May 15

Growing up, I think sex was one of the few uncomplicated things I knew. You were Top, Bottom, or Versatile. It really didn’t matter what you liked because it was all fun for the two parties involved, and if done right, both parties would go home quite content and happy with an afterglow. I bottomed quite happily for people because it was fun. I asked a few times if I could top (disrespectful child), and I was refused. Even by the so-called Versatiles. But oh well… I was a young one and they might have felt uncomfortable or something. I however patiently waited for my university days when, at least, I’d find even some of my age mates that we’d get to flip flop and stuff.

University has however shown me that many more unimportant things have come into defining sexual roles, making things unnecessarily complicated. I can’t even state my role comfortably without being told I should be Bottom and not Versatile. It was just some dude I met and maybe, because I wasn’t edgy or hard enough, he thought it meant I should only get it up the ass. I just smiled sheepishly at that. By the time I’m done dealing with him…

Nowadays, I don’t squabble over whether I’m Versatile or a ‘boy’ or a ‘girl’, thanks to my role. What’s the point? I know my truth and arguing about it only makes it look like I have my doubts. If you’re Bottom and think I’m a closet Bottom because I don’t look like I’d pound the shit (metaphorically speaking) out of you, good for you. The wonders I’d have done to your body with my mouth, tongue, hands and D, you will never know.

I also take your word for it concerning whatever role you tell me you play. I really couldn’t care, as long as I’m attracted to you. If you are Bottom but curious as to what it’s like to Top, and I’m attracted to you that way, then I’d let you have a go.

However if you tell me you’re Top and I feel like I don’t want to be the only one bending over, I’d let you know. I’ve been surprised too many times to think that even some “Tops” won’t take D. You just need to be able to persuade them. Or make them want it. Sometimes it’s even enough to just ask.


Last weekend was quite hectic. I moved from my previous hostel to a new one. I’m the kind of person who doesn’t like to stay in a place for too long. Even when I’m home, I rarely sleep in a particular room. I’d move from the empty visitors’ room to the living room, and if either of my parents travel, I’d take their place on their bed. I wonder why I’m like that.

I had help from my friends moving. I also made a new friend who dressed me up moderately and we took pictures and I looked quite good, if I may say so myself. The issue with me dressing up however is that I get self-conscious. I wonder if I look like I’m trying too hard and why I’m even trying. Please gimme my shorts and loose fitting top and flip flops and I’m good to go. I was even going to commit a fashion blunder and wear Native to a club party thingy… Why? Because the Native clothes I had were nice and comfortable. I wouldn’t sweat too much and they’d keep me warm if I wasn’t dancing and the air conditioner was on. I guess I just pick comfort over class. That’s why I need fashion-forward people around before I embarrass myself.


Anyway, a friend from Lagos came to town. I met him when I was doing my IT in Lekki. We hung out with another friend of his at a hotel and it was nice just spending time with him.

The next morning, I received a call from my friend – a fag hag (and I say this in the fondest way possible). Her name is Laide. I told her I was gay my first year in university, and she was very cool with it. In fact she always laments about the inability of gay people to be themselves even in the face of someone who is accepting of them. Not once or twice have my friends decided not to come over to my house because she’s there and they don’t want her to associate them with being gay (and a few of them are flaming for Africa…I wonder who they are deceiving).

One time, while she was waiting for me at an eatery with another friend of mine, they got talking and he said how much he loved and wanted kids. She told me that it was then she realised how much trouble Nigerian girls are in, with this inability of gay people to express themselves. She pointed out rightly that someone like my friend would get an unsuspecting girl pregnant and then take the child from her and ruin her market value, especially if he doesn’t marry her. Worse, if he married her because the girl would probably die inside when she realises she’s with a man who is into other men. I told her that these females in trouble also have a part to play especially if they are homophobic.

But really though, it’s funny and frustrating how people can be so scared of themselves and have internalized homophobia (that word is so cliché right now) that even in the face of acceptance, they run and hide. Here’s someone who says “I won’t judge you one bit and I love gay guys because they are fun to be with”, and you refuse to let her know due to paranoia.

I introduced her to somewhere I go to eat and immediately she stepped into the place, her gaydar kicked in. (By the way, her gaydar didn’t pick me up as gay till I told her… Lol) And she asked me, when we went outside to buy some things, if that was like some breeding ground for gay people. I laughed so hard because my friend who was there is always feeling like he’s got his sexuality under wraps. I’ve told him to stop deceiving himself and just try to live his life to the fullest, but you can take a horse to the water, but you can’t force it to drink. Anyone with half an eye can tell you’re gay, even when you’re forming ‘mando’. Abegi! Life is too short.

When I came out to her, I was worried she’d blab. Just a bit worried. She did tell her boyfriend-now-ex, because he was worried about how close the two of us became, but I warned her never to do it again, and to the best of my knowledge, she hasn’t. And I have to say, telling her is one of the best decisions I’ve made in my life. No regrets. So far so good.

Funniest part is that we are both Aquarius and we both think almost the same way. Many a time, we have found out we are thinking about the same person at the same time without even having seen the person quite recently. It’s fucking weird. We are also both psychotic lovers, but she’s worse. I think it’s hormonal. Females are trying sef.

Anyway, she called me to tell me a car she’d been saving up to buy had finally arrived. A mini Cooper. Cute. It was manual and she said she didn’t know how to drive, but she needed moral support and wanted me to come along with her to buy fuel. The car had tinted windows, was still right-hand but already had a Nigerian plate number and her driver’s license had expired. Silly me still followed her like mumu, because she has a way of making me do things she wants and it usually involves pestering the fuck out of me. It was a very amusing and frustrating trip. It took about thirty minutes to figure out how to turn it on. We had to use Google. The rest was just trial-and-error, and the car kept stopping, and I kept shouting “I’m not ready to die!”, and we both just got so fucking frustrated. Even the car sef got frustrated and refused to start. Policemen stopped us, and we had to call some big man she knows and he gave the policemen fuel because he owns a filling station (the things you can get away with if you are cozy with people in power). In the end, we had to hire a random person to drive us back to campus and the person, though he knew how to drive a manual car, wasn’t used to maneuvering a right hand vehicle and almost kept moving towards a ditch, and we kept shouting at him, and my screams of “I don’t want to die!” returned. I was quite frankly glad to get out of the car and go to my new comfortable self-contained apartment.


As the week progressed, I called my mum and she was asking me when next I’d be coming home. I told her I didn’t know. She then told me she wanted me to have a small deliverance session with the pastor dude that gave me the starvation – sorry, fasting regimen. I told her I’d heard her.

Please, is there a polite way of being able to go home and refusing to go through this stress?

I feel drained enough as it is, and now she’s adding deliverance. She thinks the prayers are working, but I’m still as gay as fucking ever. My short term solution is to put off going home for as long as I can, but I really do like to go home as often as possible. It’s just frustrating. Maybe I should just indulge her again. It sucks to say, but I am sort of tied, because I am still dependent on her and my dad, and this is why I can’t ever fully go against their wishes. I hope my psyche can hold up with all of this.


Put a group of people together, isolated from the rest of the world even, and a caste system would still form. It’s natural. It can’t be helped. Some people are naturally born leaders. Others look up to them. Their word becomes law. These natural leaders lead, whether they even want to or not.

Then there are others who learn to be leaders or who acquire a high position of authority. Could be by their wisdom or amassed wealth. Basically these people have something the general public doesn’t have, and they look up to them.

And then there are those who believe that they have a right to rule simply because they know better. These kinds of people are dangerous. They are the dictators and oppressors. They want to tell you how to think, ignoring the fact that people come from all walks of life.

Then there are the followers. Some kiss ass and will do anything to get to the leaders’ good books. Some simply look up to the leaders and make their word become law. Others are much more skeptical and take bits and pieces of what the leaders say, if they feel they are correct. This latter group of followers has a mind of its own, but they do not wield enough influence or charisma or power to become leaders.

We also have the noisemakers who just want to be seen and heard, even if it requires not being true to themselves or making fools of themselves.

Then we have those who blame the leaders for every single thing that is wrong in their lives, forgetting that most times, how your life turns out is in your hands.

Why that long and probably-inaccurate epistle? Well, I’ve been hearing of a Lipstick Gang for quite some time, and at first I was amused, but it is kind of downright annoying that we have decided to imagine in our heads an elite group who can get away with whatever they like. This is the typical Nigerian complaining that Nigeria is in shambles due to colonialism.

Sure, I see some comments and I wonder how the commenter gets away with it, when it’s basically on the same level as the things Chizzie gets sanctioned for, and we focus it around a particular set of people, completely forgetting that even some other people who have made those same terrible comments are being ignored by the Admin. That’s why I said that we have created in our minds this elite group which might have as well been everyone on KD, because only very few people can say they haven’t said some very downright mean and nasty things and gotten away with it.

Personally, I believe there is no Lipstick Gang. Just as some of the Admin’s friends are getting away with bad behaviour, some of the rest of us have gotten away with it too. So biko, we need to stop playing the victim. It’s not a pretty sight.

Besides, I wonder if people on here are like women who have labour pains and forget about them once labour is done. If I remember correctly, the people who disappeared were actually people whom many didn’t like. From the way people replied their comments, you’d think we wouldn’t be sorry to see them go. I’m pretty sure the Admin had very little to do with their leaving compared to how their comments are attacked by the people in this blog. I don’t miss Chizzie’s comments, but if he did come back, I really couldn’t care at all. I don’t think I’d even miss any commenter if they decided to leave the blog. Just make sure articles to read are frequently updated. I stopped caring too much about comments when I realised it’s sometimes just a bloodbath, to the extent that reasonable talk is shadowed by the grievances we have against one another. Grievances against total strangers whose crime was to state their opinion, no matter how foolish/desperate/uncalled for/disturbing they seem. I shake my head.

I’ll say it again. If you have nothing good or constructive to say, please don’t say anything. It’s not by force to talk. The amount of times I’ve seen comments that make the corners of my mouth turn down and I’m just about to give the commenter a piece of my mind, then I go back to read what I’ve written, and if I see there’s no way to say it without seeming like a bitch, I just delete the comment and observe. It’s not like my single comment will change the course of the person’s life forever, let alone their dearly held opinions. Maybe it’s just my nature. I really hate conflict and I avoid it as gracefully as I can, because energy spent fighting can be used for better things.

And biko, all of you should leave my dear Pinky alone. It’s his blog. If he wants to run it as a democrat or dictator, it’s his bidneezz. He’s doing what he’s come here to do and that’s to give stories. When people misbehave, he’s allowed to react how he likes. He can choose to ignore. He can choose to side with the person. He can choose to delete the comment. It would be nice if he censored things, but if he decides not to, it won’t add to his salary or reduce the price of fuel.

My, that was an epically long rant. I’m spent. *adjusts hijab and rides away on Unicorn*

 Written by James

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