It was Saturday, and we were waiting for Dr. Ernest Ebiowei in Adebola’s house.

“Do we have to be in here already?” I complained as I shifted in my position.

Ekene giggled. “I like it, so cloak and dagger. I feel like 007 right now.”

“Only without the guns, the fancy gadgets, and the women,” Biola intoned.

“Definitely not the women,” Jonathan interjected as the four of us laughed.

“Well, what do you know,” I said, with a smile directed at him, “someone’s got his sense of humour back.”

He returned a wry smile at me. “I’m just glad you guys are here, doing this, helping me out.”

“Of course, of course,” I said. “We’ll always have your back any day.”

“Uh, the only back that should be the focus of the day should be Adebola’s,” Biola cut in. “His back on the ground is the reason Jonathan is getting out of this unfortunate situation. Let’s not forget that.”

A moment passed before Ekene said, “Uh…Biola?”

“Yes?”

“When all this is over, maybe you should recommend Adebola’s name for the UN Humanitarian Award, seeing as he’s doing so much more than Angelina Jolie has done for all those orphans in Third World countries.”

The second outburst of laughter caused Biola to furiously shush us. “You people should stop laughing joor, before you’ll koba us here.”

“Leave us jaré,” Ekene said. “It’s not like they are here yet.”

“Where is Adebola sef?” I said, peering out at the room. “I hope he hasn’t wimped out of this operation.”

He hadn’t been too pleased to be part of it in the first place.

“Me?” he’d said, his brows arched, pointing a finger at his chest after Biola made his statement about him being karma’s instrument. “Please, don’t be suggesting what I think you are suggesting.”

“You already know sef –” Biola began.

“I absolutely cannot do it, Biola,” he objected in a firm tone that brooked no argument. “I’m way out of that man’s league.”

“You weren’t way out of his league the last time you two shagged, were you?” I said, catching on to what plan Biola had in mind.

“You’ve never had sex you regretted and swore never to go back to?” he returned flintily at me.

“But you said you guys had sex a couple of times,” Eddie countered.

“The second time was pity sex. The guy was smitten with me and kept pestering me for some more ass.” He shrugged as he continued, “I gave it to him one more time and sent him off with a strict discouragement on the possibility of it ever happening again.”

“So, you call him back and tell him you’ve had a change of heart,” I urged.

“Just like that? Won’t that be suspicious? I could barely stand him during our brief acquaintanceship, and I didn’t exactly hide it from him.”

“Why would it be suspicious? It’s not like he has any inkling that you and Jonathan are friends or connected in any way,” I said.

“I can’t spread my legs for that guy again one more time abeg.” He effected a shudder. “The mere thought of it sef…”

“When did you two hook up?” Eddie queried.

“About six months ago.”

“And what is it about him that repelled you so much?” Yinka asked.

“Well, duh, for one he’s old.”

“You fucked that Port Harcourt manager for sponsorship of one of your award shows, and the dude has grandkids,” Yinka deadpanned.

Amidst the laughter that erupted in the room at the riposte, Adebola protested, “No, not grandkids. He has a grandchild. And that was from a daughter who got pregnant way too early.”

“Whatever, dude, he was old. So come up with another excuse.”

“Well, he’s fat and gross, not good looking, as you saw from that picture, and he has zero skills in bed. Absolutely nothing working for him there. All he does is grunt and breathe heavily and sweat all over me, slapping my ass like good booty is going out of fashion.” We laughed some more as he continued, “Besides, the whole reason I got down with him was because I had to. The vicious old geezer had connections to get one of my models an uncommon, expensive but tried and true fitness regimen the guy wanted badly. I told my model I would take care of it, and I did. I scratched the man’s back and he scratched mine. I don’t see any reason why I should get down with him now.”

“Here’s one reason for you,” I said. “Jonathan.”

Jonathan looked up at my mention of his name and began speaking as he shook his head, “No, Declan. Adebola seems dead-set against reconnecting with the man. I can’t ask him –”

“Of course you can. That’s what friends are for. It’s not like we are asking him to do what he hasn’t already done before.”

“Hey, I don’t take kindly to that tone, Declan,” Adebola said with some asperity.

“Oh I’m sorry,” I said tauntingly, “did I hurt your feelings?”

“Why, you bitch –”

“Okay, guys!” Biola cut in. “Things are getting a little heated around here. Let’s take deep breaths, shall we? Declan, back off” – he shot me a stern look – “you were out of line. And Adebola, it’s not fair that we’re asking you this, I know. But right now, I can’t think of any other way we can get this man to back off. Unless, there is any tangible reason you detest him, I really wish you’ll take this one for the team.” He punctuated the entreaty with a small smile.

Adebola heaved a sigh, and looked to the heavens, as if to say, “Why me, God?” Then he turned to Jonathan and said, “You owe me one.”

A beatific smile spread over Jonathan’s face, lighting up his features for the first time since we’d been together in the room, and he said, “You name it, and it’s yours.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ll think of something.” Adebola removed his phone from his pocket and waggled his fingers at Jonathan. “Lemme have his number.”

Eddie blurted out then, “You don’t already have –?” He stopped when Adebola arched his brows at him and finished with, “Of course, you don’t.”

Jonathan called out Dr. Ebiowei’s number from his phone and Adebola keyed the digits on his, before depressing the call button.

“Put it on speaker,” said Paschal.

He nodded, and tapped the screen of his phone. The buzzing sound of the dialing tone instantly began resonating from the phone, filling the room with its slight raucousness. The call connected seconds later, and a coarse voice answered, “Hello?”

“Hi, Ernest,” Adebola said with feigned brightness. “It’s –”

“Adebola – I know. Why are you calling me?” The voice was evidently matured, and had the deep quality of one who knew he had authority and reveled in it. It was the voice of a bully. I was even less impressed with Dr. Ebiowei.

“Oh, you still have my number,” Adebola said, chuckling coquettishly. “That’s really sweet.”

“Adebola…”

“What? Can’t I just call an old friend again?”

“We were not friends, and if I remember correctly, you made it clear the last time we saw was going to be the last time we’d be in touch.”

“I know what I said, Ernie. But that was then. This is now. I want to see you again. I miss you.” His voice was syrupy, and had dipped to a soft murmur that made me unsure what to do, gag or laugh.

For a few moments, the man on the other line said nothing. The connection remained open, and we could hear his heavy breathing through the line. I could imagine his mental gears shifting and fighting to pull back his libido from succumbing to the allure of Adebola’s unspoken proposition. The struggle lasted six seconds. The libido buckled.

Letting out a sigh, he said, “I’ve missed you too, like crazy.”

There were smiles all round in the room, as Adebola cooed, “Well, I’m back now.”

“Are you really? Because you broke my heart with how you treated me the last time…” Dr. Ebiowei’s voice had lost its brusqueness; it was now a whine. “You messed me up really bad, baby. Don’t you know how much I love you…”

Ah, men! I thought with a snigger. Get us on the scent of good sex, and it becomes love.

“Of course I do,” Adebola was saying. “And I’m sorry about the way I treated you. Let me make it up to you. How about we hook up –”

“Yes, exactly!” the man interrupted enthusiastically. “Uh, the usual place?”

Biola made a sign with his fingers, and Adebola spoke into the phone, “Uh, baby, hold on a second. A client just requested for my attention.” He tapped his screen and the other man was instantly placed on hold. “Yes?” he said to Biola.

“Where’s the usual place?”

“The two times we hooked up, he made reservations at a hotel in Ikeja. I can’t even remember the name sef –”

“No, it can’t be at a hotel this time. It has to be at your place.”

“I’m not sure he’ll go for that.”

“The man’s konji is what you’re speaking on the phone with now. Trust me, caution is the last thing on his mind.”

There was a round of chuckles at that as Adebola returned to his call. “I’m back, papi,” he breathed. “Sorry about that, I’m at work. So you were saying?”

“Yes, I can make a reservation at the –”

“Hotel? Nah, hotel rooms are so restrictive, don’t you think? We need to hook up someplace where we can let loose and be wild…someplace like perhaps my house…”

For the second time, another number of moments passed during which time Dr. Ebiowei said nothing. All we could hear was the wheezing sound of his respiration. I thought he was contemplating Adebola’s suggestion, and that caution had kicked in to winnow away his lust. Then he spoke.

“Let loose and be wild, hmm? I like.” He sounded choked with desire.

I chuckled softly. The man hadn’t been thinking about the risk of coming to Adebola’s home; he’d been envisioning the dirty things he’d get on with Adebola during their rendezvous. Ah, konji, how powerful thou art.

The conversation soon came to an end, after the two men finished scheduling their liaison. They would meet at Adebola’s, on Saturday, by 2pm.

And here we were – Jonathan, Biola, Ekene and I – huddled inside Adebola’s roomy closet, peering out at the bedroom through the curtained wide slats on the closet doors, and waiting for him to return with the good doctor who he’d gone out to meet at the nearest junction. Yinka was away on a flight assignment in Asaba, Paschal was occupied with one of his personal runs at Ikorodu, and Eddie had traveled yesterday to Abuja for a blogger’s seminar. He’d be back later today.

We’d been hiding inside the closet (no pun intended) for about ten minutes; it was 25 minutes past 2, and –

“They’re here!” Biola hissed.

Ekene stopped his chatter as we heard movement in the room beyond. Four of us immediately hunkered close to the double doors of the closet.

“Easy, guys,” I whispered. “It’ll just be our luck if we fall through these doors and ruin the show.”

Ekene began to giggle, and a microsecond later, fought back the sound down his throat.

“What was that?” someone asked.

I drew the curtain aside by just a hair’s breadth. Ernest Ebiowei was certainly not your regular DILF; he looked even less attractive in person, although the simple kaftan he wore had a slimming effect on his paunchy build. Those narrow eyes of his were darting about the room as he tried to locate the origin of what he’d heard.

“What was what?” Adebola asked. He was moving his body in slow, sinuous movements as he pulled off his Tee-shirt over his head.

“I don’t know…I thought I heard something…” The man’s voice faltered when he was confronted with Adebola’s naked torso.

“Oh baby, relax,” Adebola admonished gently. “It’s just you and I here. Even God couldn’t see into this room if He wanted to.”

“Are you sure?”

“Would I lie to you?” And Adebola’s trousers dropped to the floor around his ankles.

Ernest’s Adam’s apple bobbed visibly with his hard swallow. His gaze was arrested as Adebola began to work his underwear slowly down over his hips.

“Oh my God, I can’t watch,” Ekene whispered.

“Lesbianism thinz, huh?” I whispered back with a chuckle.

“You said it, sister.”

“Gaddemn! Adebola has a very nice ass,” Jonathan exclaimed softly.

“You are not allowed to be interested in it,” Biola chided in a low tone.

We stifled our mirth as we watched the duo in the bedroom. Then Biola brought out his Samsung phone, while Ekene produced his android. Jonathan and I would not be taking any pictures because of the characteristically-audible click of our Blackberries’ camera shutter.

“Let the show begin,” Biola said, as we watched and they trained their phone cameras through the slats on the occupants of the bedroom.

Ernest was seated on Adebola’s bed, already divested of his clothing, and the younger man had slipped down to his knees and taken his cock first in one hand, and then the entire thing inside his mouth. He held it there as he worked his mouth over it, no doubt doing wonders with his tongue, if the ecstatic expression on the doctor’s face as he arched his small back backward was any indication.

“Oh yes… Oh, God, yes…!” he started gasping as he grabbed hold of Adebola’s head and pushed harder against his crotch, grinding his hips forward to meet the push.

Adebola endured the thrusting for a few moments, before shaking his head out of the man’s grasp, and easing back a little from the cock. Ernest whimpered in protest as his erection slid out of Adebola’s mouth, and then the sound was short-circuited into a groan of refreshed delight when Adebola went down on him again.

“Oh fuck, yes…!” he breathed out as Adebola licked and sucked his cock like he was a cat grooming himself. The man’s cock had a nice big head on it, and Adebola gave it his attention. He wrapped his tongue around the cock-head, and then flicked it over his piss slit, before going back to sucking and nuzzling his crown. Then he went down on his whole cock and started sucking his stalk all the way down and up.

“Jeezuz, it’s like watching porn!” Jonathan panted beside me.

I glanced at him in time to catch him snaking a hand downward to slowly rub his crotch. “That’s your friend and your evil boss out there, perv,” I chuckled, swatting at his hand.

“Ehen? Am I no longer a virile, red-blooded man again? What guy won’t be turned by that sight of Adebola working that dick better than most porn stars I know, hmm?”

I shook my head amusedly at him as I turned my face to briefly look at Biola and Ekene as they intermittently tapped their phone screens, capturing the unfolding scene into stills that swiftly disappeared into the phones’ media storage.

Operation ‘Fuck Doctor Ebiowei Up’ was being such a success.

“Oh God – oh fuck!” the man panted in a strangled tone as Adebola continued fellating him. “Oh baby, I want to feel your ass…!” He tried to lean forward with his hand to grab at Adebola’s derriere, but his potbelly and Adebola’s head against his groin wouldn’t let him gain purchase. “I’ll come soon – please, let me fuck you… please…”

Adebola leaned back away from him, and shot a quick, urgent look in our direction.

Biola chuckled. “He’s calling time out.”

“He did insist he would not go all the way to the actual sex,” I said.

“For the sake of mischief, we should stay put until the good doctor has made an entrance inside that shobosho he hasn’t had for six months. Small grace for him before we wreck his world, no?”

There was a murmur of laughter in the closet.

“Oh, baby, look at that ass…” Ernest moaned as he slapped at Adebola’s bottom, which was turned to him now that the younger man was lying stretched out and face down on the bed. He smacked the bottom again and again, light blows that were startlingly loud and caused a reddening of Adebola’s fair ass cheeks.

He was now staring fixedly in our direction, his face taut with annoyance. I will kill you all, he mouthed at us.

“Okay,” Biola said. “Playtime’s over. Now, let the fun begin.”

And our voyeurism was brought to an end when he pushed open the closet doors, and admitted us all into the bedroom.

Ernest gave a start upon our entrance and reared back, giving Adebola the chance to slip out from beneath him, and off the bed to pick up his underwear.

“What took you guys so long?” he seethed.

“What the fu–!” Ernest began.

“Better stay silent, Doctor Ebiowei, and listen to us,” Biola cut across his words with a sugary smile. “Because anything you say can and will be used against you in this court of law.”

What – What court – What the hell is going on here!” the man roared. He had gone from surprised to angry to livid in a matter of seconds. His eyes flashed with rage when he recognized Jonathan. “Kechere! What is this – what’s going on here!”

“Oh I don’t know, sir,” Jonathan said smugly. “I’m still reeling with shock from hearing all the profanities that came out from your mouth due to a guy’s mouth on your dick.” He smiled acidly as he added, “I wonder how our colleagues at the hospital will react when they find out how naughty you’ve been.”

Ernest flinched at the thinly-veiled threat, and turned a betrayed look at Adebola. “This was a set-up…?” he said hoarsely at him. “You set me up?”

Adebola shrugged. “I call you out of the blue six months after walking out of your life, and you didn’t pause to wonder? No good ever came out of a gift horse, Ernie.” Then to us he said, “Guys, I need to go wash this scum off me.” And he walked away into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

“YOU BASTARDS!” the doctor roared then. “You bloody bastards! Do you know who I am?! Do you –”

“You are the person that will shut up and listen carefully to what we have to say,” I retorted.

His outraged gaze flew to me. “Is it me you’re talking to like that? I am old enough to be your father, you little punk!”

“And the reason I won’t ever speak to my father in that manner is because he’s not a homophobic bully at work and a horndog after hours,” I shot back.

“That’s what this is about?” he railed, turning his furious gaze to Jonathan. “Kechere, all this is about me and you at work?” He let out a bark of humourless laughter before saying, “You’re finished, you hear me? I will destroy yo –”

“You mean, before or after we’ve destroyed you?” Biola cut in, holding out his phone for the man to stare at its screen.

His eyes bugged at the picture on it, and then he cringed, sputtering for a moment before he could come up with something intelligible to say: “You bastards!”

“You’ve already called us that, doc,” Biola said. “Be original. And there’s more, would you like to see?” He swiped his forefinger across the phone screen, sliding picture after picture past the other man’s line of sight. As the slideshow progressed, Ernest appeared to shrink within himself, until he had dropped back on the bed, cutting a pathetic figure with his hunched shoulders over his thin chest, which sat above his expansive midsection.

“What do you want?” he said in a small voice, not looking at us.

Jonathan stepped toward him, his face grim. “I want you to leave me the fuck alone. Mind your own goddamn business and stop embarrassing me at work. Stay out of whatever concerns me, except the work I’m at the hospital to do. And, oh, if one word gets out” – his voice had dropped to a low hiss – “if I hear even a whisper from anyone about me being homosexual, I won’t care who originated it. You can be sure that those pictures will find their way onto the internet, to your wife and the hospital board.”

Ernest flinched with each nail Jonathan hammered in on the threat.

“One more thing,” Biola intoned, putting a finger to his chin and tilting his head as if a new idea had just forced its way in, “you are to orchestrate a raise for Jonathan.”

The other man’s head shot up, and his eyes flashed resurrected fire at Biola. “You are not serious!”

“Oh, I assure you, I am.”

“I will not stand for this –”

“Blackmail? No, this isn’t blackmail. This is what my friend is due. You’ve been harassing him for two years now. In a more civilized country, he’d have sued you and gotten compensated. So, think of the raise as a settlement for all the grief you’ve caused him.” His eyes became arctic as he added, “Make sure that raise happens in the next two months, or else…” And he twirled his phone about in his hand.

“So, are we clear on all that, sir?” Jonathan said, his lip curling with distaste over the last word.

Ernest turned the hate in his eyes to him. He sat there, saying nothing for several seconds. Then in a move that belied his bulk, he leaped up and lunged toward Jonathan. None of us had been expecting the attack, and for a moment, Biola, Ekene and I stood motionless as both of them tripped to the ground, and began clawing and grasping at each other. Then the three of us rushed to Jonathan’s assistance, and soon, we’d pulled back and restrained the older man. Adebola stepped back into the room amidst the chaos, and he stopped at the bathroom threshold to stare.

Feral sounds issued from Ernest’s throat, and the blood vessels in his forehead looked ready to burst. “You will regret this!” he shrieked at Jonathan. “One way or the other, I will get back at you! AT ALL OF YOU!”

Jonathan had gotten to his feet. He looked equally spitting mad, and when he moved toward Ernest, I thought he would take a swing at the man. Instead, he pursed his mouth, produced a glob of saliva and spat it straight at Ernest’s face. Shock eclipsed the man’s features when the liquidy lump hit him on his forehead.

Then Jonathan jabbed a finger at him and snarled, “Go fuck yourself, mister! I own you! You hear me?! Don’t you ever forget that!

Written by Pink Panther

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