write it. Chimamanda Adichie once said: ‘I write what I want to read.’ Kindly stop kvetching about other people’s efforts and write what you want to read. Write. Submit. I’ll publish.

Well, seems I said more than a few things. Here’s to hoping we can all be grownups thenceforth. Yes, I know, I can only hope. Lol. Anyway, here’s the feature story. It’s a non fictional piece by a Kito Diaries-ian, Queer Mike, who is currently recovering from heartbreak and disillusionment. The things wanting what others are not prepared to give you can do to a person. Read the story below.

*

The dawn of that long awaited Tuesday, came with the chill of a heavy rainfall that lingered from the night before. I did a double check on my well packed luggage; just to be sure no item on my list was being left out, with enough clothes to last for my two week visit to Lagos. I’d completed my semester exams the day before. I’d spent sleepless nights studying, and losing weight, just to see myself make it through the exams.

Weeks ago, while I was studying, my phone buzzed. I checked to see I’d gotten a Whatsapp message. It was from an ex-lover, Peter. I was surprised by that. Ever since he relocated to Nevada in the States, he’s hardly kept in touch with me. I nursed no grudge at all for that; after all, what we had was a one-night-thingie two years back, a quick shag during one of his business trips to Enugu from Lagos, one that eventually turned into a friendship. And we kept in touch even after he left Enugu. And then he left the country for the States and we lost touch.

ABOKI, GIVE US WATER

Here’s a non fictional piece from a new contributor for Kito Diaries. His name is . . . well, Festus Ola. And this is his story.

*

After my youth service, I moved to the city of Abuja. In spite of the fact that I had lots of family members living comfortably who I could stay with, I chose to squat with a gay friend of mine who already had about four guys living with him. We were like one big family cluttered as we were in the one-bedroom apartment; we shared everything with joy, and the cramped space felt like a five star hotel, because we always had great times and lots of laughter. There was barely any privacy, so often times, anyone of us who wanted to have a shag would either wait until the dead of the night, or when everyone was away at work, or use the convenience.

Like every other family, we had our pink sheep (not black; pink) lol. He was the oldest of us all, but didn’t look it. He was super daring, and often had one guy or the other over at the house to fuck him. I’m talking, the rough neck type, uncouth, whose personalities were hewn from the streets. Most times, he would wake me or some of us up from our night sleep to come and watch him get fucked by these gorgeous rough necks.

On this day, I was taking a walk with the notorious pink sheep of our family, who I’ll call Olu. As we strolled, we happened upon this meruwa, you know, these Northern fellows that sell water in cans. This one was thickly built, had ebony black skin and was thickly lashed. The tribal marks that streaked across his face gave him a distinct look, and he was topless, with his shirt round his waist, over white trousers with the thinnest fabric that did little or nothing to hide the colour of his red pants and gave a faint indication of the big bulge that was his penis. The rich pubic hair that covered his abdomen grew thicker as it descended into his red pants.

Olu and I saw this black Adonis sight and gaped.