FIRST TIME: THE BETRAYAL

FIRST TIME: THE BETRAYAL

FOREWORD: Ever since Max wrote the prequel to this nonfictional piece titled FIRST TIME: THE BEGINNING in July last year, because I knew there was an ending he hadn’t told yet, I’d been hounding him for the continuation of the story. And now, months later, he has come around to penning the continuation. Check on it below (You may have to read the prequel to have a better understanding of this ending chapter).

*

Our lovemaking was over. I could still feel the tremors of my orgasm work their way through my body. My breathing was gradually returning to normal. The electricity was still out, and the heat had become stifling, holding the smell of sex steady in the room. But I didn’t mind. I was deliriously happy, because right beside me was the limp, warm body of my lover.

Earlier that night, I had made a tough but conscious decision to go after the man I loved in bed. I was prepared to face the music. I was ready to weather any storm that might come up if all went south with my plan. It was one of the longest nights in my life. As I lay there next to him, listening to him breathe as he slept, I wondered if I had made a mistake, if I had broken the sweet connection we’d had going before tonight. A million thoughts rushed through my mind, beautiful memories turned to dust in my head. I had considered all the ways this could turn out bad. But I was a doe-eyed seventeen-year-old optimist, and no inner demons of mine were going to diminish and snatch the satisfaction I’d just enjoyed away from me.

I reached for my phone in the dark. The bright beam from the LCD threatened my retina as I checked the time; it was 3am. I shut my eyes and tried to sleep, but I couldn’t stop thinking. What now? That question preyed on my mind in different forms, until I eventually slept off.

It seemed as though not enough time passed, before I found myself waking up to the grey light of dawn filtering into the room. Something had awakened me. I turned on my bed and felt the empty space beside me before I saw him, Danny – the man of my dreams, who had loved me just the night before. He however didn’t look as bright as I felt. He didn’t have on his signature smile; his face was gloomy as if he’d just realized some bad news. I tried not to let his countenance bother me; maybe he was just spent from last night, I told myself.

I smiled and said, “Hi.”

His response was a lackluster mumble. At this, fear suddenly bloomed in my heart. I was terrified and I didn’t even know why. But we had fun last night, didn’t we? I thought to myself. I tried to say something else, but the inexplicable fear kept my vocal chords strangled shut. I was also immobile, suddenly finding myself incapable of getting out of bed. I just laid there, watching him prepare to leave.

With every item of his Danny picked up and threw inside his backpack, it felt like pieces of me were being stolen. One by one, he retrieved all the things he came with the previous day. And I watched him, helpless to stop him, feeling lonely already. He’s going forever, I thought. When he turned to bid me goodbye, sadness threatened to overwhelm me, and I struggled to muster a sentence: “When are we seeing again?”

He replied, “We’ll see in school.”

And with nothing else said to me, he left, leaving me behind to struggle with my sadness and guilt. What have I done? I bemoaned silently.

Soon however, as the time drew near for school hours, I was up and speedily getting ready for school. Danny had said we’d see in school and I was determined to hold on to the hope that seeing him would somehow reassure me that everything was alright between us. I was in and out of the bathroom with a speed that the Flash would envy. I threw some clothes on, slapped on a pair of shoes, grabbed my bag and books, and dashed away. At the bus stand, I was very ferocious in struggling with the animals students for the bus, so fueled was I by my urgency to get to Danny. I had to get to class as soon as possible, my Prince Charming was there and I was on a mission to get him back at all costs, even if it meant amputating a fellow student while struggling for the bus.

My enthusiasm was short-lived when I got to class to discover that Danny was nowhere to be found. I tried calling his phone a few times but couldn’t get to him. I sent a few texts, and got no reply. By this time, my entire system was starting to go into panic mode. My hands and feet were experiencing a magnitude 9.5 earthquake and my brain was in constant Brownian motion. All I needed was a light push or a gust of wind and I’d fall and be rendered unconscious. Like dark clouds in an overcast day, guilt eclipsed me and my thinking was distorted, suffocated with thoughts running amok. Has he told someone? Does he hate me? Am I ever going to see him again? Has he committed suicide? Have I lost my one chance at love?

Danny never showed up to school. And the entire day was shot to hell for me. By the end of lectures that day, I was out of my mind with worry. But I felt too cowardly to go to his house and confront whatever was the reason he’d skipped class. Instead, I dragged myself home, still thinking about him. Suddenly, I wished I hadn’t initiated the sex last night. I wished everything could return to normal. I wanted my man back. I needed him to be my friend again. I was lonely and scared and there was no one in the world to comfort me. I just wanted my Danny back.

And then, I was at home, and upon the vibration of my phone, I snatched at it with the reflex of a pit viper. I checked the Caller ID and felt an intense rush of emotions when I saw it was Danny calling. I answered. In a voice that didn’t reveal much by way of how he was feeling, he said he’d called to tell me he was okay. He’d been sleeping all day and had been too tired to bother with lectures that day, he said.

As he talked, I could feel my blood pressure – which was at 1523554 Systolic/78445 Diastolic – fall to somewhere within the normal range. For the first time since early this morning, it finally seemed as though everything was going to be okay.

I spent the next few days trying to win back Danny’s affection. It wasn’t so much winning it back as it was trying to make him show it; his affection was there, but I could sense that he was holding back. (I didn’t know what internalized homophobia was then; else I would have read him his rights).

After a few weeks, it seemed as though things had gone back to normal. We eventually succumbed to the sexual tension between us and slept together. The next morning, he ran off again. This time however, I wasn’t as terrified as I was the first time, because I knew he’d be back. A few months later, Danny got comfortable enough to have sex with me and stay over the next day, and even go to school together with me without putting up an awkward attitude. The more comfortable he got with the way things were between us, the more I loved him. By the time I turned eighteen, I decided it was time to take my man home. I brought him to my house and introduced him to my family – as my very good friend, of course. They all loved him and his infectious sense of humour, and we all shared lovely moments together. He became such an integral part of my life – and my extension, my family’s as well – that oftentimes, my mother would ask after him.

Things were so good between Danny and I; at least I thought they were. I was so blinded by my love for him that I failed to notice when he began to withdraw. It wasn’t long however before I discovered that I was the one in our relationship doing all the calling and initiating contact via texting. This bothered me. When I called him and told him about this development, he tried to diminish my concerns with excuses, reassuring me that everything was fine between us. I believed him. Or at least I tried to. But I still couldn’t shake off my suspicions that something was happening to us, to him. I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off. So I decided to apply my two-day rule which is about shutting someone out for at least two days to see if they’d care enough to reach out. Two days went by in a haze. Danny never once reached out to me. By the third day, I began to feel the sharp sting of betrayal. More days passed, and he not only wasn’t initiating contact; he was also full of excuses as to why we couldn’t hang out or be together. He started leaving class immediately after lectures and would always avoid eye contact with me in class. I pined for days and wept in my heart. I wondered what I’d done wrong. I tried to get him in a room and talk to him, but he’d gotten adept at maneuvering his way out of having any privacy with me.

Then came a Thursday evening, I was at home. I heard footsteps approaching my door. I peeped through the window to see who it was before they could knock, and my heart skipped when I saw it was Danny. I hurried to the door and unlocked it before he could even knock. Our gazes met, momentarily so, before he slid his away from mine, as though he couldn’t bear to look at me. That was very worrying to me. He walked into the room and I shut the door. There was a certain tenseness in the room. I made for the bed, but he remained standing in the middle of the room. I quickly got the memo that this wasn’t a social call. I sat on my bed and gestured for him to come take a seat.

He politely declined. “No thanks, I’m not staying long.”

That was when I knew shit was about to go down. Ignoring the rapid beating of my heart, I started prattling with questions about how he was doing and where he had been and why he hadn’t been forthcoming lately and why he’d been acting strange. The questions tumbled out of me in a rush, and when I was done talking, the following dialogue ensued.

Danny: I’m fine. I’ve just been trying to stay away from you and pay more attention to my girlfriend.

Something twisted in my heart at those blunt words, coupled with the shock at his revelation.

Me: Your girlfriend?

Danny: Yes, I have a girlfriend na.

Me: Then what have we been doing?

Danny: Please, let me make one thing clear. I’m not gay. You’re the one who made me to do all those dirty and nasty things we’ve been doing, and I don’t want to do them anymore. I love women and I love breasts.

Me: What do you mean by that? You mean all this time, I’ve been wasting my time and energy with you?

Danny: Like I said, you can carry your gay acts and find another person. I’m not doing again.

Me: So after you disvirgined me, you’re just going to leave me like that? Don’t you feel anything for me at all?

I was starting to feel a heady mixture of rage and misery. It was almost dizzying.

Danny: I was pretending to like it. You forced me into it, so I just went with it.

Tears stung my eyes, and against my will, they leaked through and slipped down my cheeks. I had never felt such a slap across my face the way his words struck me. Disappointment welled inside me as I screamed words at him that I’d never told anyone before him. “I FUCKING LOVE YOU!”

He flinched, not – I’m sure, from the way he quickly looked back at the door – because of the words, but because of the loudness. When he turned back to me, his expression was unaffected, like I hadn’t bared my soul just then to him.

I was distraught. I couldn’t believe such a guy I’d trusted with my body and heart would get so callous. I yelled at him again, accusing him of disvirgining me and now abandoning me. He rebuked me, asking me if I was a girl and telling me that I should be ashamed of myself. And then, as though he’d had enough, he turned and headed toward the door. He was leaving.

I sprang up and went after him. I grabbed the backpack hanging from his back and pulled him back. He staggered back and shoved me. I struggled with him for a brief moment. I was determined not to let the bag go, because that would mean he wouldn’t leave. I told him he wasn’t going anywhere.

Then he stopped struggling, shrugged the bag off his shoulders and into my hands. And then he turned around and in the flattest tone I’d ever heard, he issued me with a threat that knocked the breath out of me. He told me he’d out me to my family if I didn’t let him leave at once. I recoiled from him, instantly tossing the bag back at him. He caught it, slung it back over his shoulder, and without another word, he opened the door, walked out and slammed the door, effectively killing something inside me that evening.

TO BE CONTINUED.

Written by Max

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38 Comments

  1. Queen Blue Fox
    March 17, 05:32 Reply

    OH MY! that first betrayal, always hurts like hell. ? ?
    I Can still remember mine.

  2. Mandy
    March 17, 05:52 Reply

    ? ? ? ? ? Oh so this is where the damage started… the compulsive need to see the Internalized Homophobia in grudging gay men… Now it makes sense. 😀

  3. KingBey
    March 17, 07:11 Reply

    Oh. Now it’s getting more clear why you always bitter. But sorry darling, not everyone is your Danny so don’t take it out on all of us. And for someone who started having unprotected anal sex at 17 and bringing market home at 18 calling others a hoe, hehehehe. I think I’m a saint after all. I understand your pains now. Ndo.

    • Max 2.1
      March 17, 07:25 Reply

      There’s a something called dating and there’s something called #RandomHookUps which is what you do(while claiming to have a boyfriend).. Don’t allow me to share your tea here because you know yours goes beyond casual hookup.
      ☕☕

      • SIMPLE
        March 17, 07:32 Reply

        *coughs*..!!!! Max you seem to know kingbey from adam….. interesting…. *Sits back*

      • KingBey
        March 17, 09:32 Reply

        Please do share. As it seems you know me more than I know myself. ???

  4. Kenny
    March 17, 07:36 Reply

    Wait, I have to laugh…. Hahahahahaahahahaha?????. I’m sorry if that was insensitive but that was my God honest reaction to this piece.

  5. bruno
    March 17, 07:37 Reply

    reminds me of uni days when my ex left me for jesus…

    danny was a huge dick(pun?) but then again, an 18 yo coming to terms with his sexuality in a viciously homophobic society like ours is not an easy thing. it’s hard for someone to love you when they can’t even love themselves.

    oh and i don’t think these experiences are the reasons why max is max. max is max because he’s just… max.

    • ambivalentone
      March 17, 08:39 Reply

      True. Experiences are only a part of one’s disposition. Just one may not be enough to force drastic changes or an outlook to life

  6. Geeluv
    March 17, 08:12 Reply

    Funny enough…. I just had mine as an adult ?. Trying to get out of it already though.

  7. thatinyvoice
    March 17, 09:02 Reply

    ‘I just wanted you to fuck me(and fuck you), but then I got greedy I wanted you to love me’

  8. Absalom
    March 17, 09:25 Reply

    Beautiful story. Pele. I’m sure you’re fine now.

  9. Wayfaring Stranger
    March 17, 10:21 Reply

    Aw. Poor Max. Those words were really mean; can’t imagine how depressed I’d feel if I was on the receiving end.

    I hope the part 3 gets released before the year ends and I hope you were able to get the last laugh.

    OAN: I wonder if you refer to your work colleagues as animals too.

  10. CriXXus
    March 17, 11:10 Reply

    This was sad??……… very sad. Assuming I had “on my own” from les miserables(perfect song for that bag throwing/door slamming scene and a weeping fest) playing while reading this, I sure would be wailing by now???.
    But ppl though, you allowed those “nasty stuffs” to go on and on and you claim you are not gay! Seriously?? Bitch get on the queue for confused ppl, pick a struggle and pick a number. I just can’t!

    Mine actually happened via social media inbox and till date my mkpuru anya has not seen the uchu! I play out all kind of bad tinz I would do to him if we ever meet!

    Previous experiences in life sometimes frame our attitude towards ppl and situations later on.
    #MANMAKESMANWICKED

  11. Khaleesi
    March 17, 11:12 Reply

    Ahhh Major damage, this kind of pain changes you irreversibly and forever … Nice piece!

  12. ambivalentone
    March 17, 12:11 Reply

    Max, I have this niggly feeling there isn’t ANYTHING you will say or comment on on here that won’t bear a reference to today’s post. I wish you strength for the coming days.

    • Max 2.1
      March 17, 13:10 Reply

      Lmao ???.. If I was really bothered about that, I wouldn’t have ever shared any personal story here. The nay-sayers are all welcome.

  13. BRYANNNN
    March 17, 13:18 Reply

    Am not really surprised @ Danny’s reaction, its expected……At that age, most closeted gays haven’t really accepted themselves, they still believe in trying that “GIRLFRIEND” Option, which often times doesn’t really work…..@ Max, you are such a good writer, this write up saw me swimming in different phases, from a feeling of love n affection, to confusion, desolate and disappointment……We all have had our fair share!!!!

  14. Kester
    March 17, 15:55 Reply

    Well………. like someone said before, this post explains a a lot. What I admire most is your courage to share. We all had our dannys and quite frankly my danny really affected me and still affects me more than I care to admit.
    For instance I just realized my last two serious relationships, my exes resemble my “Danny” in hight, color, disposition etc.
    Am I still subconsciously searching for Danny?
    Holy Ghost………… FIRE!!!!!!!!!!

  15. Cho
    March 17, 22:30 Reply

    What if the Danny guy was not gay? Isn’t it possible he was just having sex with Max out of friendship? The same way gay guys have sex with girls and remain gay is the same way a guy could have sex with another guy and be completely straight. Y’all need ta chill out and not feel every guy that does that has IH.

  16. ACE
    March 18, 18:36 Reply

    “You’re the one who made me to do all those dirty and nasty things we’ve been doing, and I don’t want to do them anymore. I love women and I love breasts”

    ^^^—This got me rolling people!

  17. Lorde
    March 19, 20:34 Reply

    Damn, where’s the chill Danny?

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