The evening started with an unannounced visit from a man we’ll call Jacob, ugly, short-statured, with a massive kporo who I once dated. To be honest, I was a lot little in love with him. It’s also worthy of note that our relationship lasted a year, a year stricken with his guilt of a non-self-accepting gay man. He was religious and closeted, and it culminated into the reason we broke up.

But we stayed friends, every now and then coming together to reap some benefits.

And that day, he’d come for a beneficial visit. It was past 11 pm and I was going through an old post on Kito Diaries, the piece about the Senate’s rejection of the gender equality bill.

“That’s a sin, you know,” his voice came over my shoulder.

“What is?” I asked absently.

Stretching his thick frame out on my bed, he said with a shake of his head, “This notion that God was stupid when he made the woman a lower figure than the man. I mean, what’s with the whole gender equality noisemaking. The female gender will always be inferior.”

All my warrior instincts were called to the surface and I turned slowly to face him. “Eh?”

He sat up in bed. “I mean, really check this out. The bible clearly instructs a woman to be submissive to her husband and clearly states that she is an afterthought of creation. Why do we constantly challenge God? It’s the same thing with this gay activism craze.”

By this time, I was staring at him like I would stare at the psychiatrically-certified patient walking into my room.

He wasn’t done. “I mean, you know you’re considered an abomination and yet you flaunt your abnormality. It’s just not right.”

At this point, I glanced at the dish on the stool beside the bed upon which were remnants of the food I served him earlier, and I tried to recall if I’d added a soupcon of piss into it without knowing; because he had to be full of waste products to be vomiting this much bullshit.

“Why would you see that you’re born wrongly and not do anything to fix the loose nut in your system?” Jacob carried on, before shaking his head one last time and finishing off with, “Homosexuality really is a choice.”

Then I sat up fully and slowly fixed him with my Florence Ita Giwa look, an expression that preceded a hot contestation of ideals between us. For the next several hours, we were up all night, embroiled in a heated argument over the issue of the female gender’s disadvantagedness in the society; I wasn’t even going to tackle him on his internalized homophobic views on homosexuality. That issue had lasted the entire year of our relationship.

And then, I decided I had to teach him a lesson. It was past 4am and my hopes for sleep were gone. I was too wired by our talk to sleep. But we had exhausted our points, so there really was only one thing left to do. I began to strip, sensual, determined, a predatory expression on my face. I could tell I was exciting him as he began to shuck his trousers. His erection shot out, the much smaller replica of the olumo rock. When I reached for it, he sighed with anticipation. I bent over him and began to fellate him, pulling out all my skills to make this a memorable blowjob. And it must have been, because as my head bobbed and my tongue worked over his dick, my name became a lyrical chant from him.

Then I got up from blowing him, pushed him down to the bed, and soon, we got right down to business, with me on top, bouncing up and down on his dick. We were at this for several minutes, panting and racing for the top.

Then he got to the junction that I recognized. That point when you can ask a man with a dick inside you anything and he’d give it to you. He grabbed my ass and began pumping furiously upward. But I was not about that. I pushed him off and disengaged from him, breaking contact as I stood up amidst his whimpers. His sheathed dick was jerking as I got up from him, hard and angry and protesting the departure of my ass.

“What is wrong?” he panted. “What’s happening?”

“I’m making my choice of not being homosexual with you right now,” I said with a small, wicked smile. “Besides, if the deed isn’t completely done, you might stand a chance of forgiveness from your God.”

Then I sauntered out of the bedroom, leaving him looking like he had just sighted Joan Rivers without Botox.

Written by Kainene

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