WRITER’S NOTE: This is not a work of fiction.
We had been Facebook friends for quite some time before he finally sent a message to my inbox. I recognized him as one of those who made random comments on my status updates. He was one of those Facebook users with no pictures of themselves in their gallery. His profile picture was a photo of the Manchester United football team. Normally, I’m automatically turned off by such Facebook profiles, as ghost-chatting isn’t my thing, but after I got his message, before I replied, I went through his page, and on his timeline, I came across a post he updated:
“Hard drilling machine – I’d drill you so well, you would be stuck.”
For some seconds, I stared at the update, nonplussed, stunned by the intensity of those words. I got curious. Titillated.
With these emotions curling inside of me, I hurried back to my inbox and replied him. The conversation kicked off from there with him doing more of the inquisition and me responding accordingly. He introduced himself as Emerald.
Maybe luck was on his side or maybe I was just super turned on by the erotic words I read on his timeline, but I kept on with the intermittent chats despite his ghostliness of his profile and off-putting syntactic errors, a combination that immediately throws me off a chat.
I was sexually fueled to keep chatting with him, so that when he asked for my location, I obliged him with the information at once. As fate would have it, he was close by. Just a fifty naira bus ride away from my house and I’d have this driller. The thought of this fascinated me, as well as the understanding that this could be a potential kito. The latter won over, so that when he suggested a meet, I proposed an initial casual meet at a popular junction close to our locations.
He agreed without hesitation.
The day soon came for our meet. I got to the junction before him as it was closer to my house than it was to his. The sun was blazing hot and people were going about their normal businesses, totally oblivious to the potential gay hookup about to take place.
I stood somewhere against a brick wall, hoping he would show up without delay. Soon, restlessness began to creep in. The sun wasn’t friendly and I’d begun to sweat profusely. I called him. He promised to be there in no time as he was held up by traffic. Placated, I decided to look for shelter from the sun. I found a motor spare-parts shop; inside was its elderly proprietor, who I pled with to let me wait inside for my friend. He agreed.
Ten minutes later, Emerald called.
“Hello,” I impatiently answered. “Where are you at? I’ve been here for over an hour.”
It hadn’t been up to 30 minutes, but I got the desired effect of my berating. He began apologizing profusely for his lateness. He was a nice man, good-natured and always ready to apologize, even when he wasn’t at fault. His mild manner and that Facebook post had been the reasons I agreed to meet this ‘ghost’ of a person.
“I’m there already,” he said after the flurry of apologies. “Cross over to the other side. I’m putting on a yellow top.”
With a sigh of relief, I did as I was told. When I sighted the man wearing a yellow top, an involuntary gasp escaped my lips. I quickly took out my phone and dialed his number to be sure he was the one, and with a sinking heart, I watched him pick. Right there and then, I was almost pushed to turn back and flee.
He wasn’t what I had in mind at all. Granted, he wasn’t exactly facially ugly, but he wasn’t handsome either. He was tall, looked to be in his forties, slim, dark-skinned and was putting on a faded yellow jersey and an equally faded pair of black trousers. The trousers weren’t even sewn to fit his legs well. He looked so unattractive. I mean, who leaves his house dressed like some local champion?
But he was smiling. He had on this very warm countenance as he walked toward where I was standing, transfixed.
“Hey, I’m Emerald,” he said in that familiar baritone I had become acquainted with, consequently shaking me out of my physical state of shock. “You don’t seem pleased to see me.”
“I-I-umm…” I stuttered, trying really hard to gather my scattered thoughts. “Of course I’m pleased to see you, Emerald. I’m just surprised –”
“Surprised that I’m twice your age?” he completed with a half-smile.
Well, for someone who was expecting a drilling machine, he sure was way older than me.
“Anyway,” he continued, still smiling, “I must say you are not quite what I thought also.”
The force with which the response hit me was unforeseen. I staggered back a step. Embarrassment washed over me as I stared at him with utmost disbelief. Apparently, the shock on my face was well-scripted because he quickly added, “Oh no, that’s not what I meant at all.” He took my hands in his, and then gently said, “You are a pretty boy.”
I was instantly flooded with a feeling of self consciousness. My cheeks burned as I bent my head. I couldn’t believe this man.
Soon, we began conversing. As we talked, I decided then that I wasn’t going to let physical appearance take prominence in this acquaintanceship, not when I’d been interested in him all the while I hadn’t put a face to the man behind the erotic timeline post. In person, he was an undoubtedly nice man.
We talked about how he was presently out of work and searching, about the gay clime in Nigeria and how hook-ups are becoming more difficult to come by. And then we talked about that erotic Facebook update of his.
“That’s the only reason I get requests without my pictures on my profile. I’m not very photogenic,” he admitted with a shrug.
Well, that much was obvious, I thought. I mean, no offense intended, he probably would look worse in his pictures, but this I kept to myself.
We talked some more and then he proposed we have sex. I wasn’t surprised he asked. I was however surprised that I didn’t hesitate to accept. He appeared more surprised though when I agreed, and even made to lift me up in gratitude, not minding that we were in view of the public.
Emerald was that much a character.
I promised to chat him up on when I would be ready to invite him over. Our meet ended on a good note.
It was the third week after our meet that he came over. My parents had traveled and my younger siblings had all gone to school. I sent him directions via chat, stipulating the time he should come.
This was going to be just sex and nothing more, we assured each other.
With an anxious mind, I waited. Straining hard to contain the enthusiasm I felt on my impending drilling experience, as cobwebs were beginning to fight for dominance in my bugaina.
Soon, I heard a soft knock on the gate and rushed outside to open it.
He looked better with his fez cap, white polo shirt and blue jeans. He didn’t even look so old (or maybe I was extra thirsty). His physical appearance heightened my carnal senses, and without further ado, we got down to the business of the day.
He was a pleaser, that type that does not let you do anything, totally doing all the work to guarantee your satisfaction.
The sex was pure bliss.
After sex, totally spent and satiated, we proceeded to the parlor to make small talk. He settled on the three-seater while I took the two-seater opposite him. He asked for a glass of water, and I had just gotten up to go fetch it for me when he dropped the bomb.
TO BE CONTINUED.
Written by Delle