THE MEN OF PORT HARCOURT (The Audacity Of Penis)

Ugh!!!

The Men of Port Harcourt are sneaks. And such very uncreative sneaks for that matter.

Because, ahn-ahn!!! What is wrong with these men? How do you tell someone that you do not want something, and they start to look for underhanded means to get you to do these things?

First was my friend, Boma — the one whose house I’m in. The first time we met, shortly after I arrived here last year, I got to his house to find several other bodies in there. Three guys in various states of undress, sitting and lying in the parlour. I sat down, waiting for Boma to come out of his room, where they said he was entertaining a guest. A few minutes into my wait, I started to hear moans alongside slapping and squeaking sounds, akin to the slap of flesh on flesh and the squeaking of a creaky bed frame. I just knew he was having sex in there, and while I did want to hook up with him, I already had no intention of doing it that day. So I really had no problem with the fact that he was having sex. He and his guest finished, and they came out of the room. He escorted his guest out, then came to join me on the couch where I was sitting.

Within moments of his sitting there, I knew there was no spark, no chemistry, nothing at all beyond the fantasies of him I’d built in my head after seeing his pictures online. Even our conversation was stilted, halting, like the jerking of a car that has refused to start. When he took me into his bedroom and kissed me, I kissed him back, hoping I would then feel something, hoping that what I already knew to be true was not. I made out with him for some time, and then, out of nowhere, I suddenly wanted to vomit.

For you to understand, I NEVER vomit! The last time I vomited, I was twelve and had been sick for nearly a week. My mother cooked soup and gave me some to eat before I took my meds. I ate the soup, and hurled up my guts an hour later. I remember how cold my stomach felt when I ate that soup, how it kept jumping after I’d eaten it. It’s one of the reasons why I never eat cold food, why my food always has to have a lot of pepper. Because my stomach is always friggin’ cold.

Back to November, in Boma’s bedroom… I suddenly wanted to vomit, so I rushed to his bathroom. I threw up a couple gobs of spit while waiting for my stomach to settle. Then I returned to the bedroom and told him I wasn’t sure about us having sex that day. He was very understanding. He hugged me and we went back to the parlour where we joined in the conversation the others there were having.

The next time I came to see him, he tried to have sex with me again. That was when I told him that there was no spark between us, that I felt nothing except perhaps fondness for him. And again, he seemed to understand. So we stayed friends.

When I moved to his house and fell into the rhythm of the place, it was easy to turn a blind eye to the comings and goings of men, both young and old, from his bedroom. Sometimes, he would have as many as four or five different people pass through his room in a day. Sometimes, he had threesomes and even foursomes. I did not mind. I really could not be bothered.

Which is why what he did came to me as a shock.

That day, a few weeks ago, he had a friend over. I was in the parlour and he was in the room with the boy. A few minutes later, someone else came over, and he joined them in the room. Then I started hearing the noises from the room. First, music. Slow pop and R&B music. Then the moans. Then the slapping of flesh against flesh. I smiled at my phone, because, I mean, I was hearing music.

A few minutes later, Boma opened the door and came up to me, naked as the day he was born and sporting an erection.

“My friends want you to come and join us,” he said.

I was surprised, mostly because he and I had had conversations about my inability to function in three- or foursomes. I reminded him of our conversation about it and he said that he didn’t even want me to join, that it’s just that his friends like to be watched during sex, and wanted me to come watch them.

Well, hellurrrrr…

It’s not every day one gets a free invite to watch live porn. I said okay, left my phone and went into the room. I settled on a chair and proceeded to watch.

Next thing I knew, the second guy who joined them (let’s call him Dombraye) sidled over to me and dragged me to the bed, to sit next to them while they were fucking. I sat and kept watching. Then, a few minutes later, the other one (let’s call him Deekor) kissed me. He was kneeling in front of me, with Dombraye fucking him, and Boma fucking Dombraye. I was a bit surprised, but hey, let it not be said that Dike ruined their fun. So I kissed him back, while enjoying the sight in front of me.

Then, Dombraye started trying to pull off my shorts. I was like, ahn-ahn! Wassaldixxwan kwanụ? After a short struggle, I sha let him take my shorts off. Then I was as naked as they all were, just not having sex with them.

Now, explain to me why, a few minutes later, when Deekor was on his back, kissing me as Dombraye was fucking him, I found my legs being lifted in the air and a lubed finger was arcing its way towards my arsehole. I looked up and it was none other than Boma.

Boma!!!

The same person I’d explained to why I couldn’t have sex with him. The same person whom I’d told about my inability to function in multiplex situations. The same person who told me that he didn’t even want me there, that I was only welcome as a spectator. That same person was now raising my legs.

I wanted to protest when both Deekor and Dombraye made their moves: one for my lips and the other for my nipple. Presumably to draw my attention away from Boma and what he was about to do.

Unfortunately, that didn’t work. My brain had immediately gone into overdrive. I couldn’t concentrate on anything, so I latched onto the nearest bit of clarity I had, which was my immense need to NOT be fucked by Boma. Immediately, I started tapping at his thighs as he was lining himself up to penetrate me. The other two noticed and intensified their efforts at distracting me. I wrenched my lips away from Deekor’s and growled a very loud “No!” at Boma. Deekor pulled my head back to himself to kiss me again, but I pulled my head away again. And I said no again.

That was when Boma finally stopped, and went back to the threesome they were having.

I was very angry about what happened, but I didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of having a conversation about how inappropriate what he did was. I just made up my mind to leave his house as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the only other person I knew in Port Harcourt, the heterosexual friend whose house I’d initially come to stay in while I was visiting Port Harcourt and which I vacated because his siblings had visited and cramped the whole space, told me that his girlfriend had decided to do her I.T. here in Port Harcourt, and had moved into his place. So, I was stuck at Boma’s place.

***

I would have thought that what happened between me and Boma was a lone incident, if the same thing did not happen again soon after. This time, with a different person.

You guys remember Don, right? The married, pot-bellied guy who I wrote about two entries ago. The one who was badmouthing his wife in front of me and another mutual friend of his and Boma’s. Yeah, this time, it was him.

So, there is this friend of Boma’s (let’s call him Chris) who I sorta fancy. We’d met the first night I met Don. He came over after Don left that day, and he, Don’s other friend who he came with (Ime) and Boma had a threesome. Me, I slept in the other room, as was my style whenever these things happened.

The next time we met was at a games night that Boma organized. We got along well enough, and while I wanted to just sit and talk and probably make out with him after the games were over, someone else claimed his attention. So I jejely stayed on my own.

Then a few nights ago, he came over. He stayed until late in the evening, when he set out for a party he’d been invited to. He came back to Boma’s place from the party in the morning. He and I got talking, then he kissed me. We kissed on and off for a few minutes before he went to sleep. A few minutes into his sleep, Don came to the house. I left him in the parlour and went to the room where Chris was sleeping, only stepping out when I wanted to get water to drink.

When Chris woke up, he kissed me again, then he got on his phone. After I told him Don was in the house, he went to the parlour to meet him. A few minutes later, he came back, dropped his phone and began kissing me in earnest. We made out for a while. Then I felt another person’s hand on me. I jerked away and looked behind me.

Don had come into the room and joined us on the bed. I wanted to leave the bed, but Don started begging me to stay, to be quiet, to just allow him touch me.

That was when I realized what had happened. He’d talked with Chris in the parlour to try to get me pliant, so he could come and have sex with me. Or, at least, have a threesome with us both. I was positive that he’d resorted to this, because in the past, he had made some overtures to me, which I turned down.

I wasn’t about to let him have me now. I was solely interested in Chris, and it was because of him that I relaxed back into the bed and returned to our kissing, slapping away Don’s hand whenever he touched me. That was when he started lamenting that I don’t like him; that of all the people he’s met in Boma’s house, I was the only one he’s ever liked; that I should please allow him touch me.

I really did not want to be the bad person here, so I let him paw at my skin, knowing this could serve as inspiration for a character in a movie script I’d be writing in the near future. (This is my truth and I am sticking to it!) This man kept pawing at my skin, bumbling all over me, while I focused on making out with Chris.

Then this man put on a condom, fetched some lube and was trying to lube me up. I recoiled from him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” My voice came out in a whiplash.

He looked both smug and apologetic at the same time, as he responded, “No oh, it’s not that I am going to fuck you. I’m not going to put it inside you, I swear. I just want to feel your ass on my dick.”

I stared at the agbaya, really looked at him, trying to understand if he thought he was talking to a 12-year-old. And all this time, Chris was cooing at me to relax and just enjoy myself.

The nerve! With each cajoling word that came out of his mouth, he began to get less and less attractive to me.

I told them I was not going to have penetrative sex with them, that I wasn’t prepared for sex.

“That’s alright,” Chris said. “You can go use the toilet, you know, get ready. We will wait.”

I gaped at him. For real?! Okay, Satan! I see you mean me today. But I mean you too!

I got up from the bed, picked up my phone and texted my bestie. I told him to call me and tell me he had an urgent assignment for me to write for him, one which he needed immediately.

Seconds later, he called.

We proceeded to have an Academy-award-winning conversation where he was an irate supervisor demanding to know why I hadn’t sent in the article he’d expecting from me, and I was the apologetic staff writer who was begging to have the deadline shifted for a few hours to enable me get to work immediately.

The two yeye men lay there, watching me.

When the phone call ended, I shrugged my apology at them. They could carry on without me. And I left them and went out to the parlour.

And while I tinkered away at my phone, they lay in the room for hours, waiting for me to be done building the character bible that my boss required me to turn in soonest. A character bible that I refused to finish until they were both finally frustrated and left the house SIX HOURS LATER!

As in, these guys really waited for six hours, just so that that wife-hating douchebag would get the chance to fuck me.

Like, what in the name of Beyoncé, Chimamanda and Duchess Meghan is wrong with the men of Port Harcourt bikonu? Chukwu Abiama parakwa otụlee!!!

Written by Dike