Dear Diary,

I was running out of my mind.

Isaiah had stopped picking my calls and replying my messages. We hooked up about three times after our first meeting. Had fun, explored each other, and he even made a fleeting statement about wanting to be my boyfriend (which I responded to with a fleeting smile), and shared each other’s stories of our exodus to the States.

And now, he wasn’t replying my texts and calls, and even flirted with other guys in the gym in full view.

I have never been one to go ask what is happening, but that all too familiar event of being the “game” that had been conquered didn’t sit well with me. I left that shit in Nigeria. No, I wasn’t in love with him; the thought of being in love or in a relationship makes me nauseous. I just wanted to hear him say it, tell me it was no longer going to happen between us. The cold-shoulder treatment and the look in his eyes that had so much to say but didn’t infuriated me greatly.

By now, it is established that I have an intense case of paranoia, and because of that, I made up my mind to have one fuck buddy at least for a long time. When things started to roll between me and Isaiah, I deleted my Grindr app, something he equally did. And I was quite happy to have someone on call. Everything was in place and moving smoothly. This sudden change of attitude disturbed me greatly. Did I do something wrong? Was it becoming boring? Was my refusal to bottom for him – stating that “a big ass doesn’t necessarily make you a Bottom” – the problem? Had he gotten bored? We had intense ways of pleasuring each other; I’d been sure that would suffice. Little things like this bothered me greatly, so much that one day, I summoned the presence of mind to walk over to him in the gym to ask when we were going to meet again and why he wasn’t replying my texts. Of course, I had to say it in a way that wouldn’t make me look desperate. My attitude was subtle, you know, along the lines of “Why the fuck are you not replying my messages?” I said this with a smile to soften the punch, even though I was furious.

His response was work and overtime with commitments he had in his church. Apparently, his church folks assisted him during his early days in the States and he owed them so much (at this point, this unsolicited information was a clear indication of what I feared). I smiled when he was done with his excuses, and wished him the best. He casually added that we could meet sometime on his day off but I knew he didn’t mean it. He is Nigerian. I am Nigerian. And we know how these things go.

I went into primal rage mode and downloaded Grindr again, not looking for anyone or anything. I simply wanted to make a statement to myself that I had the power to move on to the next. I’d forgotten my login credentials, and so, I had to open a new account, something I didn’t get to do till late at night after work. I logged in, all set, and who do I see two miles away but Mister Hands-too-tied-to reply-texts. He was online and I was this close to losing my damn mind.


In that moment, I decided not to let this fly. I went online, took on a random picture, took on the name ‘Travis’ and engaged him.

‘Hello,’ I (Travis) wrote.

‘Hello,’ Isaiah wrote back.

‘I love your strong arms.’ Travis was referring to the headless pic with biceps on his profile.

‘Thank you,’ he replied. ‘Got pics?’ he added.

‘Yeah.’ I went online to source for pictures; not too hot to be unbelievable, but hot enough to hold his interest.

Predictably, he was interested and we planned to meet the next day. I was mad, excited and nervous all at once.

‘What are you into?’ Travis asked.

‘I am vers,’ he replied.

This nigga had told me he was a ‘strict top’. Now he is vers? This shit wasn’t adding up and I was getting madder.

Travis replied, saying he is a power bottom who would like to ride his black cock, and Isaiah responded with a love-struck emoji.

The next day came, and for shits and giggles, I – not Travis – approached him at the gym and asked if he wanted to meet.

“I’ve got a dentist appointment,” was his answer.

Very well then!

I waited till he was out of the gym and Travis came back online. Isaiah was online too, and as if on cue, he sent a message Travis, saying he was now available. Travis requested for his address and phone number, which he provided promptly. Travis promised to be there in fifteen minutes.

 Fifteen minutes turned to thirty, then became an hour, and then two. His texts became unending. ‘Where are you?’ he texted. I didn’t respond.

His tone soon changed. ‘You faggots are all the same!’ To this, Travis simply replied, ‘Ok.’

This must have made him so furious, I imagined he was about to crash his phone, because his next message was, ‘You were fucking reading my messages all this time, made me miss an appointment and stopped replying my messages?’

Travis replied, ‘I was told to do overtime at work. I apologize for not informing you because I am not permitted to work with my phone on.’ He started to apologize, but Travis cut him off with, ‘Have a nice day. This faggot is no longer interested.’

I kept looking at the endless messages of apology with a mix of anger pour in; I looked on very satisfied.

Three days later, I got a text as I was about to leave from work. It read: Wanna meet today?

I was mad. I was furious. I was hard.

‘I’ll be there in an hour,’ I texted back as I started the car.

Written by Duke

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