THE LIFE OF THE PARTY

THE LIFE OF THE PARTY

The class had agreed it was going to be a pool party. We would all go there, have a few drinks, swim and just generally have a good time bonding, seeing as it was the last days of us being together.

I personally liked the idea – the idea of swimming seemed more pleasant than any other activity they had lined up despite the fact that I can’t swim to help my CGPA.

“You are not allowed to bring external members. It’s strictly for the class,” the class rep ordered to set straight the barrage of questions he was getting.

There were murmurs of dissent roiling over the lecture room; protests coming from these engineering students who would’ve loved nothing more than to colour the event with the different shades of girls they were disposed to.

I, on the other hand, had no qualms whatsoever. It isn’t like bringing a guy as your date is something that is welcome in this part of the world.

The day finally came. Not everyone made it as some coursemates had other appointments to attend to, some couldn’t pay the 1000 naira levy stipulated for participation in the outing, and others were too religious to be found in such a “sinful gathering”, as they tagged it.

It was a beautiful scenery – a lovely pool, surprisingly beautiful, surprising because I would never have thought a place that awesome could exist anywhere in the vicinity of my school.

There was drinking as people swam or idled in the pool, and music was blasting in the background efficaciously. I was seated by the pool with my legs dipped in the shallow end, a half-empty bottle of Star Lite in my hand, while my head bobbed in time with the upbeat tempo of the music.

I was having my type of fun, languid and deep, when someone pulled me from behind to join in the dance that was already happening while I’d been basking in my solitude.

Maybe it was the drink (just two bottles and a half as at then), or the fact that the people I was to dance with were faces I’d known for five years; I shed my reserve as I got up and began to sway to the song playing.

I dance good and I know it. I also love to have a guy behind me while I’m dancing, his crotch bumping against my writhing bum, and the realisation that this would not be the case here put a slight damper on the pleasure I was feeling as I danced.

Well, this isn’t a gay party, I kept reminding myself.

But I kept on dancing nonetheless. The drink and the euphoria of the event was beginning to make me feel light on my feet, and despite not having any guy rocking me from behind, I had entered into the zone.

My coursemates, by now, had stopped dancing and everyone was looking at me – looks that the sober me would have taken pretty seriously. The girls looked on with admiration and pleasant envy, and the guys – well, not to sound self-indulgent or anything, but there was a fair amount of passable lust in most of their faces.

It wasn’t very long before the guys began to mill around me. It was a gathering of Engineers, and so, it was mostly guys in attendance. How it happened, I really do not know, but Stanley had come up behind me and I rocked him from Nsukka to all the planets.

And then, after Stanley came Kingsley, Mbomi, Kennedy, Jasper, Aaron and so on.

The few girls in attendance didn’t seem to care that I, a guy, was seductively dancing on other guys, or maybe it was the drinking that had made everyone a little less judgmental and a little more carefree.

I was a lot carefree. I was doing everything I wanted and more.

I made it my gay party.

I mean, I even twerked on a guy while giving him a lap dance! What more could I possibly ask for?

Finally, nighttime came, and with the advent of the gloom, the energy began winding down gradually. I was seated at the bar area with my legs spread out, eyes closed and head thrown back in exhaustion, when someone tapped me back to consciousness. I blinked my eyes open and stared up at the intruder. It was one of the guys I had danced myself to stupor with.

Emeka – dark, ruggedly-handsome, tall with a killer Igbo accent to go with the physique.

He had a confession to make, one which thrilled me. One I hadn’t seen coming but was intrigued to be aware of all the same.

And that day, with the night skies smiling down on me and my friends chattering randomly beside me, not for once having a clue what I’d just been told, I left with the mind-boggling knowledge of how I had a bisexual coursemate. A deeply, closeted one though.

And he had confided this in me, not because I am a psychotherapist, but because he was looking forward to the day when I would re-enact my dance moves on his bed. This revelation was implied though and not stated pointedly.

I laughed because of a lot of things. The apparent stereotype – I had to be gay to be able to dance that way. He had literally come out because he had something illicit in mind. He must have thought that because I let loose on the dance floor, it must translate to my being easy to get with.

Well, it was a remarkable way to end the evening, much more remarkable than I’d bargained for. I’d had an evening of great dancing, and a man whose bad, bad intentions I had to consider.

Written by Delle

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29 Comments

  1. Johnny
    April 12, 08:25 Reply

    I can relate. There was one guy then in my class that can hug me right for Africa.
    I was like WTF.

  2. Bryce
    April 12, 08:45 Reply

    “a man whose bad, bad intentions I had to consider”
    Careful.
    There’s such a thing as otomnegbum

  3. LoverBoy
    April 12, 08:52 Reply

    Intresting peice i must confess. Thought i was the only one that loves a guys cock rocking my behind while dancing. Thumbs up Delle.

  4. Bryce
    April 12, 08:52 Reply

    “a man whose bad, bad intentions I had to consider”

    Careful.
    There’s such a thing as otomnegbum.

    • Delle
      April 12, 09:07 Reply

      I’m curious. What does that mean?

      • Bryce
        April 12, 09:14 Reply

        Hian

        You are Igbo,you should know.
        That’s literally translated what’s-sweet-kills

        • Delle
          April 12, 10:38 Reply

          You are so sure I’m Igbo.

          Okay.

  5. Mitch
    April 12, 09:30 Reply

    Izzit not you again?
    Why else d’you think I like taking you to parties?
    While you’re busy rocking the entire planet, I can surreptitiously scope all the hot guys with their eyes and hands on you.
    I’m bad like that!

    • Delle
      April 12, 10:39 Reply

      Just shattap dia and quit making me look like one mindless toy.

      Perv.

  6. ambivalentone
    April 12, 09:55 Reply

    Shey u cud not quote him verbatim? Leave the implication of the statement to us abeg

  7. bain
    April 12, 13:04 Reply

    Delle baby,let’s dance.

  8. cedar
    April 12, 23:28 Reply

    when is d lap dance party getting to Awka abeggggg?

  9. Law
    April 13, 17:40 Reply

    Well, Delle, I still have those vivid memories of the way u rocked me from Lekki to London and back last year… u are one hell of a dancer and your energy is unmatched!

  10. peach head
    April 14, 22:44 Reply

    Hmmmm
    Delle been twerking than bobrisky since 1800

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