When NYSC came around, I was posted to Imo State. Before then, I’d often heard about how the East ties with Lagos as the gay capital of Nigeria, that it is home to a lot of gay guys. But for a long while, as I served, I didn’t want to explore the gaybourhood here.
After a few weeks, I was finally in the mood to travel, to meet someone, and to have a good time. I contacted a friend of mine in Lagos and asked him to hook me up with someone, and he did. The guy is someone we’ll call Bobby, and he was a resident of Port Harcourt.
I called Bobby and we talked, getting past the pleasantries and establishing our shared interests as two guys with a mutual friend and who were interested in getting together sometime. Bobby sounded nice, and said a lot of nice things like how he couldn’t wait to meet me and give me a good time. I was excited, both by the prospect of seeing him and of visiting Port Harcourt, as this would be my first time there.
I asked him for his Facebook account name, so I check him out. He obliged me, and soon, I was going through the pictures of a guy who looked quite cute and had a muscular build.
Not bad, I thought to myself.
The next day, Friday, as agreed upon with Bobby, I packed a small bag and was soon off to Port Harcourt. The plan was that I would stay with him for the weekend. All though the journey, he kept calling to know how my journey was going and how close I was. I was touched by his sweetness.
I finally got to the place where he’d directed me to stop, and he came out to pick me up. When I beheld him in the flesh, I felt a slight tug of disappointment. In real life, he didn’t look as good as he did in his pictures.
But he isn’t so bad, I thought to myself in consolation.
We got to his place and his house was really cool. I was appreciative of the fact that he had a really nice place. He was also hospitable, asking if I’d eaten anything, and when I said no, he took me to a restaurant downstairs so I could get something. He said he would cook later. As I ate, we talked. He sounded really mature and cool, a great personality that made me overlook the fact that he wasn’t as physically appealing as I’d imagined.
It was evening time when we returned to his house, and I asked to take a shower. He showed me to the bathroom, and when I was done, I put on some shorts and went to meet him in the parlour, where we sat watching TV. Night finally came and we were on the bed gisting; he was full of gist, talking about his past experiences as a gay man, about how he had converted lots of straight guys, about how he spends money on any guy he finds attractive just to get his ass. This part of the conversation was a big turn-off for me, and I started to revise my earlier impression of him. He sounded like someone who liked to live life on the edge, and I am not about that kind of life. I love getting with people who are reserved but with just a little dash of crazy – just like me.
Then he said that truthfully speaking, I wasn’t his kind of guy, and for some reason, I felt a rush of relief. At some point in the night, I had gotten so turned off by his gist, that I’d completely lost whatever attraction I felt for him. Hearing him say this meant I wouldn’t have to put up with giving him sex. I could actually sleep peacefully tonight. Thank God.
Eventually, we both slept off. In the middle of the night however, his hands on my body wakened me. He was caressing me and pulling off his clothes.
I felt a spark of irritation and blurted out, “Dude, I thought you said I’m not your spec. can I sleep in peace please?”
He pleaded that he was horny and would really like to fuck me. His caresses on my body were insistent, and eventually, I was turned on. He took off my shorts and we started making out.
Now, I am not very good at bottoming, because I’d always found it to be a painful experience whenever I tried. And so, when he kept trying to pull me around to get access to my ass, I resisted, pleading with him not to fuck me because I don’t really take dicks. (This, I suppose, is the advantage of having a discussion about roles with a potential hookup first, so miscommunications like this don’t occur.) Bobby wouldn’t take no for an answer, and forcefully had his way with me until he came. Even though he didn’t last very long, I felt very bad, angry, used and in so much pain.
As though sensing my resentment, he cajoled me by saying I shouldn’t worry, that he would get someone for me to fuck.
The next day, a friend of his came to the house. This guy (let’s call him Ovie) was very tall and dark-complected, a combination of physical attributes that had me feeling attracted to him. The two of them went into the bedroom, and even though their conversation was conducted in low tones, I could hear them.
I heard Ovie say, “How far, Bobby? Who be that fine guy?”
This had my heart doing a quick tattoo. You know, that feeling you get when you find out that the guy you like also likes you.
“Na one corper o,” Bobby replied. “He come flex here from Owerri. You like am?”
“I swear. I go like fuck am,” Ovie said.
I go like fuck am? I thought as I felt my heart start sinking. God, please, don’t let this one be another strict top.
“Oya, go meet am na,” I heard Bobby say.
Ovie returned to the parlour and came over to where I was lounging to chat me up. He didn’t waste any time, before he started talking to me about his attraction for me and all that jazz. Since I wasn’t supposed to have heard their conversation and the fact that Bobby had encouraged him to come on to me, I resisted, telling Ovie that I couldn’t get down with him because he was friends with the person who I’d come to Port Harcourt to see. He said that he had already told Bobby, and that he had no issue with us getting together.
Then he said the words that were my undoing. He said he just wants to kiss me.
This guy had such sensuous lips, and hearing him say that he wanted to kiss me, seeing those lips in their near-pout before me, quickly got me turned on. My dick hardened inside the shorts I was wearing. I wanted him.
And he seemed to sense that, because he didn’t say anything anymore. He just took out my erection from my shorts and began to suck me.
At this moment, Bobby walked into the room to see what was happening, and for some reason, I felt immediately stricken by guilt. Feeling self-conscious, I stopped Ovie’s blowjob and readjusted myself.
As the day went on, with Ovie still hanging around, I noticed that Bobby’s attitude toward me had changed. He’d gotten chilly and distant with me. And because of the guilt I was feeling, I would corner him to ask him if everything was okay, and he would say that it was all good.
Well, if he had no problem, then I had no problem telling him that Ovie had asked if I could spend the night at his place. When I told him this, Bobby said it was okay, that I should go. I honestly wasn’t comfortable with the way he said what he said, and when I showed my reluctance, he kept on insisting that I should go, that it was cool.
So, I left with Ovie that evening.
When I came back the next morning, I knocked on the door, and the look on Bobby’s face when he opened up should have been enough portent for what was to come. I greeted him good morning and he didn’t respond.
It was very clear that something was wrong, and I asked him outright, “Are you mad at me or something?” When he turned away, like he was going to ignore me, I said, “I’d really appreciate it if you’ll talk to me please.”
And that was when he turned on me and unleashed his anger. He went off about how cheap I was for making out with his friend who I’d just met and barely knew, about how I had the nerve to be kissing and romancing with his friend in his living room. He was furious, and was calling me names.
As he raged, I stood there, not knowing how to react. When I was finally able to get a word in edgewise, I said, “What exactly is all this? Were you not the one I kept on asking if you were okay and you said you were? Were you not the one I asked if it was cool for me to go home with your friend, and you said you were good?”
He retorted that he gave me permission because he was irritated by what he saw me do with Ovie in the parlour and could not stand my presence in his house that night.
I felt those words like a slap to my face. I began to apologize, but he wouldn’t hear it. He just kept on heaping verbal abuse on me. I hate confrontations, and at this point, I was starting to feel like bursting into tears. He told me that he would give me that day to arrange myself, and that he’d want me out of his house the next day. I didn’t have any money on me; actually, the plan was for him to give me my transport fare back to Owerri. But I didn’t think he was going to be that generous anymore. So I called my mother to send me some cash for something urgent, and that night, my bank account was credited.
That night was a tense one, and I barely managed to get some sleep. At some point, I was finally able to fall into a fitful slumber. Early the next morning, he woke me up and told me to pack up and leave his house, as he was about to head out to work. He was already dressed. I got up to go take my bath, and he stopped me with a terse comment about how he didn’t have the time to wait for me to do that. I was astounded. Could I at least brush my teeth and splash some water on my face? This guy said no, insisting that I leave his house immediately, that I could go back to Ovie’s house for all he cares. He was already picking up my things and taking them outside. I’d never felt so humiliated, inferior and ashamed in my life.
I threw on some clothes, took up my things and left his house that early morning, soon headed for Imo State.
During the journey, he called me but I didn’t answer. Then he sent me a text, asking me to delete his pictures and number from my phone, and to never contact him again, otherwise, he would call the guy who linked us up (let’s call him Peter) and tell him what a lousy hookup I was.
I read the text and smiled sardonically, before texting him back: ‘Thank you for everything. Maybe I made a mistake with what I did with Ovie, maybe not. But you are an even more terrible person for the way you behaved toward me. You can call Peter and tell him whatever, I don’t care. And as for your number, you didn’t even have to ask. I already deleted it as I left your house.’
He must have read my text because a few moments later, he sent a response. I didn’t even bother reading this one; I simply deleted it as it came.
I eventually got back to my place, brushed my teeth, took my bath and went to bed.
For days after that horrendous weekend, the humiliation of what happened wouldn’t let me be. Such a thing had never happened to me before, and it took awhile for me to get over the trauma of getting abused and thrown out of someone’s house.
Two weeks later, the bastard called me. I actually didn’t delete his number like I said I did, so I could see his name on my phone screen as my phone rang. I found myself not sure of what to do, whether to answer or not to answer. Eventually, I didn’t pick up.
The next day, at night, he called again. It was with a different number and I was downstairs hanging out and having drinks with my neighbours when the call came through. When I got back to my room, I saw the missed calls from an unknown number, and I called back.
He answered and without saying who it was on the phone, began with the pleasantries of how my day was. The voice sounded familiar, but I was too tipsy from the drinks I’d had to place it exactly.
“Who is this please?” I asked, but he tried to ignore the question and keep up with the pleasantries. But I insisted, “Who is this?”
He paused before finally saying, “It’s Bobby.”
A surge of emotions that ranged from resentment to anger rushed through me. I also didn’t know what to do, whether to simply end the call or start assaulting him with insults or to let him speak.
Somehow, I was able to contain all my rancour and stayed on the line, allowing the idiot speak. “Good evening,” I greeted.
“Good evening,” he responded. “And how is your new friend?”
“What new friend?” I snapped, and irritation surged forward. What new friend? Is this guy for real? Instead of leading with an apology, he is here trying to…to…to what exactly?
I ended the call right then. He called back, and then called back again, and again. At some point, I had to turn off my phone in order to not be disturbed by his calls.
Like seriously, had the bastard not done enough!
Written by James