At eighteen, I wasn’t so different from other boys my age, and then again I was. I had a guilty pleasure: Fat Boys. Cute or not, as long as they had extra meat on their body, I got attracted. Sexually attracted. I had seen a fair share of porn in my day, but I always imagined watching a fat guy doing it. And when my first opportunity to use Google arrived, the first thing I searched for was “fat man having sex”. I never identified as gay or bi then, but I couldn’t resist the sight of a (naked) chubby male and I often planned my bathing schedule to clash with that of the “big” boys in my school hostel.

The year was 2013, and ASUU had given us an early Christmas break in July. Hostile boredom followed suit but solace came in the form of my phone. On one dreary afternoon, in an attempt to “man-up”, I strolled into the ‘Men’s Lounge’ on 2go. Truth be told, there were very few ‘men’ on it, mostly horny boys looking for a quick-fix here and there. Sadly, I was one of them.

Before long, I came up to speed about how ‘men’ were ‘lounging’ and I placed my all-too familiar ad: “Fat or Chubby guys in Lagos, add me.” Minutes flew by but my hook wasn’t attracting any fish; it seemed only to reel in frustration. I decided to quit the app, but as my thumb nuzzled around the cancel button, “Bigwizzy1000 joined”. As a chaser, a chub chaser, an admirer of the big and beautiful men, the word “Big” got me curious. I sent a friend request and after a few seconds he accepted and appeared on my friends list. What followed next was very concise.

“Hi.”

“Hello.”

“Are you fat?”

“Yes.”

Things were looking bright. We quickly skipped through the necessary formalities although I had to peruse his Facebook to ascertain his credibility. I met him via 2go on Thursday and Friday morning he was on a bus heading to my house. He hinted to me that I would have to pay give him his transport fare back home. I didn’t mind. I just wanted to explore all my fantasies. He called me when he arrived at my bus stop and I went to pick him up. He looked slightly different from his Facebook pics but it was the same guy. Was he cute? No, not really. Was he drop-dead-gorgeous? No, not really. Did our conversation feature any trace of a relationship beyond sex? No, not really. But, was he fat? HELL YEAH! As soon as I saw him in his brown shirt and blue jeans, my eyes zoomed in, target locked down. He was about 5’7, and had a thick head on top of an equally thick neck. He had a robust stature with a huge chest, a pot belly, and thick thighs, just the way I like them.

We shook hands, exchanged pleasantries and I led him, like a lamb unto slaughter, to my house, enjoying the occasional view of his massive rear end. A few minutes after greeting the family, I was doing things to him that I didn’t even know I could. We hurriedly got naked, kissing, fondling, sucking and what not. I’d told him earlier on that I wasn’t ready for sex but was cool with everything else, but in the heat of the moment, he parted his massive ass cheeks and said, “Fuck me.” I didn’t. Instead, I proceeded to dry-hump him. It turned out to be a very bad idea as we had no lube and it felt like jerking off with sandpaper. After the session, I gave him his fare back home and he left. We met again on two separate occasions, each encounter concluding with the transport fare ritual.

I ended any physical relationship with Bigwizzy1000 after our third encounter. He had met my family on some of his visits and soon started asking about their ‘availability’. He wanted to, in his words, “be friends with my sister”, and he kept telling me my brother was ‘cute’. I knew this was a recipe for disaster as he’d once intimated me that he was bisexual. I told him straight up, my family (brother and sister) was a no-go area and ultimately reduced our relationship to the occasional hey’s and hi’s on 2go. He became persistent in his request to visit, often joking about outing me to my family, saying things like he would visit unannounced or come see my parents when I resumed school. It dawned on me that this one wasn’t going away easily, and so I geared up for what was to become a tough battle.

My task was simple: keep him away from my family or rather them from him. Bigwizzy1000’s big body frame was no match for the big headache he gave me. He added my sister on Facebook and began chatting with her. Soon after, she told me about it and I got worried. I managed to peek through her Facebook and I read their conversation. His last message read: “Do you know the relationship between me and your brother?” I wasn’t about to take any chances and I blocked his contact about five times. I was getting scared, I panicked, and I went off on him, engaging him in a spat. He didn’t back down; instead, he got bolder and clapped back at me.

Out of fear, I switched to Plan B. Pleading calls and texts messages to him, asking him to leave me in peace. That was an exercise in futility. Then my little forms of bribery followed – MTN 200 today, Airtel 500 tomorrow. It still didn’t do the trick. He remained a nasty character. I went on the offensive again, calling him names, every insult laden with hate, anger and resentment. I saw him for who he was, a phony, and I threatened to arrest and detain him. He must have known I was bluffing because he didn’t flinch and remained the cantankerous bull in my china shop. He went on the offensive too, saying I would regret meeting him and he was going to make my life a living hell. As if he wasn’t already doing that. He told me that all the transport fare I had so graciously given him served as payment for the services he rendered. I was particularly afraid of his threat to out me, because my whole family – believe it or not – is homophobic. Although I knew they wouldn’t take the word of a stranger over that of their ‘straight’ son, I feared it would breed suspicion. Once that seed is sown, it’ll germinate. I didn’t need their scrutiny; it would take some time to find out I am not as straight as they thought, but thanks to ASUU, there was ample time. And so this once booty call of mine became my date from hell.

I stopped frequenting 2go, hoping Bigwizzy1000 would get tired and just let me be. It worked. Months passed and life was returning to normal. No calls, texts or messages from him and I felt almost ready to re-enter society.

Then it happened.

“Bayo,” my sister called out one afternoon. She met me at the passage to my room and said in a stern voice, “I want to ask you something.” As if that wasn’t enough, she added, “And I want you to just be honest with me and tell me the truth.” This she said as she walked to the parlour.

My sister and I had a close bond, the kind that exists between siblings born of the same womb of course, but we were different. She was queen – while my dad was king – of the homophobes in my house.

The distance from the passage to the parlour was about ten yards, but it seemed like two football fields put together. I felt dazed. Bigwizzy1000 had followed through with his plan: he had told her I was gay. Okay. I could picture my burial. Brown coffin, black dresses and all. I took my steps, bambi style, like a newborn deer, often uneasy, unsteady and filled with a lot of pressure. Each step brought the parlour closer to me, and just then, I started noticing the crooked design of our living room. The fairly faded colour of the paint on the wall, the little crack beside the wall clock, the TV’s position, a little dust on the shelf. The parlour was big all of a sudden. Too big.

She was standing at the door and the reflection of the sun made a silhouette. She turned until we were standing face to face. She wasn’t smiling. He face was firm and hard, her eyes almost piercing through my skin.

I was afraid, very afraid. Her lips parted to reveal her perfect set of white teeth. And then there was the tongue, and then words came out of that beautiful mouth she owned. I was feeling hot and cold at the same time.

As soon as I heard the first words that proceeded out of her mouth, the earth stood still. Everything behaved as if they were suspended in time.

I heard her, sound and clear, but then again, I didn’t hear her at all.

She decided to further complicate my misery by telling me to “be honest”. My heart became a beat for an Eminem rap song, often threatening to burst out of my chest. My eyes had gathered tears and were ready to let go. I hadn’t prepared an answer for this day. My defence was weak. Had I said anything, it would have sounded like the squeaking of a whale. I wasn’t ready to lie. I was going to tell her the truth and damn all the consequences, but first I was going to make sure Bigwizzy1000 was coming to hell with me.

The question she asked me will never leave my mind. It sent me crashing into the sofa. In a hugely exasperated manner, her cheeks relaxed and I replayed the words she said in my head.

“Does this dress make me look fat?”

Writer’s Word: This story is true and is dedicated to my boo, Danyl.

Written by Orobo Hunter

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