I saw an update made by Kito Diaries on its Instagram page, and it was a post that was basically asking how gay guys can have sex without kissing.
“Y’all be fucking and don’t kiss? How the fuck y’all start sex, a handshake?” the post said.
I saw this, and it took me down memory lane, straight back to the worst sex I’d ever had.
Before I started dating the guy I’m currently with, there was a guy who I often hooked up with. Let’s call him Winston. Winston would come around to my place occasionally, and we’d have sex. He was a cool guy, who got me and my desire to stay discreet and disconnected from the gay scene in Abuja.
However, he must have mentioned me to his friends at some point, because I started getting hit up on WhatsApp by a random number, someone claiming to be friends with Winston and who kept up a banal chat of “How are you doing?” and “How is work?” that went on forever, masking his real need to hit on the guy fucking his friend.
A second one was not so restrained. After trying to get me to visit him at his place (which was somewhere Winston and I had once met to shag), using coded messages whose intent I was supposed to read from between the lines, he finally dropped the charade and dumped a nude photo on me in WhatsApp: his ass in all its naked glory.
At this point, I had to say something to Winston. He was livid. He knew the kind of person I was, and felt both betrayed by his friends and embarrassed by what he assumed was what I must now think of him. He made sure to let me know that he hadn’t permitted this; that his friends had asked him for my contact and he’d said no, letting them know that I wasn’t the kind of guy who liked to mingle. Clearly, they had gone on to help themselves to my number for his phone all the same.
Anyway, a few weeks later, I believe Winston started dating someone, and felt I should also be catered to, since he would no longer be available to hook up with me – because he buzzed me, saying that if I was interested, he could hook me up with a friend of his named Paul.
When he asked this, I said okay, agreeing to him connecting me with Paul. But after a while, after Winston had given my number to Paul and he had contacted me, I started feeling some type of way about it. I have this thing about hooking up with the friends of those I’m either sleeping with or have had sex with. Because of this, I started not feeling like I should hook up with this guy. He would text me and I would give polite responses on a good day and monosyllabic answers on a bad day. I didn’t want to be rude, but I hoped he’d catch on to my withdrawal and simply stop messaging me.
Eventually though, his persistence – and, I guess, konji wore my reservation down, and I finally agreed to meet him. I went to his place, and there was when the weirdest, most boring sex I’d ever had (if you can even call it sex) happened.
After we exchanged some pleasantries and small talk, this guy started taking off his clothes. When he was stark naked, he came over to me and started helping me out of my clothes.
This was very startling to me. I was in my mind like: Okay, this is so anti-romance. Aren’t we supposed to be taking off our clothes as we’re kissing and rubbing bodies together?
I tried to take charge, to introduce what I figured he’d forgotten, by reaching forward to kiss him. But he turned his head quickly away, and I found myself kissing his neck. He allowed that to go on for barely thirty seconds, before he pulled away his neck and slid off my body. He went to fetch a condom, returned to where I was on the bed, and unrolled the condom onto my dick, which he’d rubbed a few times into erectness. It was fortunate that my dick was able to get hard with that little effort; these days, it’d need serious sensual motivation to get its rock-hard attention.
So, I was lying on the bed, a small thing that was spread out on the floor, and he mounted my dick. He began riding it, wanking himself as he bounced. At this point, I’d figured out just what I’d gotten myself into, and so, I just laid there and let him finish. At some point, I even closed my eyes and began thinking of great sex I’d had in the past. I tend to do this when the sex I’m having is boring me. In that moment with Paul, I was probably thinking of sex with Winston.
This didn’t go on for long. A few bounces later, and Paul was done. He had come. He stood up and I lay still for a moment, thinking: So THIS just happened!
I took off the condom and proceeded to wank until I came. As I left his house though, I regretted wanking. I scolded myself over how wanking must have given Paul the impression that I had a good time. I should have simply gotten dressed and left, frustrated konji, unsatisfied dick and all.
That encounter left me feeling dazed. I’d never had such an experience before, and it bugged me that such a thing could ever happen, let alone to me. At some point, I even began to think that the guy was some sort of germophobe, and that he saw me as someone with potential diseases to inflict on him; that he was afraid he’d catch something from kissing me or from sucking my dick or basically doing anything sexual that would make him and I sweat together.
It was such a puzzling experience that when he asked for another hookup (Yup, he did!), I agreed (Yes, I did!).
I was thinking I had a part to play in how the last hookup happened. Maybe, what happened happened because I didn’t initiate anything. So, this time, I was determined to get more out of the situation than just a ride up-and-down my dick. Even if he didn’t want to make out, at least, dicks could be sucked.
I should have had another think coming.
When we got together the second time, the script was shaping up to be the same. He was still averse to kissing. After a failed attempt to claim his lips, I finally made my peace with the fact that foreplay was a no-no for him.
He still got on top of me. He still rode me. Except this time, I tried to participate more. I took some control by moving us about in different positions and actually fucking him. This went on, until we eventually came. Then we disengaged from each other, and I left, now certain that the bad sex was certainly not my fault. I was also certain that I was never going to get with him again.
He buzzed me a few times after that day, wanting us to meet again. But I was always too busy to see him. He must have gotten the message and eventually stopped chatting me up altogether.
A few years passed, and he buzzed me out of the blue on Facebook. A few pleasantries later, and he wanted to know if we could hook up. But the horror of bad sex past was still ever fresh on my mind. I told him I was dating (I was) – but even if I wasn’t, hell would have to freeze over and Alex Ekubo come out as gay on national television before I would ever agree to go drop my pants for him.
Written by Colossus