BOYHOOD

I first knew I liked cock as a kid when I was in a room with a much older guy and he had to change into his towel to go take a bath. The feeling I got when I saw that dick was new and magnificent. The cock was as big as my leg. I couldn’t believe that all adult men had dicks that big tucked inside their trousers. I wondered when exactly mine was going to grow to be like that. From that moment on, all I wanted to do was look at cock!

Then upon the onset of puberty, there was this girl, Sandra, who was about 4 years older than me. Every time Sandra and I were alone, she would touch me and make me touch her. It was supposed to be good but it was meh. I went along with it because I thought she liked it, but she eventually she moved on to other boys who were more interested. What – or who – I was interested in was her brother, Mark, who was a month older than me. Mark was present sometimes during my touching sessions with his sister (thinking about it now, I realize how fucked up that was), and sometimes he and I would fool around a little bit. A little bit grew into a lot more and then it became all we did together. We were friends with benefits even before we knew what it was. As we grew older though, Mark grew less interested and with time, we became just friends. To Mark, it was just a phase or maybe just hormones, and he would grow up to become this straight, ultra masculine Demi god, with this unreal dick that he is always happy to show anyone who cared – ad who wouldn’t be, what with a dick that size and that beautiful, the biggest I’ve ever seen. He would later confess to me that if he knew 50 girls, he had “lashed” 45 of them.

Still on puberty, Beyoncé was my queen, her ‘Baby Boy’ and R Kelly’s ‘Snake’ were to me the best tunes that could’ve ever been possibly made, and Shakira was my spiritual dance instructor. Everyone marveled at my waist-winding skills and everywhere was a runway. And it didn’t seem to matter; I was kid.

And then I got into secondary school and everything changed. All the faces I was familiar with were replaced and now everything I did was criticised. My laugh, my walk, my talk, my interests – even the way I kicked a fucking ball was “too girly”. I stopped playing (sports was getting too hard and serious anyway), and I retreated into myself and became less flamboyant. JSS3 was the hardest. Everyone in my class took turns picking on me because I never fought back. The biggest guy in my class one day beat me up because I touched a sachet of water that belonged to him. He later revealed that he did it because he despised me. I began working on my walking steps, changed my laugh, stopped dancing in public, and tried not to like Rihanna too much in public, even though I knew all the choreography she did in the ‘Umbrella’ music video.

There was this guy though, Chukwuma, who never picked on me and he was the second biggest boy in my class. He always wanted to get closer to me, but I was disgusted by him. I hated his smell and the colour of his skin. One time in SS2 though, I asked him to help me draw some diagrams in my Biology note because I can’t draw for shit and he was a wonderful artist. He agreed, on the condition that we become closer. I agreed. I’ve come to appreciate Chukwuma a lot more now that I realize that he’s the only person who ever showed that kind of kindly interest in me.

During my senior secondary school years, while my peers got all excited about boobs and ass, I wasn’t. However, whenever attention was turned to me for not being enthusiastic about the female figure, I simply objectified the nearest “sexy chick”. I learned that people won’t wonder if you like girls if you “like girls”.

Fast forward to the university, and I was in my “pray the gay away” phase. God is almighty. He can do all things, including curing me. Years later however, I figured that religion is bullshit, and that I wasn’t sick and instead the world is. Everyone had a girlfriend or something, and when asked about mine, I replied with “I hate people and girls probably can’t stand me either.” “So you’re a virgin?” they’d ask. “If I hear,” I’d counter with a laugh – because being a virgin would confirm their suspicions. So I made up hot and steamy sex stories of me getting it on with girls back home. Thank god most straight guys are dumb. Some dumb enough to show you their erect dick when you tell them it’s huge.

There’s this guy in my small circle of friends named Phil. Phil is the love of my life and of course he’s straight. My special brand of self harm is to only like guys who will never like me back. Phil has been the inspiration to many of my solo-orgasms. When I weaved my wild sex tales (some which included orgies), most of these guys, being virgins themselves, listened, clearly amazed by my life back home, especially Phil. I gave them my tips on how to pleasure girls and last long in bed – this courtesy of Hollywood films and the internet. They revered me, they thought I knew everything. I used my influence on them to get them to listen to Florence and the Machine, to respect women and to not hate gay people.

Now after graduating, I wonder if they would have accepted me if from the onset, I was true to myself with them. Then I remember this guy I used to have the hots for, this quiet mannered guy who one day said he’d kill any gay person he nabbed – words that killed my attraction for him. I think about him and I think perhaps not, perhaps these guys I called friends wouldn’t have accepted me if I was who I am to them. However, one thing I know now is that I’d rather be on my own than have to make up shit to conform just so I can keep someone as a friend.

Written by Real