Previously on A SONG ABOUT LIFE


Even though I had shown him the possibility through gay porn, my best friend, Segun initially said no to having sex with me. He was something of a ladies’ man, and I figured he was straight and that the brief intimacies we’d shared back in secondary school was just experimentation.

One night, a few weeks after we’d settled in our accommodation in the town of the school where we were studying for our NCE programme, Segun told me how horny he was, and how he’d been unable to get any girls from campus to shag. I asked him about the one he went to see the previous evening, and he replied that he didn’t like her. His girlfriend had visited us once since we started our NCE. Segun would have travelled home to meet her but she was away at the time, processing her own admission somewhere else.

That evening, Segun asked if he could fuck me. I was shocked. I reminded him of what he said previously about me not being a girl and how that was the reason why we could never have sex. And he said he was very horny and I would have to make do. I didn’t like the circumstance of him wanting sex with me, but I was suddenly too turned on to say no.

And so, we began to hook up. But it was very seldom, as Segun’s seeming bisexuality was dominated by his attraction for girls.

One evening however changed my love life forever.

There was this moderately big supermarket – the largest in the community – where I always went to shop for our provisions. I was the one who shopped for us, because I had a better eye than Segun. The supermarket sold virtually everything a home required. Two young men rotated shifts in manning the register and attending to customers.

And then, there was the older man who looked like he was the boss. He was an impressive looking man. Nearly six feet tall and built like an ox. There was an aura about him that depicted him as a man who was in charge of his circumstances: his face, his eyes, his strength, his movement – all showed a man who commanded his environment. The first time I saw him, he was arranging some wires. He didn’t notice me, and I didn’t imagine him to have a taste for men. But I was instantly smitten by him. To my disappointment, I was unable to see him again for some time, however much I frequented the supermarket.

Then, on this fateful day, I’d gone to purchase some wool for our cooking stove. One of the apprentices brought two types, and I was arguing with him over why the type considered original was so expensive. Then a voice called in Igbo from further inside the shop. I didn’t understand what was said, and then the apprentice told me that his “oga” was talking to me. I turned and behold, there he was, sitting further inside, in a corner. The apprentice was already moving toward him with the wools, and so, I followed after him. He handed the wools to his boss and left us alone.

The man asked me to sit on the chair beside him. He spoke again in Igbo, and even though I didn’t understand, he had made a gesture that made me understand what he’d asked of me. I sat, instantly feeling dwarfed by his hulky build.

In an attempt to subdue how suddenly small I felt, I said with some asperity, “Big bros, I don’t understand you and your boys anymore o. How can I buy this wool at such a price?”

Smiling and looking straight into my eyes, he started saying something in Igbo.

I interrupted him, saying, “Sorry, but I don’t understand Igbo. I don’t know what you’re saying.”

Without showing any surprise or expressing any apology, he smiled again and said in Pidgin, “So, fine boy like you, you wan tell me say you no be Igbo?”

“Yoruba too have beautiful people o,” I objected with a short laugh. “In fact, more fine people than Igbo people.”

He chuckled at this, and said with a nod, “Well, the truth be say every part of Nigeria get fine people.”

“And ugly people too,” I added.

He burst out into a throaty laugh. It was such a baritone sound that impacted on me with startling force. It resonated in my ears, and reached beyond, into my heart and frissoning up my spine. It was the warmest, sexiest sound I’d ever heard. His face was turned to mine, and I could feel his breath fan across my face as he laughed. It was such a sweet-smelling breath.

As the laugh died down, he looked at me and said in English, “I can see you’ve come to attack me today, Fine boy.”

Attack you, yes, I thought to myself. In ways you can’t possibly fathom.

Out loud, I said, “Why won’t I attack you, when your shop has decided to sell everything at inflated price?”

He shrugged at this, that silent universal language of the Nigerian, which seems to say: Well, that is the situation of this country.

“Na law you dey read?” he asked.

“Not yet. I am still doing my NCE.”

“Na im your brain and mouth don sharp like this already?” he said, smiling. Before I could open my mouth to respond, he continued, “Wetin you dey do with all the money your parents dey give you.”

I smiled and told him I was a hustler with no privileged background. And so, we carried on, talking about this and that. It was such a lovely conversation. When I realised I had to go and told him, he said I should forget paying for the wool and instructed the apprentice to wrap it up for me, giving him the money for the purchase instead. He also instructed the apprentice to give me a bottle of Malt, all the while apologizing to me for not offering me anything all the time we’d been talking.

He also introduced himself to me as Emeka.

As I proceeded out of the mart, Emeka followed after me, offering to escort me for a bit since it was getting a bit late. But as we stepped outside, he motioned for me to come with him to the other side of the road where his BMW was parked. He gave me a lift home.

And that marked the beginning of the journey of a new love. Something I could even say was the greatest love of my life.

On the way to my place, he asked for my phone number. I didn’t have a phone, but I didn’t tell him this. I simply gave him Segun’s number. He promised to call me later that night before going to bed.

When he called, it was to discover the actual owner of the number he’d saved. As we talked, he said he didn’t like using his phone to call people he didn’t know, unless it was business or an emergency. I apologized and told him I didn’t own a phone, that that was why I gave him my friend’s number instead. He told me he’d be traveling the next day, Friday, to order for wares for the supermarket and would be back on Sunday. He asked me to check on him on Sunday evening, and I promised to do so. And we said goodnight.

The excitement stark on Emeka’s face when I came to his shop late Sunday afternoon was heart-warming. His boys were busily arranging packs and boxes of wares for sale, with Emeka overseeing the process, sometimes working alongside them, other times giving instructions. I offered to help, but he declined, asking me to take a seat, that he’d be joining me soon.

He returned to me about ten minutes later. He took a lingering look at me in my blue T-shirt and chinos trousers and said, “Everything always look good on you.”

I felt the heat of abashment and pleasure flood my face as I wondered how he would know my clothing history, if he hadn’t been watching me since before we even got acquainted three days ago.

“I hope you’re as hungry as I am,” he said as one of his boys pushed a table to us, while the other arrived with a tray of two large dishes. Emeka opened one of them to reveal pounded yam. The other had vegetable soup in it. Everything smelled so good. “I know your people love pounded yam,” he said. “That’s why I got us this. If you don’t like it, we can always make eba for you.”

I smiled my thanks at him, telling him that this was just perfect. I didn’t realise just how hungry I was until the aroma of the vegetable soup found its way to my brain. The two boys brought a bowl of water, washing soap and napkin. And then, they left us alone. Emeka and I proceeded to enjoy a very delicious late lunch.

After that, we talked for about an hour or so, before I announced my desire to go home. He took me home again. As I was about to get out of his car, he handed me a plastic bag. Curiously, I opened it and gave a gasp of delight when I saw it contained a brand-new Sony Erikson phone case. I was still speechless as he informed me of the MTN sim card inside the case, telling me I would find the number there too, and that he would be calling me later that night.

When he saw my new phone that night, Segun was both pleased for me and concerned about what motives this very adult man may have for buying the kind of gift for me that one would get a girlfriend.

When he expressed his concern, I laughed and said, “Well, if that is the case, obi ti l’ale wu si ibi ti a fe gbin obi si niyen o.”

But Segun wasn’t amused. I was slightly taken aback when he responded in a very serious tone, “There is nothing wrong with you liking him. But I hope you are aware of money rituals. You just met a rich young man like that, with two big shops—maybe he has more—and two vehicles, already lavishing you with gifts and attention.” He paused, looking at me before continuing, “You know I can never forgive myself, if I keep looking till something bad happens to you.”

I was touched by this. His sombre words doused the excitement I was earlier feeling. I didn’t want anything negative to taint my growing fondness for Emeka, but I had to concede to the wisdom in what Segun was saying. We spent the rest of the evening deliberating on how to get to know Emeka more, in order to figure out if he had any evil motives for being nice to me. I wanted to return the phone the next day, but Segun asked me not to. He said he would watch my back and pay particular attention to Emeka for any sign he might be bad news. This I welcomed, seeing as I was too smitten by Emeka to notice anything potentially wrong with him.

When Emeka called me the next day for us to see, I told him Segun and I preparing something to eat. I asked him to come join us. He declined, saying what he was preparing himself was almost done. However, we agreed that he would come over to see me later after dinner.

As soon as he arrived, I introduced Segun to him as my best friend and brother. As he settled in our abode, I kept excusing myself from the room, hoping for him and Segun to spend some time alone together so Segun could get a proper read on him. But whatever I was expecting certainly wasn’t to soon have the two of them loudly discussing politics, and then football clubs. This was where their conversation got heated, with one supporting Manchester United and the other Arsenal. It was as though I wasn’t even there, and I didn’t mind, as I picked up a novel and began to thumb through it.

At some point, Emeka reached out to me and gently lifted my head with his finger to face him.

“What club do you belong to, Fine boy?”

Before I could answer, Segun interjected, “Oh, you’re speaking to the wrong person. Dele is very good at conversation. But when it comes to football, you have lost him.”

I protested, “Ah-ah now! At least, I watch football once in a while.”

“Yes, usually the final matches of tournament games,” Segun teased, and we all burst out laughing.

“Leave him alone jaré,” Emeka came to my defense. “We can’t all be the same.”

This was really sweet of him to do, and my heart warmed some more for him.

We talked and talked, until it was time for Emeka to leave. The three of us set out to leave the room together, but Segun cleverly stayed behind, so that I was the only one that saw Emeka off to the car.

At his car, Emeka commented on Segun’s hospitality, before asking for us to see the next day, that he and I had a lot to discuss.

Back inside, Segun was smiling. He told me that he had a good feeling about Emeka. Then he began teasing me about how ready I was for Emeka when it comes to sex, because the man looked like someone who would give me a good handling in bed. As I laughed, I asked him why he thought that, and he said he’d been the one who’d noticed the way Emeka had been looking at me the whole time he was visiting with us.

I didn’t want to admit it to myself, but coming from Segun, this pleased me very much.

I went to see Emeka on the appointed date, and after a nice dinner, we settled to drinking some Guinness and chatting. Then I decided to move things along, by asking him if he had a girlfriend.

“At the moment, no,” he said. Then he laughed loudly when he saw the surprise on my face, and added, “Maybe you can as well be my girlfriend.”

My heart fluttered at this. But I didn’t respond to him. Instead, I said something that was my obvious attempt at changing the topic.

But he wasn’t done with the former topic. He steered us back to it by asking, “Is that a yes?”

“What gave you the impression that I’m into guys?” I returned with a question of my own.

He answered that he hadn’t been a hundred percent sure when we got acquainted. But from the way we’d been flirting with each other since then, he had decided to take a chance and assume I was gay.

I asked him, teasingly of course, if that meant he flirted with all his customers.

He laughed again and reminded me that he was a pretty busy guy and barely had time to communicate with customers, even when he was around in the shop. But in my case, he’d been observing me for a long time and had been too reserved to initiate any conversation between us until that Thursday evening.

I kept on teasing him with my questions, and he kept on responding with a smile here and a laugh there. Then suddenly, as I opened my mouth to ask yet another question, he grabbed me from my seat in a move I didn’t anticipate, and with ease, as if I was a leaf, positioned me on his lap and planted his lips on mine. The kiss was sweet and intense. It woke up every tissue in my system that I thought had died with Corper Danjuma’s ending of our relationship. And I was responding to his kiss by grabbing at his shaved head and grinding my body against his.

The kiss went on and on, until I suddenly remembered that we were in his shop, that his boys could come into that inner room at any moment. I very reluctantly broke the kiss and disentangled myself from him, sitting back on my seat.

Looking slightly glum, he asked what the problem was. I reminded him of where we were. He smiled and told me not to worry, that his boys would never disturb us unless he called them.

Then he started bombarding me with questions—if I was single, if I was a total Bottom to compliment his role as a dominant Top, whether I was ready for a relationship, etcetera. When it was time for me to go, I wasn’t sure, in me and him, who was most displeased to see the date end.

For the next few days, we only interacted through phone calls, because I had some exams, and in the evenings, I had to partake in tutorials.

Finally, the chance to see him again came. It was a Friday and he had made it clear earlier on that I would be spending the weekend with him. I was anxious when he told me that and asked him to give me some time to think about it. His response was to tell me he wasn’t asking me but telling me. He wanted me to be with him that weekend.

Even Segun was on his side when I sought his advice on this. “It’s obvious what the man wants from you, and whether deliberately or unintentionally, you have bene putting it off for too long,” was what he said, making me wonder when he was all of a sudden on Team Emeka.

On Friday evening, I was home alone when Emeka arrived. Segun had left since afternoon to spend the weekend with his parents. I was already outside, anticipating his arrival. He took my overnight bag from me and walked with me to his car. He opened the door for me and shut it before going to his own side of the car to get in. Then inside the car, he kissed me, before saying in Igbo what I would later find out meant “beautiful woman”.

Nwanyi oma, he called me.

His house was lovely. A nicely-furnished two-bedroom flat in a gated estate. He showed me around and asked me to get comfortable and make the place my home. He took my bag inside. I was watching TV while he puttered about in the kitchen, preparing something for us to eat. He told me he had a cook who occasionally came around to prepare his meals. At other times, he cooked his food himself. He also told me one of his boys came around every couple of weeks to clean the house, that there was a small boys’ quarter behind the supermarket where they stayed. He wouldn’t let them stay with him because he loved his privacy.

After dinner, I excused myself to the bathroom where I took my bath. By the time I came back to the parlour, it was to find him clad in just a pair of shorts that barely reached his knees.

Damn! A man was firm and massive in all the right places! His thighs were fresh and well-shaped, filling me with a sudden desire to go over to him and caress them.

He must have sensed my desire, because he asked, as I sat down beside him, if I wanted us to retire to bed, and I quickly nodded yes. Rising up, he pulled me to himself, commenting on how good I smelled. Then he kissed me. As we stood there, in each other’s arms, kissing, my hands roamed over his body. I encountered something I thought was his hand. Something I very quickly realised couldn’t be his hand. I let that something go as quickly as I found it, feeling horror strike my innermost soul as I pushed back to stare at what was Emeka’s very impressive hard-on.

He chuckled as he observed my reaction and assured me that he would be gentle with me until I got used to it. Then he took me back into his arms and walked with me to the bedroom.

As soon as we got into the bed, Emeka tore off my clothes and his. Then he went straight for my ass, feasting on my cakes as I clung to his manhood, taking as much of him as I could into my mouth, considering how big he was. The foreplay was very impatient and heated, as though we couldn’t wait to get this over with and move on to the main thing. Which came around soon enough.

As promised, he entered me gently. Inch by inch. He kept digging in and pulling out, then in and out. Never thrusting. Just pushing gently in to give my ass the chance to get used to his shaft. This went on for several minutes. Then he pulled out one last time and reclined on the bed. He asked me if I enjoyed that and I said yes. He said that was good for him, because now he can get to the real thing. And the real thing was just as Segun had imagined for me. Emeka was inexhaustible. He ground and rode me furiously and passionately. I was seesawing between pain and pleasure, never sure which to dwell on. I was moaning and begging him to stop one second and to fuck me harder the next. He was moaning and begging me to let him enjoy me to the fullest one second and really fucking me harder the next. By the time he exploded, I was well and truly spent.

And this was how we spent the entire weekend, sleeping, eating and fucking.

After that weekend, Emeka and I became official. We continued to spend as much time as we could together. One day, after some wild sex – one so wild that I was begging him to cum before he would crush me under the onslaught of his dick – he asked me to move in with him.

I said yes! Why wouldn’t I? Emeka was the perfect man for me. He was at once tough and domineering, as he was kind and compassionate with me. We rarely argued. And above all, he was very much into me. Yes, I knew I would have to put up with his sexual stamina, but after we talked and I told him he would have to recognise my limitations in bed as the only condition for me to move in with him, and he agreed, then there really wasn’t that much else to do.

When I told Segun about Emeka’s proposal, he said he wasn’t surprised. “The way that guy always looks at you is like he has never fallen in love before,” he said to me.

Even though Segun made me understand how much he would miss me as a roommate, he refused to let his needs get in the way of my happiness.

And yes, it was happiness, living with Emeka. Being with Emeka. Sharing a house – and life – with Emeka. It was a lot of happiness.

Too much happiness, in fact.

And considering my history with misfortunes, I should never have trusted that I would be this happy without life coming to fuck it all up for me.


Written by Bamidele

Next Dear KD: I Feel Surrounded With Betrayal

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“He’s worth a try. He seems different.” That’s what you tell yourself. You begin to convince yourself that you can make this work. Your mind, racing back and forth, like


  1. Valentine
    July 16, 07:48 Reply

    You see ??? always go for igbos ??? nice story I really enjoyed it. Because of this story I am so horny, I have to now disturb this mumu beside me now for some ??????

    • Tman
      July 16, 09:30 Reply

      Did you really call your partner mumu? Or was that romantically meant?

  2. Rex
    July 16, 08:02 Reply

    Beautiful,Beautiful love….please where can I find this kinda love mbok?

    • Dave
      July 22, 00:57 Reply

      If you look closely, Sir, you will.?

  3. Mandy
    July 16, 08:05 Reply

    There always has to be a catch. Always. This is depressing. As I was reading this, I just kept thinking: OK, when does it become shitty? Because we gay Nigerians can’t seem to catch a break when it comes to love in this country.
    Just once, I would like to read a story here of two gay Nigerians who have had a lasting relationship for years and years. something to hold on to as we carry on defying societal status quo.
    Anyway, I’m glad you knew this happiness, Bamidele. Whatever happened to ruin it, it is important to remember you were once this happy.

    • Mitch
      July 16, 10:06 Reply

      You’d be getting that story very soon, Mandy.??

  4. Karlae
    July 16, 08:47 Reply

    Bamidele has been living the baby boy life since day 1 from Mr. Danjuma to Mr. Emeka.
    plixxx where did you get your favour oil from let me go and buy my own ASAP ????.
    I wish this goes on to story 12, it’s a good one ??

  5. Chizzie
    July 16, 12:21 Reply

    When I first started reading this series, I thought it was going to focus on your career climb and how you were able to disentangle yourself from poverty doing so as a gay man. Not only would that have been really inspiring but so many young Nigerian gay guys would learn from it and not have to resort to things like kito and all of that.

    But so far it’s been about sex ( the bulk of which has been statutory rape ) and equating every sexual encounter to love. There’s more to being gay in our community than sex or the sexual experience. I’m not being a prude, you just have a more interesting back story to tell than these generic sex tales

    • bamidele
      July 16, 12:51 Reply

      Dear Chizzie,
      thanks so much for your critique. Indeed, the story is meant to show my struggles in the middle of my sexuality, sex escapades, and career. It is a long story. Thus the first thing that comes to mind while trying to write my story is what KD is about. I thought I should bring the juicy aspect of things which ranges between innocence, ignorance, and (even) abuse to the fore and to leave audience to read between the lines. Next part will actually focus more on the continuation of my main struggle. Were it to be a book length story, then the sexual aspect will be less showy as it is now.
      All the same I appreciate your critical observation

      • Francis
        July 29, 18:51 Reply

        Ladies and gentlemen this is how you take and respond to criticism ❤️❤️

  6. Lyanna
    July 16, 13:22 Reply

    Can’t explain how I feel in writing. You’re such an accomplished writer, I look forward to more. But I’m sad, why must it (gay love)always come to an end.

  7. joker
    July 17, 01:54 Reply

    ” I encountered something I thought was his hand”


    abeg lemme concentrate on my advanced protein enzymology biko ……

  8. Obi
    July 17, 23:56 Reply

    ngl, this was a really really good story.
    waiting for the next one.
    thank you.
    -*from a self-proclaimed baby boy*

  9. Temi
    July 23, 03:37 Reply

    Haha see enjoyment ????
    Nice one Mr Bamidele

  10. Malik
    August 06, 10:42 Reply

    Dear Mr Bamidele, I’m still waiting for all the sequels to this. Thanks.

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