I met him in November 2010, two months after I got into the country for further studies. His name (for the purpose of this narration) is Chuks. My friend from Nigeria gave him my Facebook contact and we began getting acquainted via an online chat. Later the same day, we exchanged phone numbers and he called. We conversed. It was effortless, and remained so every time we talked over the next few days. Soon he wanted me over at his place, and gave me directions on how to locate his place. It was about 8 train stops and an hour-and-thirty-minute ride away, so I went on a Saturday afternoon when I was less busy. I buzzed him when I was downstairs before his apartment, notifying him of my arrival. A few moments later, he came down to receive me. Physically, he wasn’t really my type. He was a bit on the fair side, had a body that was neither well-toned nor muscular, and was a few inches shorter than me. Plus he was about five years older than me, and looked it. So in my mind, I was like: Okay, let’s get this over with ASAP so I can head back.

He took me upstairs. I observed that he stayed on his own in a three-bedroom apartment, something I thought odd for a Nigerian over there. Most Nigerians I’d met shared tenancy of their apartments. His place was okay, nothing special or lush. When we had sex, I noticed he took the D with some amount of pain. He told me later on that I was the first guy to penetrate him; he’d always played the role of the Top. But during our getting-to-know-each-other, I’d made it clear to him that I don’t take dicks up my ass. He’d said it was fine. I ended up leaving the following morning, and I didn’t really see myself meeting him again. Aside from the fact that he wasn’t physically my type, he was also a below-average kisser. I have a thing for good kissers. A good kiss can get me any day anytime.

But then Chuks wouldn’t let me be. He was persistent with his affections, and I couldn’t help my reciprocation. The rate of our meetings increased and we started having proper dates, you know, doing other things together besides having sex. During this period, I grew to like him so much that when he asked for us to venture into a relationship, I agreed. During this proposal, he emphasized how this meant that I’d have to stop seeing the other guys I was seeing then. I thought nothing about making that commitment; he absolutely cared about me and wasn’t shy in making it evident. I began to visit him more often, oftentimes staying over for days at a time. I cherished the allowance and privacy his sole occupancy gave me to just be myself. Back at my own place, I had two Nigerian flat-mates who were straight, so I couldn’t even talk comfortably and without some inhibition on the phone when I’m at home.

We’d been dating about three months when the cracks started appearing. He was quick to anger, and whenever this happened or we had an argument, he tended to shout, as though to shut me up with the sheer volume of his voice. He began to have a problem with me being on the phone. He’d want to know who I was talking to or chatting with.

The first day he showed that he had a violent streak in him was when I went out with two other Igbo guys to the mall. These guys were heterosexual and lived in the same estate as Chuks and I. (Yes, Chuks and I were practically live-in lovers at this time). I’d become friends with them. On that day, they rented a car and asked me to join them to the city centre to buy some clothing. We went to the mall and spent about four hours shopping. They shopped; I was just along for the ride. They bought some stuff for me too, a take-home package of chocolates, biscuits and some groceries.

It was 7pm when they dropped me off at home. Chuks was beside himself with rage when I got in. He screamed at me for being away so long and returning so late. I tried to get my explanation in edgewise, but he wasn’t taking it. In spite of being aware that the guys are straight, in his anger, he accused me of carrying on a threesome with them. At this point, he had gotten so mad that he snatched up the packages I came home and threw them out the back balcony. I was too stupefied by his overreaction to even react to what was going on. Later that night, he calmed enough to apologize and promised to replace the exact items he destroyed.

Thereafter came the day we had an argument over an online acquaintance I was chatting with. It was a harmless acquaintanceship. He had a problem with it, and as our fight escalated, he lashed out with his right hand, landing a slap across my face. I was stunned by the blow, not from the pain but because it had happened at all. He was instantly contrite; he dropped to his knees and began profusely begging me not to leave him, promising that what just happened wouldn’t happen again.

Chuks was also skilled at manipulating my emotions. There were times he’d say alarming things like how he would kill himself if I ever left him. He was also generous, very generous. One time, he got me shoes twice in a month, the shoe whore that I am. Whenever we dined out, which was often, it was always in nice restaurants. He ensured I had enough upkeep money, and access to his car and bank accounts. Materially, I was all good. But I constantly began to feel like I was in bondage mentally and emotionally.

Like I earlier said, we were practically living together. I was at his place 70 percent of the time. I went for my classes and carried on with life from his place. I however still maintained my tenancy in my own apartment. In 2011, I met a young Nigerian named David in the train. We established our similar nationality, and began talking, clicking so well amidst the other travelers in the train. When he let slip that his eighteenth birthday was the next day, I offered to take him out. He happily agreed.

The next day brought about a great outing. We went to the city center, took loads of selfies, had our fill of food at Pizza Hut, MacD and Nandos. We rapidly developed a friendship after that day, and when he had accommodation problems, I gladly permitted him to move into my place. I hardly stayed there anyway, so David basically replaced me there. David was heterosexual, stubborn and a brat; but he has a sweet demeanour that made him irresistible as a person. After he moved into my place, I enjoyed his friendship so much, I began to visit my apartment more often.

Admittedly, I was initially attracted to him. He was incredibly cute with cakes for Africa and Asia combined. I even confessed my attraction to him and he let me down gently. He told me he wasn’t sexually attracted to me and that all he thought of me was as a big brother. I respected his choice and this didn’t change my care for or attention toward him.

Chuks didn’t appreciate this new friendship of mine. He constantly pestered me with accusations of David and I having sex. He didn’t believe that I would welcome a relatively new friend into my apartment, rent free, unless I was shagging him. My explanations fell on deaf ears. He asked to meet David. I supposed he wanted to see for himself that David was indeed straight.

David came to our place for dinner, and all night long, Chuks played the consummate seducer to the hilt. He teased, smiled, touched, flirted – did everything to test David’s sexuality. But the boy was straighter than an arrow. When the night was over, he believed me. But that didn’t stop him getting surly-tempered or acting up whenever he perceived David as an inconvenience.

At this point, after nearly a year of being together, the cracks that scissored our relationship had begun to graduate. At every turn, Chuks saw me cheating. He’d accuse me and a fight would ensue. During one of these fights, he broke the promise he made once upon a time; he slapped me. We were in the kitchen, and when I lifted my hand to hit back, he evaded me, snatched up a frying pan and smashed it against my head. During another fight, he smashed a tumbler against the wall, while he raged about how he would kill me and then kill himself if I ever betrayed him.

Of course, our fights would always end with him getting apologetic, profusely so, with tears and on his knees sometimes, during which he’d promise never to get so vile again. And I’d forgive him, because I’d actually grown to love him. I wouldn’t entertain the thought of leaving him, not even when David urged me to.

He was obsessed. And I was trapped.

But then, a final threat to my life unshackled me from whatever had me beholden to him. We were having yet another fight, another tired argument over David. In the heat of the moment, he lashed out at me, slapping me across my cheek. This time however, I was quick on the uptake. I slapped him just as furiously back, following that up with a punch, and another one. He shoved me back and darted out of the apartment. This apartment was new, we’d just moved into it, and some floors were still undergoing some finishing touches. So, when Chuks returned, he had a brick in his hand. His eyes were crazed as he pranced toward me and slammed the brick on my head. Blood sprouted, I don’t know from where. But I suddenly lost my equilibrium, staggered about as my blood blurred my vision and dripped down my head.

A moment later, a moment during which Chuks realized what he’d done, he screamed. Immediately, he hustled me out into the car and rushed me to a hospital. The reason he gave to the hospital personnel for my bleeding head was that I’d slipped and fallen in the bathroom. I was soon stabilized and given eleven stitches. (The scar is still there on my head, a stark reminder, a ghoulish memento).

When we got back home from the hospital that night, just as he started with his ritual of begging and sobbing for my forgiveness, I very coldly told him that should he ever raise his hand on me again, I would stab him to death and face the consequences. As I uttered the threat, I meant every word. And the deadly seriousness in my countenance must have telegraphed itself to him, because from that moment till we ended our relationship, he never once got that out of control.

Following the brick incident, our relationship began crumbling faster than a sand castle struck by the wind. I stopped loving him and he stopped trying so hard.

And the end, when it came, was inevitable.

Written by KingBey

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