Blog_Love And Sex In The City 02FOREWORD: Just a quick one, guys; if you’re on BBM, do kindly join the Kito Diaries BBM Channel. The pin is C00250513. Or you may scan the barcode below. Thanks. 🙂BBM Channel_KD


Lagos on a Sunday morning was what I suspected other cities, sleepier metropolises, would be on a bustling day. There wasn’t the usual crush of pedestrians plying the sidewalks, and the roads weren’t encumbered with motorists impatient to get to their destinations and yet unable to make good on their haste. There were not a lot of passengers waiting at the bus stops, and as such, the minimal number of commercial buses in the traffic hurtled down the roads, only pausing for very brief stops.

The bus conveying me soon got to Oshodi, and the passengers alighted, some of them staying put when the conductor began yodeling, “Cele-Ilasa-Mile Toooo! Cele-Ilasa-Mile Toooo!”

I was headed for Mile Two, but I had had enough of the rickety heap the driver, himself as aged as his vehicle, was powering. In spite of the day, Oshodi was quite astir with activity, unwilling to succumb to the unhurriedness of Sunday, like a young mother reluctant to let go of her only child on his first play-date. The area didn’t have its characteristic horde of people and traffic, but there was still enough chaos and the day was warm enough to make me wish I was spending the day back home, in the comfort of my bedroom.

I soon located and got into another bus, a newer-looking vehicle with a younger man behind the wheel. Both driver and conductor were puffy-eyed, coarse-voiced and in good spirits, as though still riding the high from a very good last night.

Where are you now? Jaja pinged me the moment I got settled inside the bus. Continue reading


????????????????????????????????????????????????????“Lights would guide you home

And ignite your path

And I will try, to fix you…”

Those are the words of the song I am listening to. It is Fix You by Coldplay, one of my favourite bands. The song is everything at this moment. It isn’t as though I am broken right now, but I feel as though I need to be fixed. My heart is beating, like I’m running from an angry homophobic mob, yet I’m wearing a calm face. I can’t afford to fall apart right now. Besides, my mum thinks she’s Batman, so I can’t give off any emotion to make her suspect something is wrong.

“And I will try… To fix you…” The song’s final words are followed by the soft thrum of a piano. I know it’s a piano because I have listened to the song thirteen times already. Then I look at the time and it is 2: 10 pm. My heartbeat increases. The lab scientist had asked me to come get my result by 2: 00 pm. I’m already dressed in the same clothes I wore to the lab yesterday. I put on my slippers and walk towards the door.

Mum: Bobby, where you dey go? Continue reading


Blog_Love And Sex In The City 01FOREWORD: KD Support is now active! Volunteers and people needing virtual support can email us at And now, on to the post of the day…


“I think my boss knows about my sexual preference for guys, and he is acting like one determined to expose me.”

The rest of us stared at Jonathan, momentarily robbed of speech.

“Excuse me?” Biola was the first to break the silence with the words that revealed his incredulity.

“I don’t understand,” Eddie followed after. “What do you mean?”

“What don’t you understand?” Jonathan snapped. “My boss, Doctor Ebiowei, suspects something about me, and he is embarrassing me with whatever it is he knows.”

“How old is your boss?” I asked.

“I dunno…old…”

“Has he hit on you before?” Adebola asked.


“Have you hit on him before?” Paschal asked.

“Are you kidding me with that question?” Jonathan returned coldly. Continue reading

Let’s Discuss…About Private Demons

Blog_Let's DiscussBefore I opened the blog, Kito Diaries, I had to convince myself that it was the right thing to do. And one of the avenues I used for that reassurance was by seeking the opinion of a small number of my friends. When I tabled the issue before them, separately, they were split into three camps: those who encouraged me exuberantly to do it, those who weren’t sure whether I should do it, and those who were absolutely against the idea. The last category was made up the fewest number, and their reasons for their disapproval ranged from a variety of reasons including the protection of identity, the absurdity of the idea given the gay clime of the country, and the fact that I could be breaking a law. When I pointed out that Nigerian gay men could use this avenue to express themselves, one sarcastically pointed out that if any guys wanted to express himself on a gay blog, he could go do so on Paris Hilton’s. (That friend is now expressing himself on Kito Diaries, lol. Sorry, buddy, I couldn’t resist)

Among the friends who were averse to the idea of KD is one who is particularly close to me. (Let’s call him Kelvin) After I went ahead and opened KD, everyone in that category eventually came around to loving it; everyone that is, except Kelvin. He stuck to his obstinacy that KD is a bad idea, and rebuffed my efforts to convince him otherwise. When I sent links of KD updates to him, he expressly told me to stop. When I brought it up in conversations, he shut the topic down. It bothered me because I was starting to wonder if his professed concern for me endangering myself because of KD was all there was to his obstinacy. I’d told him how much the blog had grown to be a part of my life, and I felt that the least he owed me as a friend was listen to me about it.

And then, the sad eventuality began to happen. Continue reading


Blog_Suits & TiesThere’s a colleague of mine who had my gaydar buzzing for sometime in the recent past. Let’s call him Steve. I wasn’t into him, plus he works in another, very-separate department from mine. And so, he was just that co-worker who I’d see walking past me in the hallway and we’d exchange a quick hello, and I’d watch him move or speak or act, and the electronic fibers in my gaydar will go a-tingling over the question as to whether he speaks the same language that I do.

Considering our almost non-existent acquaintanceship, you can imagine my surprise when we bumped into each other in the hallway sometime after I hadn’t seen him in so long, and he stopped before me, uncharacteristic of him, and blurted out at me, “I’ve not been around.”

I blinked, resisting the urge to theatrically look back to see if he’d been addressing someone else. “Uh, okay,” I said. “I hadn’t noticed.” Continue reading

AT 35,000 FEET

zBDuZUYTCYAItdl8Author’s Note: This story is a complete work of fiction, but loosely based around a man I met not too long ago. Any resemblance in characters or misrepresentation of places or events is highly regrettable.


“Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we’ll like to welcome you onboard Air France Flight 513 departing for Charles De Gaulle International. On behalf of the captain and crew, thank you for choosing to fly with us. Crew, arms doors and cross check for pushback.”

Abuja to Paris is roughly a 7-hour flight. I’ve done it a few times and, trust me, the glamour wears off after a while. Working for reputable tech company with its base in Abuja, I was one of the advanced team members to establish our European markets, and Paris was the base of operations. Plus I had to do my yearly management training as well. With a Master’s Degree in Artificial Intelligence and a six-figure salary per month, I could buy my own ticket with no hassle at all. But my job comes with a lot of perks to make my life even more interesting. At twenty-eight, single, with a nice body and job to match, I was living the dream, to be honest. Continue reading

The Boy Who Had the Saddest Eyes

others 105Read this story listening to any song(s) that give(s) you peace – Marcus.

He came to St John’s Boys’ High at a time when I wasn’t sure what I was. In the mornings, when everybody taunted Ben, calling him a homo, sissy, fag, I watched and said nothing, afraid that Ben would get tired of being teased alone and suddenly blurt out that I did stuff with him too; and in the evenings, I visited Vera, a girl from Our Lady’s Girls’ High whom I liked a lot because she was always willing, always giving.

He came one sunny morning looking like a thing from hell, thin and droopy-eyed, his scalp a radiating mirror, an old, ugly schoolbag slung lazily on his shoulder. He stood beside Miss Lara in front of the class, and introduced himself. His name was Amara, which was another ridiculous thing about him because all the Amaras I knew were girls. Miss Lara gave him a seat by the window, and whenever I looked at him, he was either always staring outside or sketching something in his sketchpad. He hardly ever talked, always mumbling a one-word reply whenever talked to, and soon I began to think of him as a bag of monosyllables.

Whenever we played basketball, he stood under the dogonyaro tree outside the court, watching us. One day I asked, “Do you want to play?” and he shook his head, mumbled something nonsensical, and started walking away.

And so, apart from being called Solar System because of his clean haircut, he was also called Robot, Dummy, Alien. I didn’t know why, but I found myself riveted by him. Maybe it was because he had an air of mystery around him, of enigma. I would sit across from him in class and stare and stare at him, until he looked up from his book or away from the window, and his eyes would settle on mine, a lazy settling, like a pat on the head; and it would linger, his eyes, until, always, I was forced to look away, embarrassed. Continue reading


Purchase this image at as Jide pumped into Dapo, he knew this would be the last time they would have sex. As horny as he was, he was listening to the whirring of the ceiling fan above him than the moans below him. Dapo was amazingly sexy, hot as they come – 6 feet 2 inches, 6 packs, light skinned, nipples like raisins that make you just want to suckle, full six-seater lips that you would always want around your dick and a bubble butt to crown all of that. Every man’s dream – well, every gay man at least. He was amazing in bed, a great top and a hot bottom too, always ready to take a dick up his ass without any reluctance, his full ass quivering with every thrust and his moans rending the air with just the slightest touch, making Jide’s hard-on even harder. Dapo was amazing, horny for Jide’s dick all the time, and probably some other guys’… but who cared anyway?

He was perfect by all standards. But he was no Emeka. Jide knew his heart wasn’t in this anymore. All he had to do was close his eyes, and he could imagine Emeka below him, and he jammed Dapo full with his nine incher, every thrust taking him closer to the finish line, skewing Dapo’s moans to Emeka’s, making Jide go on and on like his life depended on it. And then he saw the light; throwing his head back, he climaxed with the kind of ferocity that startled even him.

“Damn Jide!” Dapo gasped when he was done shaking off his orgasm. “You nearly split me in two back there. I came without even jerking off. What got into you tonight?’ Continue reading


Add_AdminWhen I was flirting with the idea of opening Kito Diaries, I informed a friend of mine, in order to get his reaction to the impending development, and he sneeringly told me: ‘It will just turn out to be another hook-up site for guys.’

I recoiled from his implication that ultimately, nothing matters to a gathering of LGBT except getting acquainted and the satisfaction of their sexual desires. I told him off for that presumption.

Yesterday, I got his ‘I told you so’ response.

Now, I have absolutely nothing against Kitodiariesians wanting to know one another outside the virtual world of the blog. Heck, I have made one or two friends from here, good people who I didn’t know before the advent of the blog. And nothing pleases me more than the freedom of interaction that thrives in this place.

But please – and I know my next words are going to be very unpopular with a lot of readers – this recent trend of littering the comment thread with blatant overtures such as ‘Hey, are you anywhere near FCT’ is inappropriate. There is a reason I exist as the Admin. There is a reason I keep making my email address available to everyone. If you fancy someone on the blog, kindly email me your interest, and I’ll make contact with this person, get feedback and pass it on to you. Some readers already know this, and have been sending me on these assignments Behind The Scenes, without splashing their interests so publicly on the blog.

I’m kindly asking for this level of thirstiness to stop.

Please. Continue reading

Cocktails and Charm from Nairobi with Love

o-WEDDING-TOAST-TIPS-facebookFOREWORD: So we’ve got our first write-up from a Kitodiariesian who’s not Nigerian. He’s from Kenya, and below is his offering. It’s fiction. Read and enjoy.


Max hurriedly bundled the computer on his desk into his duffle bag and picked up the pen that lay on the shared desk in front of him, together with a notepad and the directional print-out he’d sneaked from the printer in the adjacent room, from the open plan work area of FundiCorp, an edgy, new Tech Hub to the West of Nairobi.

He was (almost) late for an interview he had across the city, and this being his very last chance at leaving FundiCorp, the company that had frustrated him for three years, he wasn’t about to let the chance just slip away.

“You seem in an awful hurry… where’s the fire?” Ciku, the boss’ friendly Personal Assistant chimed, as she happened by on her way to the conference room. She had a prim figure, tiny hands, a beautiful mono-print dress on that moulded perfectly her body, and pumps that always seemed to gleam. Despite her varnished looks, she was way older than Max was.

“Oh, hey, Ciku. I didn’t see you there,” Max managed, after zipping up my bag, placing it on my shoulder and straightening his tie. “I’m just very late for a meeting. I don’t know where the time went.”

“That’s nothing new,” she said with a cheeky smile, obviously referring to how often Max had been in to the office a few minutes past the hour. “But you’ll still deliver, I’m certain. All the best, and with the traffic…” She tsk-tsked as she moved on. Continue reading