EVERY MAN IS A HOMOSEXUAL FOR THE RIGHT PRICE

Around 2009, I had just relocated to Abuja and had moved in with a couple of my friends. They had a neighbour, a Calabar man who worked as a bricklayer. This man (let’s call him Usen) lived in the next compound, an attractive young man who always had my friends excited. Saturdays were special because of Usen – because those were the days he did laundry. My friends and I would gather at the window that overlooked his compound and watch him as he went about his laundry. We didn’t watch him for the chore; we watched him because he always wore loose boxers that did absolutely everything to display his extremely blessed endowment.

Yes, Usen had a very big cock.

It was mouth-watering even when it was flaccid. It dangled about in those loose underpants, just begging to be touched.

And boy, did we want to touch it. Before I moved in with my friends, they’d done their best to seduce Usen. They’d flirted with him and made suggestive remarks about his endowment, and he’d responded with a non-confrontational rejection of their propositions. Not even their implications that the situation could be transactional – you know, his sex for their cash – had been able to gain his interest.

When I came around, of course I wanted to try my luck. I’d go to his room – after previous “innocent” visits – and strike up our usual conversation. Then I’d start flirting with him, complimenting him like, “You be fine guy o… Babes go dey trip for you die… This kain big thing wey you carry…”

In response, he would laugh, with a charming self consciousness, and say something like, “Bros, abeg o, no dey whine me. Bricklayer like me, wetin I get?” Or he’d say something about how it’s even hard for him to find the right woman.

The day he talked about not having any women that paid him attention, I took it as an opening to get bolder. I remember throwing a glancing touch over his crotch, to feel him up, all the while suggesting that men were right here paying him all the attention.

And he said, quite calmly, “Bros, stop that thing. I no like am.”

It was a sharp rebuke, not at all dangerously-toned, but firm enough to let me know that he would not tolerate such liberties from me. I promptly got the message that my friends had themselves gotten: he was not into guys.

We however stayed cool after that incident. Things didn’t get awkward; neither did he start avoiding me or any of that stuff. He was okay with being friendly, as long as I didn’t try to grope him again.

I later got my own apartment and moved out of my friends’ place. And of course, this meant that I didn’t get to interact with Usen much anymore. In fact, at some point – either because he relocated or my friends did, I’m not sure which happened – we lost contact altogether.

Then about four years later, I met him again, this time in a situation I would never have expected to find him in.

I’d gone clubbing one night, and was walking past the VIP section of the club, when somebody called my name. I turned and even in the shadowy interior of the room, I recognized him. And yet, he looked so unfamiliar.

This was not Usen, the bricklayer.

This was Usen, the sexy, hot Abuja big boy.

He looked like a changed man. He was a changed man. Skin was looking cleaner and smoother, he was dressed fabulously, and he smelled good too. He’d always been a muscled guy, but now, he wore those muscles with such attractive sophistication. His sex appeal had gotten a major upgrade. I couldn’t keep my jaw from dropping open as we hugged and shook hands and exchanged “long time no see” greetings.

“Men, you look good,” I enthused.

He gave that abashed laugh that I was familiar with, before talking about how things had changed for him. Then he turned around and introduced me to someone he called his “baby”.

This someone was a guy!

He was Fulani, might even be biracial, very pretty and petite – who you’d call a “smallie” – with a reserved demeanour about him. You could outrightly tell that he came from money, because even though he was wearing jallabiya and slippers – IN A NIGHT CLUB! – he wore the very casual clothing with a confidence that spoke of quiet money and great breeding. This guy had never known poverty or struggle in his life.

And from the affectionate manner with which Usen introduced him to me and looked at him, it was obvious “baby” wasn’t just a term of friendly endearment. These two were lovers!

And I had questions!

Usen could see my curiosity, and eventually, after some chitchatting and drinking, we went outside the club where he told me his story since the last time we saw.

Apparently, the Fulani guy – let’s call him Sarki – had come with some people to the place where he worked to buy blocks. And all through the time they did their business there, Sarki couldn’t keep his eyes away from Usen’s crotch, where his eggplant was very visible as he worked. After the buyers left, Sarki later came back alone and approached Usen for his number, which he gave to him. In the following days, they started talking on the phone, and it wasn’t very long before Sarki made his romantic interest known.

“o don’t know what pushed me to agree to have sex with him when he asked for it,” Usen said to me. He could even speak good English now. “You know this about me: I don’t fuck guys. I am just not into that sort of thing. But Sarki…I don’t know. He treated me like a person and not just a big cock. He was nice and caring to me, and would come to my house to cook and clean. Sometimes, he would just bring food to me. Can you imagine? Someone that rich humbling himself to take care of me?”

Was that what it’d have taken? I remember thinking. So you mean to tell me that I could have had that preeq if I’d just cooked and cleaned for you? Chai! Swan, see your life!

Usen went on to talk about how they started dating – or really, just being friends who had sex – and that for three months, he didn’t even know that Sarki came from money. It wasn’t until after a few months that Sarki revealed to him that he was the son of a governor (maybe a Kebbi State governor, I can’t remember now. It was sha a northern state that starts with a K). By this time, things had gotten serious between them, and Sarki – after making Usen quit his job as a bricklayer – took him to meet his mother. Sarki was apparently out to his family – or maybe just his mother, because the woman was accepting of him as a homosexual. She was apparently also accepting of her son’s relationship, not minding the fact that the man who was dating her son didn’t come from a refined background. She set Usen up and started awarding him contracts, and the rest became history.

“Wow,” I simply said when he finished his story.

“Yeah,” Usen said with his charming laugh.

At this point, Sarki stepped out of the club and came to us. He asked Usen for “the key” and Usen handed over to him what was clearly a car key. I watched Sarki walk over to a really flashy car; he opened the passenger door and slid in, reclining the chair and spreading out on it.

“That’s your car?” I asked, knowing the answer and still being incredulous when Usen replied in the affirmative.

“Wow,” I said again.

“My life has changed,” he said.

“I’ll say.” I looked in Sarki’s direction, and I couldn’t get over how diminutive he was. “Can I ask you one question?” I said to Usen.

“Yes?”

“So this small boy… Be honest with me, because I’ve seen how big your dick is. Can he really take your dick?”

Usen burst out into good-natured laughter. Then he said, “Honestly, like a pro. I was very surprised and couldn’t believe it the first time we fucked and he took my dick. This dick that the women I’d fucked used to run away from is what a guy is taking comfortably.”

I too could have taken it comfortably, if you’d let me, I said as I turned again in Sarki’s direction. In the few minutes I spent in his company, I could tell that the boy was not only young but was shy, protected and hadn’t been around the block. And yet, he’d been able to do what those of us who “haf tear eye” couldn’t do, which was to take down Usen’s heterosexual reserve and conquer his dick.

Fear Hausa people! I thought as Usen and I eventually said our goodbyes and I watched him walk away to meet his lover in the car.

It may not entirely be about the money. It may just be your packaging, or your personality, your niceness, or your influence – but I’ve since come to believe that if the price is right, every man can be a homosexual.

Written by Swan Dagger