I love gay parties!
This is not because I am a horny bastard or because of the fact I like when a guy is grinding on me or vice versa. It is simply because gay parties provide the perfect atmosphere to be free to do whatever. I mean, we spend three-quarters of our lives pretending to be something we are not; it is always a relief to let your hair down once in a while (literally for some people).
Still, I always wonder why there is always so much drama at gay parties. I attend a lot of parties that are thrown by heterosexual people, and we just all dance, drink and have a good time. Not a lot of time for extra drama. I fear that is not the case with my people, as drama defines us.
Let me illustrate the typical Nigerian gay party.
So I get a text from a friend: ‘Hey Tony, if you are getting this, then it means you have been shortlisted. You are invited to my EXCLUSIVE Birthday Bash at my house. Time is 8pm till dawn. Come ready to have a good time, and this invite admits only ONE person. See you there. Sule.’
As you can see, there is already drama from the invite.
Anyway, the day of the party comes and I decide to get there by 10pm. Not because I want to be fashionably late, but because nothing ever starts on time in Nigeria.
I get to Sule’s house and I am greeted at the door by the very cheerful host. As soon as I am in, I see some effeminate guys in their bum-shorts hugging their nice booties, strutting up and down house. I know some of them, so I give them a hug, chat a bit with them, and feel up some ass…that kind of thing. They are the life of the party and we love them that way.
I get into the living room and some guys are sitting on the couch. They are trying their best to be the ‘men’, so they sip the alcohol in their cups and act like they are not turned on. I mean, it’s raining men.
I advance to the other rooms. Some guys are in clusters in different rooms. Some of them are shy and are worried that the police will bust in and arrest everyone in the house. Some make remarks like: “I don’t even know why I am here” or “I usually don’t attend these kinds of parties.” If you don’t want to be here, then why are you here?
It’s midnight now and things are getting heated. Some people are dancing. The guys on the couch are on the dance floor now, and the guys in the rooms are now on the couch. Some guys walk in and look like they are in another planet. These are the guys that always flaunt their ‘class’ and ‘style’ on the social media. They apparently do not know the host but somehow they are at the party. I know some of them, so I go over and greet them. They make their own remarks like: “Wow! Bitches be thirsty” or “This party is so classless.”
I smile to myself and leave them to go have some fun. I mean I came to party; I should get around to doing so. These ‘classy’ guys go and join the ones on the couch. Some cross their legs and gossip about the “classless bitches on the dance floor”, while some others fiddle with their phones like they are really having a conversation with someone at midnight.
An hour later, everyone is on the dance floor. The ones with ‘a lot of class’ are dancing with the ones with ‘no class’, while the guys who fear fourteen years in jail are in closed corners making out with random people. An hour later, and some are in the rooms having sex, while others are making out on the dance floor. At 4 am, a lot of people are asleep, waiting for dawn so they can all head back to their normal lives.
It is funny, isn’t it? All the drama. All the forming. To what end? No one is going to give you a prize for being better than the next person. There is no hall of fame to showcase your superiority. In the end, we are all the same misunderstood people and we all need each other.
Or in the end, it’s probably not that serious. It’s just a party, right?
Written by Tony Odekunle-Brown