EDITOR’S WORD: After a long hiatus, Naija-T-Girl is finally back (well kinda), with the sophomore entry of the series she debuted last year. In this series, she lets us into the world of her experiences as a Nigerian transgender woman, and you may check on the last episode (as a refresher).

And now, for today’s episode:


“This suya is really good.”

I am not saying this to simply make conversation. The meat is well-grilled and moderately-seasoned, not the overly-seasoned and dusty suya sold at some roadside grills. It was served with a side of veggies and a small pot of extra suya spice. A really nice touch, I think to myself. I am hungry and do not mind that the man sitting at my table is watching me eat, while he tells me how they make their meals fresh every day at the bar.

“You never told me who you are,” I finally say when he pauses.

He flashes a smile. “My name is Mazen, and I run this place.” His Lebanese accent is noticeable and the semi baritone of his voice is beguiling. His hair is black and cut short, and he is wearing a nice tan T-shirt paired with loose-fitting blue jeans and sneakers.

“Hello, Mazen. I am Ore. How long have you run this place?” I say conversationally, in between eating and washing down the tasty meal with my Coca-cola.

I am curious at this point and want to be sure this isn’t just good customer service, and that I am not mistaking his niceness for a booty-call.

“Five years now,” he replies. “It was started by my father, who runs another branch on the Mainland. I started operating this place after I returned from Accra two years ago.”

He paused for a bit and watches me some more as I eat. When he speaks again, it is with a smile. “You eat like my little sister. So cute…I like it.”

I feel a small tug of PTSD at his remark; echoes of experiences past loved trickle through my insides. And I find myself wondering if I am in the mood to go with this man wherever the night is taking us to.

However, I need to be sure, so I stopped eating and wipe my lips with dainty movements. Then I ask, “What else do you like about me?”

Even in the dim lighting, I can see his complexion stained red as he blushes and looks around briefly without saying anything. At this point, I know he is definitely interested, but this mating dance is taking too long. Men like this don’t want to marry me; they simply want to get in and get out. So, I will make it easy for him, since I am interested too.

“I like everything about you,” he says. “You look beautiful… Do you live around here?” There is an intensity in his eyes now that pulls me in. And for the first time, I notice that his eyes are coloured brown with green flecks, framed with some of the longest lashes I have ever seen on man.

“I don’t live far. Why do you ask?” I notice how low and sensual my voice has gotten all of a sudden.

What am I doing? I don’t know this man. Typically and in my experience as a queer person, when a man asks where you live and how far your crib is, it means he wants to know how convenient sex will be for both of you.

And Mazen’s next words confirm what I am thinking.

“No reason, just want to know. So, do you live alone?” This question comes with a wink and one of those smiles – you know, the one that makes your pussy throb and make you want to grab the guy responsible by the head and kiss them passionately while straddling them right where they are sitting.

This beautiful Lebanese man is driving me crazy.

And he clearly wants to fuck me.

Typically, in situations like these, I consider three things:

First, am I in the mood for sex right now? Umm, I believe the answer to that is obvious. My phantom pussy is already “wet” with anticipation.

Secondly, is he a potential kito waiting to happen? This made me look around for any signs of accomplices watching us. There is no one paying us any particular kind of attention. Besides, I doubt this man wants to put his establishment at risk by engaging in such vile nonsense.

Finally, do I really want to go through the trouble of douching for this man? The answer is Hell yes!

So, after going through my quick checklist, I turn on the charm to let him know I am interested, with as much intensity as the scene permits.

Sex can be compared to a negotiation. You have to weigh all options to check if the situation will be a win-win. If you are having bad sex, then you are probably selling yourself short or simply desperate for any action that comes your way. I will never fuck a man I don’t desire, even if it means going a year without getting laid. Going without sex for long periods of time isn’t new to me. Because of my obvious femininity, I often find myself coming up against internally homophobic closeted gay men as potential hookups. And once I smell that self loathing, it is a major turn-off. I’d rather stay unsexed than get underneath someone who hates himself and me because of what we are both enjoying.

Mazen and I talk some more. Then he hurries off my table to instruct his staff on whatever. I can’t stop smiling. It is happening. I am finally getting laid by an actual human being after all this time. My dildo will rest tonight.

I feel a rush as I finish off my food and drink, and light up another cigarette. A gaggle of runs girls step in just then in the company of their catch for the night – a portly Yoruba man wearing a white kaftan and pants, and speaking loudly as they stroll in. After years of enduring the unwanted scrutiny of prejudicial Nigerians, I can tell when someone is looking at me, and I know the girls have noticed me without looking at them. I catch snippets of their conversation, words like “gay…” and “na girl be that…?”

It takes some willpower for me to resist the urge to walk over to their table to give them a piece of my mind, Elektra Wintour style. After all, we are all girls, and dick is our business. But I focus on finishing my cigarette. I am too horny to get into all that; besides I am sure Mazen will lose his hard-on if he finds me harassing his patrons.

Mazen orders dinner-to-go for two; two grilled chicken pizzas and two servings of spicy chips, with a large bowl of veggies. I ask to pay for half the purchase, but he declines.

And fifteen minutes later, we are out of the joint and in an uber headed to my place.

Written by Naija-T-Girl

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  1. Mandy
    August 24, 08:28 Reply

    I am curious to know how Naija T girl presented herself to the Lebanese man: as in, did he see her as a gay man or a trans woman he wants to fuck? In Nigeria especially, I want to understand these struggles to be trans, especially trans woman, and that pertains to how they present themselves and their love lives. I was really hoping this series and the other one (I think the name is The Diary of a Nigerian trans woman) would answer these questions and illuminate their struggles for us.

    But they’re not being consistent.
    What’s going on with T-Girl please?

  2. Dunder
    August 26, 17:02 Reply

    Would love to read more of your entries. I hope you are staying safe.

    After healing a little more, perhaps you can share with us those experiences you briefly touched on from a place of power. Rooting for you!

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