“Let us pray,” he said, in the darkness of his room that had the silver strings of moonlight peeping through the openings of his curtains.
His request for bedtime prayers wouldn’t have been awkward at all; not in anyway. In fact, morning and night prayers were regular where I came from. But this was different; he’d just been moaning and begging me not to stop when I had his dick in my mouth some seconds ago.
Of course I didn’t protest and he went ahead with his prayer. And then he got to that part, that part we always say to get rid of the guilt of the day. “…Lord, anyway we have sinned against you today, please forgive us.” At that point, I imagine God doing the face palm and rolling His eyes at our request for forgiveness. Yeah right, I imagined him saying.
His name was Dan (not real name). He was my first hookup after almost three years in school (yeah, I am slow like that). I actually thought I was the only gay guy in the entire school (yup, you read right. Imagine the level of naiveté). Well, all that changed when I got off the geek squad train and downloaded the raging social app then, 2go. It was the floodgate of revelation I needed. Not only did I meet and discover guys in my school at that time, I found guys right in my hostel. Talk about “what you are looking for in Sokoto being in your Shokoto.” I was overwhelmed – adding, accepting, and promising to visit and all you would expect a kid to do with his very first piece of cake.
I finally decided to quit my promise-making charade and actually meet one of my contacts. He resided some fifteen minutes’ drive away from the school, which was okay for me. Not too close for discomfort and not too far away for pleasure. And oh! Did I forget to say I was a virgin then (yay!), and I was really not familiar with the protocols of first time hookups, which made me nervous as fuck.
I got off at the bus stop he instructed me to, and there, I met him. The moment he saw me and knew I was the one he’d come to pick up, I could see the lust in his eyes. He was sizing me up from every inch of thread that made the fabric of my clothes. The sexual tension was palpable between us as we shook hands and introduced ourselves. We took a short walk to his house and we tried to talk (keyword: TRIED). He must have been horny as fuck as he couldn’t hold it anymore, moving from side to side of his room to verify if everywhere was safe and locked in anticipation of what was about to go down, with the huge bulge protruding from his crotch following him wherever he went. I was still halfway through narrating something when he grabbed me so tight and started kissing me all over. It was the type that reeked with hunger and lust. It was deep and warm, as he held me tight to him and felt every inch of my mouth with his and his tongue.
I gave back in return, doing all I’d learned from the several porn and adult flicks I had seen. I could swear he loved me from the first day. He wanted to keep me. It wasn’t the type of claim people made when they’ve had sex with someone that fits their specifications. His was for real. He actually came to pick me from school with my property and said I should move in with him. I couldn’t imagine my luck. A working-class, independent guy literally begging me to move in with him. Of course, I declined the offer, but with how frequently I passed the night at his house, it would be safe to say I was already living with him. We did everything together. Cooked, did laundry, I met some of his family and church members.
Yes, church members.
He was the choir leader and somewhat a minister at his church. This was the only strain to our relationship – his constant battle with guilt. Sometimes after his evening church service, he would refuse to let me touch him. He would be so ‘spirit-filled’ that he would rather sleep on the floor than lie in bed with me. Other times, he would be talking about how he would quit soon and get married, showing me pictures of the ‘sister’ he was hoping to marry. I remember one night when a vigil was held at his house, one which he officiated. I remember how people were moved by the spirit from the words he spoke and the tongues he delivered. That was a high level of awkward for me, especially when I found myself avoiding our eyes from meeting during the course of the vigil.
I couldn’t handle it anymore. The constant battle he had with guilt, his off-and-on desire for me, and his ‘Father’s work.’ I started feeling like I was putting a strain to his desire to serve God. So after my first visit to the USA, I never returned to his place or met him again. Do I miss him? Yes, I do like crazy. Do I regret leaving him? Well, everyday, I learn new ways to answer that.
Written by Ace