Previously on DOWN LOW

*

As soon as Martin gained consciousness, he instantly regretted it, as his head threatened to split open with the force of his headache. He tried to escape back into blissful black oblivion, but he was already a prisoner of the painful bludgeoning in his head, and it didn’t look like he would be relieved of it easily.

He tried to open his eyes and moaned as bright sunlight pierced through, fueling the pounding in his head. He tried to recoil from the offensive light, but his muscles felt like cooked noodles, stringy and powerless, unable to obey the command from his barely functioning brain.

Oh God what have I done to myself? Martin groaned inwardly. He really shouldn’t have drunk so much last night, mixing different spirits together like some sort of deranged alcoholic.

But basking under the intoxicating smile that belonged to Emeka had given him confidence to do things.

Martin’s eyes flew open as memories of the previous night filtered back into his brain in scattered sequences; loud music, flirtatious conversation, a light touch on his thigh, buttons coming undone at the urging of his fingers, soft lips caressing his, his tongue caressing the insides of a warm mouth…

Oh God no…

Adrenaline shot through his body, and he sat up, taking in his surroundings. This was not his room. This was not any room he had woken up in before. The large bed he was ensconced in was as unfamiliar as the striped blue wallpaper and the shell-shaped light fittings. Dread began to fill his chest.

No, no, no, I couldn’t have…

With great difficulty, he turned his head to the other side of the king-sized bed, and a cry of dismay escaped his lips when he saw the large, masculine and very naked form of Emeka sprawled in repose amidst the thick checkered bed sheets.

Emeka’s eyes flew open at the sound of Martin’s shocked exclamation, and on seeing Martin staring at him with shock and dismay, he sat up and grinned.

“Well, you look like you had way too much fun last night,” he drawled.

“Oh my God, sir–” Martin began.

“Sir?” Emeka said, raising an eyebrow. “Are you still calling me ‘sir’ after all that went down last night?”

“Oh God…” Martin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “We had sex, sir?”

“I wish,” Emeka grumbled. “But we did have an amazing make-out session, and I ate your pert derriere like it was freshly baked red velvet.”

The memory of an agile tongue sliding into his backside flashed through Martin’s mind, and he felt himself begin to harden.

“This shouldn’t have happened,” he whispered, his head still threatening to burst. “This can only bring problems –”

“Problems for who exactly?” Emeka asked, drawing himself close to him, and running a finger down his spine.

Martin shivered with barely suppressed desire, even as his stomach threatened an upheaval.

“Problems for both of us! What if someone were to find out? How am I to convince myself that I am a competent professional when I am already in my boss’s bed after barely working for a month?”

“Your boss’s boss,” Emeka corrected, smirking. “If anything, you aim for the top.”

“This isn’t funny, sir,” Martin said sadly. “I am a walking cliché.”

Emeka sighed deeply, lifted his hands and wrapped them around Martin in a comforting hug. “You are only a cliché if you want to be. And problems will arise if you let them.”

“This shouldn’t have happened,” Martin whispered in the cocoon of his hold.

Emeka chuckled and nibbled his ear. “Point of correction, this was meant to happen and was going to happen sooner or later. Last night was no accident, and the nights and days to come won’t be either.”

Martin pulled out of Emeka’s embrace and began making his way out of the bed. He got to his feet and weaved about a little, trying to still the pounding in his head and gain his bearing.

“This cannot happen again, sir,” he rasped with as much determination as his throbbing head and heaving stomach could allow.

“Oh it will,” Emeka countered with the kind of self assuredness one shouldn’t have this early in the morning. “I will make it happen, and more. It’s like you don’t realize how much I want to fuck you.” He also slid out of the bed and stood before Martin, exposing his full-fledged hard-on.

Martin stared at the thick pulsating member pointing in his direction, and he instantly shot to attention as well. He groaned inwardly at his body’s betrayal, and Emeka laughed heartily.

“Look at you,” Emeka said, licking his lips. “We both want this.”

“What I want right now is to throw up,” Martin replied, dashing into the bathroom and locking the door. He bent over the toilet bowl and heaved, hating himself as his stomach spasmed and emptied its contents through his mouth. He was never drinking again in his life, neither was he ever going to sleep with Emeka or even kiss him or slide that thick penis through his mouth or any cavity on his body for that matter. Martin didn’t believe in shitting where he ate. Last night had been a light dump, but from today, he would be taking Flagyl and Imodium.

***

It was not until Martin had fled Emeka’s house with the remaining shreds of his dignity and bundled himself into a cab, that he had a chance to look at his phone. He sighed at the plethora of notifications on his iPhone screen, and proceeded to check them out one by one.

He cringed when he saw the 12 missed calls and countless BBM, Whatsapp and text messages from Ricardo, his half Spanish, half Nigerian dance instructor and occasional bed warmer. They were supposed to have stayed back after classes and ripped each other’s clothes off in the back room of the dance studio, as they often did after every class. Dancing was such an aphrodisiac.

Martin quickly typed “hey boo” as a BBM message and sent it in reply to Ricardo, and then proceeded to check out the others. Concerned messages from Siji and his sister were opened and responded to, with an additional message to Siji that “I am in trouble ooooo! I need to see you!”, followed by several crying emojis.

His phone suddenly burst to life as a call came through. Martin sighed when he saw the name displayed on the screen, and proceeded to answer the call.

“Mi querido, I am so glad you are OK,” Ricardo’s rich, slightly accented baritone came through the phone. “I was so worried.”

“Were you really?” Martin said, his tone playful, but Ricardo didn’t seem to catch it.

“How can you even ask that?” he said, sounding annoyed. “You know I care about you very much.”

Martin sighed. “I know, boo. I know.”

“I am actually around Yaba axis at the moment, with a client. Don’t know if you’ll be home soon. I really want to see you,” Ricardo said.

Martin looked out of the window and noticed that they were near the Third Mainland Bridge. “In like thirty minutes,” he said. After puking his guts out and swallowing the aspirins Emeka provided for him, he felt much better, and his body was still buzzing from the sexual tension that had plagued his morning. He needed release, and Ricardo was just the right person to assist.

“Alright chico, see you soon,” Ricardo said, and the call ended.

Martin proceeded to check other messages on different platforms and reply accordingly, if necessary. He proceeded to Facebook, a place he rarely visited and saw an unread message.

He opened it, saw the sender, and his blood chilled instantly.

Close it! Delete it! His mind screamed at him, but of course his enemies were hard at work and he found himself opening the message, reading and replying, and instantly regretting it.

Written by Santa Diaba

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